Page 52 of Stitch & Steel
Scout’s a smart mutt.He knows what's good.
I sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling fan creaking overhead. “I’m gonna marry her,” I said aloud, surprising even myself.
Bear raised a brow. “You ask her yet?”
“Nope.”
“You think she’ll say yes?”
I thought about her eyes the night I left. Big, brave, but scared. Her voice breaking when she asked me to promise I'd come back.
I didn’t answer with words.
Just pulled out my phone and tapped open the last photo I took—Bella grinning shyly in the meadow, sunlight in her hair, wildflowers tucked behind her ear. My home screen.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “She’ll say yes. Even if I gotta earn it.”
Because love didn’t have to be loud.
Sometimes it was just choosing someone… over and over again. Even when the whole world offered you an easier out.
And tonight, with every temptation around me?
I still wanted only her.
Seventeen
BELLA
The morning air was crisp,still damp from the night’s dew. Scout bounded ahead of me on the trail, tail wagging like a metronome set to chaos. The sun had just crested the ridge, setting the trees aglow in soft gold, and for a moment, everything felt peaceful. Like maybe the world hadn’t gone to hell. Like maybe we were safe up here, just the three of us.
I tossed a pinecone down the slope and laughed as Scout chased after it like a missile. He came back proudly, drooling and panting, then dropped it at my feet like he expected a trophy.
“Not a retriever, huh?” I teased, scratching behind his ears. “Don’t tell Logan.”
We walked the long loop around the back edge of the property, the same one Gran used to hike before her knees got bad. I kept glancing toward the trees, half-expecting Logan to appear like he had before, stepping through the brush with a crooked smile and some sarcastic line that made me blush harder than I should.
By the time Scout and I made it back to the cabin, I was expecting the smell of percolating coffee. I pushed the screendoor open and stepped inside, sweat clinging to my neck from the hike.
That’s when I saw the note.
It sat on the counter, perched next to her half-drunk coffee mug. Her phone still sat plugged in on the charger.
“Ran into town. Be back before lunch. —Love, G.”
My stomach dropped.
She hadn’t taken her phone.
She always took her phone—even if she never used the damn thing. I touched the screen. It lit up. No new messages. No calls.
“Gran?” I called out, moving through the cabin like she might answer from the bathroom or the back porch.
Nothing.
I checked the driveway.
Her car was gone.
