Page 52 of Living for Truth
“You…?” I prompt, eager to hear what she has to say.
“I would like to meet them… sometime. If you’re okay with that, of course.”
My smile couldn’t get wider if I tried. “Of course I’m okay with it. I just know they’re going to love you.”
Hannah nods, then nods again. “Great. Um, I’m going to go help Sage grab more boxes.” She hitches a thumb over her shoulder towards the house.
Hannah turns and walks away, and that’s when I notice the tight bike shorts she’s wearing. They sculpt perfectly to her wide hips, bountiful backside, and thick thighs. I fail in my attempts not to ogle her, and when I finally pull my gaze away and start towards the door, the brunette—Sage, I remember–—is giving me a knowing smirk.
I’m not one to be embarrassed, but my face flushes at being caught ogling her best friend’s ass.
Sage has a box in her arms, and when I reach her I say, “I can take that for you. I’m Morgan. You must be Sage.”
“I know who you are, flower man. Yes, I’m Sage. Hannah’s best friend and favorite coworker. And yes, I know about your… arrangement.” She glances back at the door then turns back to me. “Between you and me, her ex-husband really fucked her up and messed with her head, but I can see her coming back to herself. I think a part of that has to do with you. So thank you. And… be patient with our girl. She deserves the world, but she can’t see it yet.”
Our girl.
My heart clenches. Her best friend’s approval means more than that of her parents, and the fact Sage refers to her as “our girl” instead of leaving me out means I have more of a chance with Hannah than I thought.
I just need to make sure I handle her with care. I want her to know I know about the miscarriages, but I don’t want her to feel like I’m accusing her of keeping something from me, or that I’m upset with her about it. It’s a touchy subject, one I don’t know how to broach, but maybe honesty is just the best policy.
It’s unfair for Liam to share such a personal detail with Whitney without Hannah’s knowledge. It’s one thing to say they experienced loss, but it’s another to make Hannah sound like a broken human.
“Thanks, Sage. That means a lot to me. I’ll wait as long as it takes for her. She’s worth it.” And I mean it.
Before Sage can say anything, Hannah comes out with another box. “There are only four boxes left and my bed. I think we can get out of here in the next half hour.”
“Sounds good, Butterfly. Let’s get you to your new home.”
Chapter 24
Hannah
I’m glad Jake wanted to take our mom to lunch and shopping for Mother’s Day because it gave me enough time for Morgan and Sage to come help me load up and move out.
Predictably, my mom waslividthat Morgan said I could live above the flower shop. She accused me of using him for his money, “fornicating” with him, and then told me I was raised better than this. “What would Jesus think?” she had asked, and I had to keep my tongue trapped between my teeth so I wouldn’t go on a rant about how I don’t believe in Jesus.
The last seven months have been an emotional roller coaster, but I feel like things are finally looking up.
Since I won’t have to keep up the pretenses of going to church, I can finally explore the side of myself that’s been hidden underneath scriptures and garments and culty temple ceremonies.
As soon as I realized I’d be moving out, I placed an order for new underwear and even bought the red lingerie set I was imagining.
It feels silly and a little overambitious now, but maybe Morgan will see it one day.
We finish loading up the trailer—which I don’t think we actually needed—in less than half an hour, then Sage and I follow Morgan in my car to my new apartment.
Sage gushes the whole drive about Morgan and how hot, helpful, kind, understanding, and wonderful he is.
She’s not wrong, but it feels like I’ll disappoint her if things don’t work out with him. Her approval means the world to me, though, so knowing she’s in my corner if things work out helps ease some of my anxiety.
When we pull up behind the shop, Sage starts planning my housewarming party, which will just be me and Sage with a charcuterie board, bottle of champagne, and all the Jane Austen movies that exist.
Morgan hefts a box of books up the steps and unlocks the door—mydoor—and when I walk in behind him, I gasp.
Not only is the place spotless, but there’s an entertainment center with two bookcases on each side where there was just a plain wall last time. There’s a small black loveseat sofa that looks comfy and perfect for snuggling up with a good book, and a large area rug in the space where the bed is supposed to go.
“Morgan,” I whisper, “Who—what—why?” I can’t even finish my sentences because I’m so speechless.
