I felt the truth of it hum between us.
As the night unfurled, I caught sight of Selena in a gown of deep plum satin, dancing with a tall man whose smile could’ve melted the edges off formality. Even behind the mask, I had a feeling I knew who he was—Micah Gold. I’d heard his voice enough times on Lennox’s late-night calls to recognize the cadence: smooth, careful, always weighing the room before he entered it.
I was still learning his family by heart—through stories, through the way Lennox softened when he spoke about them, through glimpses of their faces on a few shared video calls. But even from across the ballroom, I could feel it: that quiet steadiness Micah carried, the kind that anchors without trying.
Across the floor, Tasha, radiant in copper silk, laughed with another man whose easy swagger and bright, musical energy felt unmistakable. Cairo. I’d seen him once, mid-song, teasing his brother through a phone screen. Seeing him in motion now—the rhythm in his steps, the joy in his eyes—felt like meeting a melody I already knew.
Maybe I wouldn’t be the only woman among them for long, I thought.
The symmetry of it all felt like poetry—the bears meeting the family of the wanderer who’d stayed.
When the music softened, Lennox leaned close. “Walk with me.”
We slipped through the ballroom, signed a pledge for the foundation, bid on a black-and-white photo of two girls jumping rope—joy caught midair—and followed the path into the gardens.
The air smelled of damp earth and crushed roses, the lamplight honey-soft across gravel.
At the edge of the property, the cottage waited—restored brick and white trim, porch lights glowing like memory.
A bronze plaque beside the door bore a family name, etched with dates that reached back centuries.
Williams.
I traced the letters, reverence settling deep in my chest.
Lennox’s hand found the small of my back, warm and steady, grounding me.
“When you were dancing with Selena and Tasha,” he said softly, “I was talking with Matt—the founder of the collective. This land belonged to his great-grandmother.”
He paused, eyes sweeping the cottage as if seeing its heartbeat. “Amelia ‘Millie’ Williams lived here once. She started as a servant to a family named Sumpter. When they passed, they left her this land. Folks around here adored her—said she had a gift for pairing souls. A matchmaker. Whole family lines trace back to Millie’s hands.”
His thumb brushed the curve of my spine. “But after the Sumpters were gone and the banks came calling, the land was taken—like too many stories we know. They say Millie stood right here and made a vow: that love would have to find its wayback for anything good to grow again. Until then, the ground would stay restless.”
My breath caught. The air seemed to hum—soft, alive, almost listening.
“All I feel is love here,” I whispered.
Lennox’s gaze held mine, steady and sure.
“As you should,” he murmured. “We’re the proof.”
Inside, candlelight pooled across polished floors, catching the gleam of old wood and the quiet pride of a home reclaimed. The air hummed with something unseen—soft, golden, expectant. The kind of energy that felt alive, like the house itself was holding its breath.
Lennox uncorked a bottle of sparkling cider, poured two glasses, and placed a record on the turntable.
Billie Holiday spilled through the room—smoke and silk, ache and honey.
We ate berries and chocolate with our fingers, laughing quietly, the sound rippling through the candlelight. Masks set aside, every wall we’d once built slipped down to the floor between us.
When he spoke, his voice was low and unguarded.
“I need to tell you something,” he said, eyes steady. “The first day I saw you—standing at the front of that yoga class, your hair haloed by sunlight—I swear, I felt it. Like something old and holy cracked open inside me.”
He exhaled, shaky. “It scared me. I packed my bags three times that week. Told myself I’d leave before it got too deep. But I couldn’t. Every time I tried to walk away, something pulled me back. You pulled me back.”
His thumb traced my jaw, reverently. “I think I loved you before I even knew your name.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It pulsed—alive with everything we’d carried and everything we’d found.
