Page 146 of Legacy

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She’sspeakingto me.

To me.

Not ignoring. Not walking past. Not leaving.

Talking.

Not through grit or bitterness.

Just her voice.

Soft. Steady.Home.

“Good morning,” I manage, the words caught in gravel.

I move toward her like I’m afraid she’ll vanish. I pull out the chair across from hers and sit. My hands are on the table, but I don’t reach for the food. Not yet.

I watch her instead.

She eats like it’s nothing.

But it’s everything.

She’s sitting here, eating at our table, like the silence between us never grew teeth. Like the damage isn’t irreparable.

One of her legs tucked under her, her fingers wrapped delicately around silverware. Her lips—God, those lips—soft, red, full of words I’ve been starving to hear again.

Her scent curls into my lungs.

I’m dizzy with it. With her.

Then, without looking up, she says:

“You better have changed the sheets too. They were never soft enough.”

I blink. “What?”

“The sheets. In the loft.”

My heart stops.

My breath catches in my throat, a sudden halt. My pulse roars in my ears, a thunderous drumbeat. “The loft?”

I stare at her, stunned.

And when she finally meets my gaze again, I see it.

Something shifted.

A choice.

A decision.

“Yes,” she says clearly. “I’m going to the loft with you. And we’re going to start over.”

I don’t breathe.

I don’t move.

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