Page 99 of Resisting You
We ran.Again. And I’msonot a runner. And Birdie with his sad, broken leg couldn’t exactly lead the way. But somehow, we managed to sprint down the street together toward the Tripp’s family home.
When the Tripp property came into view, I slowed just enough to catch my breath. The lake shimmered in the distance, familiar and quiet. Trees rustled with a breeze that felt like it had been waiting just for me. I scanned the front yard, half expecting Noah to be standing in the middle of it.
But instead, I saw Lydia, sitting on the front porch, wearing a warm smirk on her face like she knew something I didn’t.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hi,” I croaked, my throat tight. “Where is he?”
She handed me something—another folded note.Noah’s handwriting again.
Almost there. Follow the light.
I started to step away, but Lydia gently caught my arm. “Hey…”
I turned back, surprised to see something vulnerable flicker across her face.
“This family? It’s messy. Loud. In your face.” She smiled, the kind that meant she knew it intimately. “And coming from a small family myself, just me and my mom… jumping into the middle of it isn’t easy. But you belong here, Rosa. And not just because of Noah. Because when the Tripps love you, they love you hard. No conditions. No half-measures.”
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “That’s the kind of love I want, too. Not just in my husband. But in my whole family. My in-laws, my future children… grandchildren, even.”
She let go of my arm, her smile widening.“Good, then go,” she said, nodding toward the woods. “He’s waiting.”
I walked slowly, the path behind the Tripp house narrowing between trees. The sound of the lake lapped softly in the distance.Follow the light. I don’t even know what that means.
Then I spotted them—small lanterns, strung between branches, flickering like stars.
I followed the trail until it finally ended at the treehouse. Noah’s treehouse.
Perched high above the waterline, fairy lights and lanterns decorating it and causing it to glow like a torch against the green leaves around it. Like it had been waiting just for me.
I hoisted Birdie into my arms—grunting under his not-so-little weight—and climbed the wooden steps slowly, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
When I reached the top, I nudged the door open with my shoulder, breath shallow, nerves wound tight.
The inside of the treehouse didn’t look like the dusty children’s dream from the other day. It had been transformed—not perfectly, not professionally, but with the kind of care that made my throat ache.
A soft rug covered the creaky floorboards. In one corner, a cozy armchair I recognized from the Tripp house had been dragged up here somehow, draped with a green knit throw blanket. A small end table sat beside it, topped with a mason jar of wildflowers and a reed diffuser sending out gentle vanilla warmth. And a bowl of oranges sat in the middle of the table.
On a set of wooden crates stacked like makeshift shelves sat a small collection of books. Not just any books—mypsychology books. Ones I’d talked about in passing to Noah over the years while I’d been in school. Ones he’d remembered. There was even a well-worn copy ofThe Body Keeps the Score, marked with a sticky note in Noah’s handwriting that said,“This one made me cry.”
Pinned to the wooden wall were two signs, professionally printed but slightly crooked, like someone had hung them in a rush:
Dr. Rosa Alvarez, PsyD
Private Counseling | Quiet Hearts Welcome
And underneath, another:
Now accepting patients: humans, emotionally confused dogs, and one determined husband determined to earn your heart… forever.
I laughed—choked, breathless—and pressed my face into Birdie’s fur.
It was small. Imperfect. And a little chaotic.
But it was me.
And standing in the middle of it all, smiling like he’d been holding his breath all day, was Noah.
