Page 170 of Money Reigns
My mind shuffles through the lists of things I’ve never been able to buy,own.
I can feel him watching me, thumbs resting at my jaw like he’s holding the moment steady so I don’t have to. It should be easy. People always have answers for this, right? A dream, a plan, a list.
“What do I want…” I echo, and hear my own voice drift in the high, honeyed light of his gallery.
Back home, wants were practical. Fix the porch steps before they swallow another ankle. Stretch rent into groceries. Keep the lights on at the inn. In the city, wants were smaller still—quiet, manageable. A coffee I didn’t have to do mental math to justify. A pair of black slacks without a shiny seat. Survival wants.Neverdream wants.
I pull back a little and War lets me, his hands sliding down to mine, fingers lacing like he’s content to hold the question with me. No pressure. No rush. Just… space.
“Can I…” I swallow, suddenly embarrassed. “Can I think about it?”
His mouth tilts. “You can take forever.”
The knot in my chest loosens, just a notch.
We wander.
He shows me every room, but we stop at the library last. It’s not fussy or dark or male on purpose; it’s small, tucked away, quiet. I touch the spine of a book I’ve only ever checked out from a library that smelled like lemons and old wood polish. Here it smells like paper and wool and the faintest echo of cedar from the built-ins.
“Pick something,” he says. “Anything.”
I run a hand across the shelf until my fingers land on a slim collection of letters. “This one.”
“Read me a line,” he says, settling on the window seat like a man who can bear to be still.
I open to the middle and read whatever my eyes find first: “I don’t know what to do with a day that isn’t spent searching for the exit. But if I stand still long enough, perhaps a door will appear that opens somewhere softer.”
The words hit too close. I close the book and press it to my sternum like that might keep it from cracking me open.
He notices. Healwaysnotices.
“Tell me, what’s going on in that beautiful mind,” he says. Not an order. An invitation.
“Like I said I’ve been in survival mode so long,” I say, staring out the window at the lawn where the light turns the grass to coin-colored silk. “It’s like my lungs don’t remember how to hold anything but panic.”
He nods once, like he recognizes the ache by name. “Me too.”
I look back at him. “You?”
His jaw works, and something unguarded flickers. “Until you,” he says simply.
Something inside me goes warm and heavy, like a soft stone I want to keep in my pocket forever.
I exhale and place the book back on the shelf.
“I think,” I say finally, choosing my words like thread, “when you grow up counting pennies and favors, your wants get small on purpose. You don’t ask for the big things because you learn not to want what you can’t carry.”
“And now?” He ask, his eyes watching me, patient.
“Now…” I breathe out. “Now my life is bigger.Youare a very big thing in my life. And it’s terrifying and beautiful. I don’t know what I want yet. Not exactly. I just know Iwantto want. I want the chance to figure it out without worrying if the floor will disappear.”
His eyes go molten at that. Not hungry. Proud. Like I’ve said the bravest thing I could say.
“Then that’s your first want,” he says quietly. “Room to breathe.”
I huff a small laugh that turns into something wetter than I intend. He doesn’t call me on it. He stands, reaches for me, cups my face, and kisses me soft. Not a brand, not a claim. A promise.
“Let’s have dinner,” he murmurs against my lips before taking my hand and leading me to the dining room.
