When she stepped back inside, Cole didn’t ask where she’d been.
He only looked at her dirt-streaked hands and nodded.
“You buried it.”
“Yes.”
He handed her a small wooden bird he’d carved.
“For when storms come back,” he said.
She sat beside him this time, not across.
“I’m not staying because I owe you,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“I’m staying because I like who I am here.”
His smile was small but real. “That’s what I hoped.”
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