“You really don’t care which one I choose?”
“I care that you get a real choice.”
I swallowed.
I turned toward the cabin so Jonah wouldn’t see.
The porch was narrow but clean. A pair of muddy work boots sat beside the door, and split logs were stacked under the overhang. Nothing about the place looked staged for a woman’s arrival. There were no flowers, no welcome basket, and no attempt to make forced isolation feel romantic.
Daddy would’ve arranged all three.
“I’m staying tonight,” I said.
Jonah straightened. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I’m not proving anything to you.”
“Then who are you proving it to?”
The message on my phone might as well have burned through my handbag.
One week. Then we’ll discuss whether you’re ready to come home.
“I’m not leaving before I’ve lasted one night.”
“That sounds like proving something.”
“It sounds like a decision.”
He held my gaze for another second. “All right.”
“You’re not going to argue?”
“You said you’re staying.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’ve been traveling all day, you don’t have luggage, and you’re wearing shoes that are going to break your ankle on this road.”
“They are not.”
“You nearly fell twice.”
“I recovered beautifully.”
That crooked almost-smile appeared again.
Jonah picked up my handbag.
“I can carry that.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you carrying it?”
“Because the step is uneven.”
“I’m capable of climbing a step while holding a bag.”
