I passed a bookstore with old poetry pinned in the window. A bakery with warm cinnamon smells spilling out into the air. A music shop where someone was playing a soft melody on an acoustic guitar. Each storefront, each window, held a life—lives being lived fully, with their own rhythm and meaning.
And I realized something that made my breath catch:
I wanted a life like that.
Not just a calling. Not just duty. A life.
One with laughter and hard days and warm food and the kind of love that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.
I let out a shaky breath and turned back toward the main road, already seeing the familiar black SUV parked at the edge of the square. Rafe was behind the wheel, arm slung lazily over the side as he waited. When he saw me, he gave a wave that was more of a la
