and she confirmed what he’d desperately hoped for after reading her letter—that Verity and Ryan had never left Atlanta, and they’d been spending a good bit of time at Bonnie’s Place. In fact, if Mel had her details right, Ryan was in the life skills program on weekdays and Verity was working at the sundries store. After hearing that, he kissed his cousin’s cheek and apologized for cutting the visit short, promising to return soon. He bolted from her apartment, said good-bye to the social worker, called a cab, and waited impatiently outside until it pulled up. He needed to get home. He needed to see Verity, touch her, talk to her, and—oh God, please—beg for one more chance.
As the taxi pulled into his driveway, he shoved a twenty-dollar bill at the driver and quickly exited the car, standing on the driveway with his mouth slightly ajar as he inventoried the changes she’d made while he was away. She’d painted the shutters and mailbox with a fresh coat of dark green paint, and planted flowers in neat and colorful beds along the driveway and in front of the house. There were white curtains in the bay window, and she’d shined the brass door knocker until it gleamed like gold.
His heart lifted, but he reminded himself not to get too hopeful as he walked up the front stoop and unlocked the door. Closing the door behind him, he looked at the room, which she’d freshened up with an antique coffee table she must have found at a tag sale, and she’d even placed a new figurine—of a princess and a knight—on top of it.
Walking into the dining room, he noted the neat piles of mail, catalogs, and newspapers, and the mail bins sitting beside the table, and his eyes started to burn. In the kitchen, there was a calendar on the wall, with large red X’s crossing through every day they’d spent apart, and pink and white checkered curtains decorating the window beside the table. She’d found Aunt Jane’s old rose-covered cookie jar, and when he opened the top, the smell of fresh-baked oatmeal cookies wafted up, making his mouth water almost as much as his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, he looked toward the hallway. He didn’t know how he knew so certainly, but she was there—in his bedroom. He knew it. He could feel it, and his feet started moving toward her even as his stomach jumped and clenched and his heart beat so furiously, it almost hurt.
He closed his eyes as he got to the end of the hallway, only opening them once he was in the doorway of his room.
And there she was.
Lying on her side, curled up on his bed, his letter clutched to her chest, she was sound asleep, so peaceful, so beautiful, such a welcome sight to his worried, tired eyes, he reached for the doorframe to brace himself from collapsing.
She’s here. She’s here. She’s here.
She didn’t leave you.
She’s here.
He wanted to weep like a baby, but clenched his jaw and blinked back his tears, taking a few steps toward her. Her almost-white hair was spread out on his pillow like a halo, the delicate lines of her cheekbones relaxed in sleep, her legs clad in soft-looking jeans, her feet bare. Kneeling on the floor beside his bed and resting his arms on the comforter, he watched her sleep, his heart aching with relief, with sorrow, with gratitude, with longing, with a love so big and sweeping and all-encompassing, he had no idea how the world, let alone his heart, could contain it all.
“Baby,” he whispered, wanting to put his hand on her hip and shake her gently, but feeling like he hadn’t earned that intimacy quite yet.She breathed deeply and sighed in her sleep, a sound so welcome, he flinched with yearning. “Sunshine? I’m home.”
“You’re home,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering open. Her blue eyes focused on his face and instantly filled with tears. “Is this a dream?”
He shook his head, brushing away the moisture that slipped down one cheek. “No, baby. It’s me.”
“Colton,” she said, her fingers tightening on the letter she held as a tear slid over the bridge of her nose and plopped onto the bed. “I waited.”
The lump in his throat made it impossible to speak. He nodded. She reached out and placed her palm on his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, thanking God for the mercies we don’t deserve, the mercies that change our