The plane touched down in Knoxville just as the sun slipped behind the Smokies, turning the ridges into shadows against a lavender sky. Ryder hadn’t spoken much since they left Manhattan; his hand stayed wrapped around Isobel’s, his thumb brushing her knuckles like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go.
When they pulled into Wears Valley, the porch lights of Celeste’s house glowed like a beacon. Family spilled out onto the front steps—Celeste, Terry, Wren, Bella Rose—faces taut with worry until they saw the pair climbing from Ryder’s truck. Relief softened the edges, but no one rushed him. They gave Ryder space, sensing the weight he carried.
Inside, the house smelled of coffee and cornbread. Isobel guided him to the old leather sofa, the one scarred with years of boots and spurs. He s
