“It means everything that you trusted me with this.” My fingers tighten around the worn edges, grounding myself in what it represents. “I know what this is, Magnolia. I know what it means. You’ve given me a part of yourself, and I don’t take that lightly.”

Her throat moves as she swallows, blinking once, twice. And her mouth curves into something small but real. “I don’t expect you to fly through it.”

I shake my head. “I’m going to take my time with every word.”

“So basically, you’re telling me that you’ll savor my journal like an aged whiskey?”

A slow grin tugs at my lips. “I think that’s fair to say.”

Magnolia shifts, tilting the phone slightly as she settles against her pillows. The glow of her bedside lamp casts a soft halo around her like an angel.

My angel.

She exhales, fingers drifting to the pendent around her neck, toying with it. “I haven’t taken it off. I see it in the mirror, and it makes me think of you.”

A knot tightens low in my gut. “Good. That’s the point.”

She runs her fingers along the chain again. “It’s weird, you know?” She hesitates, then sighs. “Being apart after spending every single day together. I mean, I knew it would be hard, but––” She trails off, shaking her head. “I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

Neither did I. “I know what you mean.”

“I keep noticing little things. Like, I got in my car earlier, and one of your favorite songs was playing on the radio. I just sat there for a second, staring at the display screen like an idiot.”

“Which song?”

“Guess.”

It can only be one of two genres. “Country or R&B?”

“Country.”

I tilt my head, considering. “Something by Chris Stapleton?”

She shakes her head. “Guess again.”

“Luke Combs?”

“Nope.” A mischievous smile plays at her mouth as she leans in slightly, like she’s letting me in on a secret. “I’ll give you a clue. We danced to it one night at your house. Out on the back patio—right after we finished dinner.”

Oh yeah. That one.

She tilts her head, watching me through the screen. “Don’t remember? Need to peek in my journal and see what I wrote about it?”

I huff a quiet laugh. “I remember, favorite. It was ‘Dance with You’ by Brett Young.”

Her expression softens. “You do remember.”

I meet her gaze, steady. “Of course I remember. How could I ever forget?”

She watches me for a moment, then shifts, curling deeper into her blankets. “I’ve been wearing your hoodie since I got home.”

A slow, heavy ache blooms in my chest. “You have?”

Her smile is small, almost vulnerable. “Yeah.”