Everyone waited while Luke’s intimidating gaze swept the group. He’s holding a puppy, Ben reminded himself. He’s not as scary as he used to be.

“Okay,” Luke said simply. “Friends.”

Genevieve and Natasha clapped. Sam asked about the puppy.

One by one, Ben took in the details of Misty River’s famous Miracle Five. All of them together this evening.

The miracle of the Miracle Five wasn’t just that they’d physically survived the earthquake. But that they’d all found ways to thrive despite the trauma they’d suffered.

The God Ben knew could be trusted to redeem the hardship He allowed.

He’d done just that for every single one of them.

In His time.

Luke was not a social person.

For Finley’s sake, he’d done his best tonight. He’d helped set up. He’d talked as much as he could. He’d catered to Agatha. He’d refilled people’s glasses and handed out vegan cake. He’d spent time with his family and hugged each of them—even Blair—when they’d left.

When only three guests remained, Luke gave himself a pass and started filling Finley’s dishwasher. Everyone had done a solid job of cleaning things up and taking their dishes home with them. Even so, there was enough here for a full load, and he didn’t want Finley stuck with it. She still tired easily, and the party must have drained her energy.

She drifted toward the front door, chatting with the stragglers. He finished loading the machine, then started it. When he straightened, he saw Finley walking toward him in bare feet. Her hair was loose. Her dress glided against the lines of her body.

“You look sexy when you clean,” she said.

“That’s why I do it.”

She stopped a few feet away. “I had a chance to thank everyone tonight except you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” In fact, her thanks made him uncomfortable because he wanted so badly for her to love him . . . but not because of thankfulness.

“I do need to thank you. You’ve done far, far more for me than anyone else. I recovered as quickly as I did, in part, because you bent over backward to make it so. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She moved to him, her feet positioned between his boots, her palms resting on his chest. “I want a million things for you. At the top of that list is for you to know that you’re free.”

His stomach dropped with fear. “Free? I don’t want to be free.”

“Free from constantly having to take care of me.”

“I don’t feel like I have to constantly take care of you.”

“Really?” she asked gently. “Because it seems like you feel duty-bound to do just that. Tonight’s party is an example. I did almost nothing and you did almost everything.”