Page 179 of Micah

Hard.

He's only a few feet away now, but it feels like the whole world narrows until there's nothing left except the space between us.

His eyes find mine immediately. Those impossible blue eyes—so clear and brilliant.

Steady.

Patient.

Like he's giving me all the time in the world to decide whether I want to walk toward him.

My pulse flutters.

I don't think he realizes what those eyes do to me.

Or maybe he does.

His gaze never rushes over me. Never makes me feel examined.

It lingers just long enough to make me feel seen.

Really seen.

My breath catches. I force myself to try again. And I do. I inhale.

He smells incredible.

Fresh soap.

Clean cotton.

A hint of hay from working around the ranch.

And underneath it all...

Those little alcohol screen wipes he always seems to keep tucked away in his truck or his toolbox.

It's such a uniquely Micah scent that I smile before I even realize I'm doing it.

God.

I love the way he smells.

It isn't expensive cologne.

It isn't some overpowering body spray trying too hard to make an impression.

It's just him.

Clean.

Steady.

Comforting.

The kind of scent that makes me want to step closer without even thinking about it.

The kind that already feels strangely familiar.