Joanne had packed three bags, meticulously folded every shirt and dress, stacked each toiletry with a surgeon's precision, and still—still—she looked at them and muttered, "I don't think I have enough clothes…"
Jeffrey raised a brow, glanced down at his single, modest backpack—barely half-full—and then back at her mountain of luggage. A soft, amused smile touched his lips. She was overthinking again. Over-preparing for a world she didn't believe she belonged in.
But it was adorable, the way she furrowed her brows and carefully chose which pair of shoes might go with which occasion. As if anyone in that world could compete with her presence, even if she walked in barefoot.
Still watching her, he felt his phone buzz.
A text. From Noah.
[It's done.]
