Chapter 6 The Fierce Friend
The museum was quiet in the late afternoon, the kind of quiet that felt like dust hanging in a sunbeam. Sage liked that kind of silence. It let her hear the place breathe, slow and steady. It also made it easier to keep an eye on Jonah.
He stood at the far end of the hall, talking to a pair of board members with that calm tone he used when he was trying to make people settle down. His shoulders were straight, his posture perfect. Too perfect. When Jonah was tired, he went rigid, like someone trying to keep a crack covered with tape.
Sage leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.
“Man’s going to grind himself into powder,” she muttered under her breath. “And for what? Polite applause and board headaches?”
Her own voice echoed faintly. She rubbed her thumb over the edge of her clipboard, then pushed off the frame and headed toward him.
As she approached, she caught the end of the board members’ chatter.
“We just want to make sure everything is polished by gala week,” one of them said. The woman’s earrings jingled with each syllable.
Jonah nodded. “It will be. I’ve got the team set. We’re on schedule.”
Sage stepped in with a smile that was friendly enough on the surface but sharp underneath.
“Which means you can stop hovering,” she said to the board members. “We’re museum staff, not circus performers.”
The woman blinked. The man coughed. Jonah closed his eyes for half a second, the closest he came to laughing in these kinds of situations.
“Sage,” he warned softly.
“What? I’m helping.” She gave the board members a brighter smile. “We’ve got it handled. Promise.”
After a few seconds of uneasy thank-yous, the board members drifted off.
Sage let her shoulders drop. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Jonah looked at her with that patient expression he wore around her.
“You do realize they’re the ones funding half this place.”
“They’re also the ones who think you’re magic. A little reality check won’t hurt.”
He shook his head, but there was the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth. That was good. She liked getting him to crack, even a little. Too many days, he forgot he was a person, not a title.
“You could ease up,” he said. “Just a bit.”
“Ease up?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Jonah didn’t answer. Instead, he moved past her toward his office, quiet and steady. Slate-colored sweater, sleeves pushed to the middle of his forearms. Hair is neat enough to look intentional but still soft. He always looked like someone who carried the weight of something he would never mention.
Sage followed him. She always did.
Inside his office, the air smelled like paper and lemon polish. Everything was as orderly as ever. Folders stacked by priority. Desk clear. Chair straight. It was a room built for structure, not comfort.
“Sit,” Jonah said, nodding at the chair across from his desk.
“No,” Sage said as she sat anyway. “Not until you answer my question.”
“You didn’t ask one.”
“Not yet.” She crossed her legs. “So. When was the last time you went on a date?”
Jonah didn’t even look up from the file he was opening.
“Sage.”
“That’s not an answer. Try again.”
He exhaled slowly. “I’ve been busy.”
“You’re always busy. That’s your brand. But this is getting ridiculous.” She leaned in. “You’re thirty, Jonah. You’re lonely.”
He stopped flipping pages. Not dramatically. Just enough for her to notice.
Her voice softened. “You know you are.”
Jonah tapped one finger on the edge of the folder. A steady rhythm. A stall.
“I’m not discussing this.”
“You never discuss it.” She lifted a brow. “Which is why I keep bringing it up.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
“Then why look like you swallowed gravel every time someone mentions love?”
He didn’t answer. His jaw worked for a moment, a small flex that she’d learned to read over the years. Jonah rarely showed his feelings, but when he did, it was always in the tiny things.
Sage let out a slow breath. “I’m not trying to push. I just want you to be happy.”
“I know you do,” he said.
The words were quiet. Honest. Heavy.
She nodded, easing back. “Good. Because I’m going to keep trying until one of us dies. Probably me. Stress will take me out before you do anything reckless.”
Jonah closed the file and set it aside. “Speaking of reckless… the new taxidermist starts tomorrow.”
“W. Blackwood, right?” Sage asked. “What’s the W stand for?”
“No idea. But the portfolio looks strong.”
Sage smirked. “You looked at the portfolio?”
He hesitated. Barely. But Sage caught it.
“It’s my job,” he said.
“Mmhmm.”
She reached across his desk, pulling the file toward her before he could stop her.
“I want to see for myself.”
Jonah sighed. “Sage.”
“Relax.” She flipped it open. Her eyes scanned the neatly printed résumé, the crisp list of projects, the clean photos of restored specimens. “Damn. Whoever this Blackwood person is, they’re good.”
“Which is why they were hired.”
She kept studying the images. The precision. The care. The delicate cleaning work. Whoever did this had steady hands and a patient heart.
She felt something warm flicker in her chest. Admiration, sure. But also curiosity.
“Looks like an artist,” she murmured.
“Looks like a taxidermist,” Jonah corrected.
She tilted her head at him. “You ever think those are the same thing?”
He didn’t respond.
She closed the folder halfway, leaving one photo visible. A fox restored with fine detail, eyes clear, fur brushed smooth. Beautiful work.
Jonah stood and moved to the window, giving himself an escape from the conversation.
Outside, the grounds were dim, the sun sliding behind the hill. The glass caught the fading gold, leaving a soft glow across his cheek.
Sage watched him, noting the quiet tension in his shoulders.
“You’re thinking too much,” she said.
“When am I not?”
“Good point.”
She tapped the folder lightly. “You sure you’re ready for a new person on the team? You’ve been stuck in your patterns for years.”
Jonah didn’t turn around. “I’m ready.”
“You sure?”
He paused. “Yes.”
Sage leaned back, studying him. “You know, Dr. Webb gave me a look when he left your office earlier. One of those looks like he knew something.”
“Webb always knows something.”
“Maybe. But this one felt different.”
Jonah didn’t reply.
Sage pushed the file back across the desk.
“Well, mystery Blackwood better be decent in person,” she said. “We’ve got enough on our plate.”
Jonah gave the smallest nod. “They’ll be fine.”
Sage folded her arms. “I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about you.”
He turned at that, finally meeting her eyes.
“You don’t need to be.”
She snorted. “Sure, I do. It’s my hobby. I collect worries like you collect deadlines.”
A faint smile tugged at Jonah’s mouth, but only for a breath.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For caring.”
She waved that off. “Someone has to.”
Her gaze drifted to the folder again. The name at the top seemed to stare back at her.
W. Blackwood.
Something about it tugged at her, like a whisper at the back of her ribs. Not danger. Just… change.
She tapped the folder once with her finger.
“Whoever you are,” she murmured under her breath, “you better be worth it.”
