Love Rents A Room
Chapter 162: Her Company Was Safe

Chapter 162: Her Company Was Safe

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.]

Jeffrey’s thumb hovered for a moment before he tapped the news app. And there it was. The first page. A full exposé—Noah and Benny’s brutal, brilliant takedown of Congressman Campbell. The headlines were ruthless. Every strand of corruption, every shady union deal, every interference in Joanne’s business laid bare. The whole crooked tree uprooted in the daylight.

He turned the screen to Joanne. "The floodgates are open."

She stared for a moment, her chest rising, eyes wide. Then, she let out a long, shaky breath and her shoulders finally, finally relaxed.

Shamrock Logistics was safe.

She turned to him, eyes glassy. "Jeffrey, tha—"

But he didn’t let her finish.

He didn’t need her thank you. Not for this. Not for fighting for her. Not for burning down an empire if it meant she’d be safe.

He kissed her.

Because he wanted to.

Because he needed to.

He kissed her like he was reminding her that he’d do it all again, a hundred times, without a second thought.

Joanne’s tears slipped past the corners of her eyes, but they weren’t the kind that weighed heavy. They were light. Cleansing. She smiled into the kiss, breathless and overwhelmed, as his fingers brushed away her tears with the gentlest touch.

"I love you, Jeffrey," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion.

Jeffrey smiled, leaning in again to press a soft kiss to her lips. His hand cradled her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin like she was something sacred. "See... This is the right thing to say to me."

He didn’t need gratitude.

He only wanted her love.

And in that moment, wrapped in the echo of her whispered I love you, her lips on his, her warmth pressed into his chest—Jeffrey Winchester knew that this, right here, was everything he’d ever need.

And Joanne?

Joanne knew she was loved like never before.

And she wasn’t afraid anymore.

She leaned in and pulled him into a kiss. A proper one.

Jeffrey responded to her kiss with the kind of gentleness that came only from restraint—a quiet storm held tightly in place for her comfort. His lips moved slowly against hers, not demanding but promising. Promising a love that was constant, patient, and safe. One that would not waver even when the world did.

Joanne wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer as if proximity could somehow fuse the aching gratitude in her heart with his warmth. It felt surreal. His love.

He loved her.

And that fact, somehow, healed her more than anything else ever had.

-----

She found herself standing in her grandfather’s room, drawn there by something she couldn’t quite name—just a need, deep in her chest, to talk to him. The room felt the same as always, filled with quiet memories and a warmth that lingered in the walls.

Her gaze landed on his photo atop the dresser.

That familiar smile, those kind green eyes, and the weathered lines etched by years of hard work and quiet wisdom.

Her papaw.

"Papaw..." her voice trembled as she knelt before the picture. "I’m going to Wimbleton today... in a private jet. Can you believe that?" A small laugh escaped her lips, but tears welled up all the same. She wiped the corner of her eyes gently. "I could’ve chartered a plane before, maybe... but I never had the heart to leave. You know that. But now..."

Her fingers played nervously with the hem of her shirt. "Jeffrey’s taking me out of my comfort zone. And... it feels right, Papaw. It’s a good thing."

She let her breath settle before she smiled again, this time more certain. "And Shamrock... it’s safe now. Jeffrey saved it." Her voice softened. "He fought for it. For me."

She shook her head in quiet disbelief, her voice rising in a breathless laugh. "And Philip Winchester—he’s talking about buying a plane. And ships. For Shamrock, Papaw. Can you even imagine?" She let her hand rest gently on the picture frame. "Me... the girl who couldn’t even afford a new bike she liked, remember?" Her voice cracked, thick with emotion. "Now look at me. It doesn’t feel real."

Her eyes drifted to the photograph beside it—her parents. The only image she had of them. The only piece of them that remained.

"Mom... Dad..." she whispered, her voice tender as her fingertips traced the edge of the glass, "your daughter’s doing well. I’m happy... really happy."

She pressed her palm softly to the frame, lingering there like a silent embrace. "I love you," she whispered.

Then her eyes returned to her grandparents’ pictures—her people. The ones who raised her, shaped her, loved her when no one else did.

"I miss you, Papaw... Memaw..." The words came in a hush, heavy with tears now brimming at the edge. "I’m doing so well these days... I just... I wish you were here to see it."

A tear rolled down her cheek, falling soundlessly on the wooden frame that held her grandfather’s picture. She let her fingers rest there for a moment longer, tracing the old photograph like it might warm beneath her touch. The lines on his face, that worn-out smile—he would’ve teased her for crying and then wiped her tears with his rough, calloused thumb.

"I wish I could’ve shown you everything, Papaw," she whispered, her voice cracking. "The way Shamrock runs now... You’d be proud. I’ve kept your name safe. Old Sean’s granddaughter is following in his footsteps and helping others as much as she can."

The room was still, like the air itself had paused to listen. Dust floated in the amber slant of morning sunlight filtering through the curtains. The silence didn’t feel empty—it felt full. As if her papaw was listening, just as he always had, leaning back in his creaky old chair, that same soft patience in his eyes.

She smiled faintly through her tears. "And she’s fallen in love, Papaw... I love Jeffrey... he’s..." Her voice caught, the memory of his warmth still lingering on her lips. "He’s everything, Papaw. He loves me. He fights for me. And I... I never thought I’d feel like this. Safe. Seen."

She let out a shaky breath and sat down on the edge of the bed, the old mattress sighing under her. Past memories flooded her.

She chuckled, wiping her eyes again. "I’m going, Papaw. I’m going to see the world. With him. But don’t worry. I can’t stay away from the farm for long. I’ll return..."

She heard the door knocking. Her lips curved unconsciously.

Jeffrey...