Page 68 of How I Love You

20?/?

dakota

I shifted slightly on the porch swing at Hope’s, pulling the blanket up tighter around my legs as I worked the yarn between my fingers. My crochet project—a new scarf I’d decided to start now that I’d finished the sweater I was currently wearing—rested in my lap, the rhythmic motion of the swing and my hook calming me.

The last week had flown by, a blur of long hospital shifts, cozy evenings, and fun moments with my usual crowd, plus Tucker, Colt, and Austin. Every day had been busy—sometimes chaotic—but also filled with a sense of something... more.

I bit my lip, focusing on the scarf, though the silky smooth texture of the Merino wool wasn’t doing much to distract me from my own thoughts. Tucker’s face, his rough laugh, the way his eyes always seemed to linger just a bit too long on mine—all of it had been playing on repeat in my head.

There hadn’t been any more kisses since the one I’d planted on his cheek outside the haunted house, as if there was something unspoken about not doing it too often for fear of getting used to it.

But the tension between us hadn’t faded one bit. If anything, it had only grown stronger. I smiled to myself, thinking backto the Weird Pumpkin Rally we’d gone to a few days ago. Tucker mentioned it was one of the strangest events he had ever witnessed, which was probably saying a lot considering his line of work. But leave it to Charlotte Oaks to make something like weird pumpkins into a big event. Farmers from around the area showed up with their strangest-looking gourds, proudly displaying the ones that had grown in odd shapes, with lumps or curls that looked like they belonged in a Halloween cartoon.

Austin had been fascinated by a pumpkin that had practically sprouted two heads, his eyes wide as he tried to figure out how nature had gone so wrong. Tucker had made some sarcastic comment about never wanting to see another pumpkin pie again, in case it was secretly made with one of the monstrosities on display, but I could see the amusement in his eyes.

And maybe it was just me, but there’d been something about the way he’d stayed close to my side the whole time—like we were in our own little bubble, his gruff teasing and low laughter seeming so natural now.

It was moments like those that made it hard to remember that this was just a fling. That he was planning to leave.

I tugged at the yarn in my lap, a sigh slipping out before I could stop it. I needed to think about the case whenever I started thinking too much about Tucker, himself. It helped put things into perspective before I started having dreams that weren’t worth having.

I was still staying with Hope, just in case. She worked a lot, but whether it was because she liked the idea that I’d be here if I wasn’t at work and she was, or if she liked having me there at night, I didn’t care. That was just what friends did.

Tuck and Colton had spent most of the week digging into the case, but they still didn’t have much to go on regarding Syd’s whereabouts, and I could tell it was starting to weigh on Tucker.

Ya know, kinda like how his exit hung over me like a dark cloud.

One silver lining about how much time they spent digging into Syd was that Tucker finally caved about Austin helping out at the gym. It likely still worried the protective big brother that Austin was settling in so much, though. He’d been forming bonds with people in the town, and getting used to us and this place.

I could almost relate to Tucker’s unease, come to think of it, considering how much time Phoebe spent around Austin. How upset would she be when they left? Sure, they weren’t together while she was in school, and even though Austin was already homeschooled back in Colorado and had been doing his schoolwork out here, Phoebe had to know he wasn’t staying, right?

At least I’d have a friend to binge-watch rom-coms while eating pints of ice cream with whenever that day came.

Andwow, that sounded pathetic.

I finished another row of stitches, but before I could get too lost in my head or the next row, I heard the familiar creak of footsteps on the front porch. I didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. There was a certain way Tucker moved—quiet, but sure, like he was used to being unnoticed but couldn’t hide the massive presence he brought with him.

He stopped in front of the porch swing, casting a glance at the bundle of yarn in my lap and then at the sweater I wore. “Is that sweater made out of that ball I caught that day?”

I shot him a playful glare. “It is. And it’s called askein, not a ball.”

“It was shaped like a ball.”

“Fair point.”

“Who’s it for?” he asked, jerking his chin toward it.

A smile tugged at my lips. “Depends on whether you plan to stay long enough for me to finish it. If not, I might just give it to someone else.”

His eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place—something deeper than his usual sarcasm. But he shrugged it off with a smirk. “Might have to stick around then. Can’t have anyone stealing my scarf.”

He backed up, leaning casually against the porch railing with his arms crossed over his chest. That was when I noticed it. I blinked, staring at him for a moment, then glanced down at my sweater.

“Wait a minute... are you?—?”

“What?” he asked, eyes full of concern and confusion.

I put down my crochet project and started to take off my homemade, oversized sweater.

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