Page 41 of Someday Not Soon

As I peel potatoes, I glance out the open back door and see him pouring a bag of wood pellets into the smoker. This entire afternoon has felt surreal, like we’ve been playing some crazy version of house. The commotion of it has kept my anxiety at bay. But now, in the quiet of Little Elm’s kitchen, surrounded by the hum of the fridge and clatter of pots, it feels like a bittersweet taste of what could have been.

He steps back inside the building periodically, bringing with him the scent of barbecue smoke mixedwith his cologne. Each time his eyes find me, there’s a look on his face, a flicker of amazement, like he can’t quite grasp that I’m here standing in the same kitchen as him, boiling tri-colored pasta.

He leans against the counter. “So, what’s your favorite thing about Washington?”

“I like…”Shit. WhatdoI like about that place? Nothing immediately comes to mind. “The trees,” I finally blurt out. Therearetechnically a lot of pretty trees there.

“The trees, huh?” He grins, clearly amused, knowing I pulled that answer straight from my ass. “I think I need to visit you someday and see these epic trees.”

“I’m not sure if they’re worth a whole visit. You’d probably be bored.”

“Not at all. I’m a big fan of trees. Huge, actually.”

I know he’s busting my ass, so I plan to bust his right back.

“And what made you decide to come back to Lawson?”

His cheeky smile falters at the question, and I mentally backpedal, wondering if I’ve touched on something sensitive.

“A lot of things,” he replies.

“Such as?”

“It’s home. It has the sprawling hills, the too many cows, my meandering family…I guess I ended up missing all of it.”

It’s a good answer. But I know him well enough to know it’s not the full answer.

I decide not to press him on it any further. “Do you plan on staying?”

He holds the colander as I drain the pasta, steam rising all around us. “I think so. I like my job. And I can’t see myself finding any other house that I like more. We’ll see how it goes though. Things could always change.”

The steam curls between us, filling the space with quiet acknowledgment. Life doesn’t stop surprising us—that much we both know. Maybe that’s what keeps us here, standing shoulder to shoulder in this kitchen, bracing ourselves for whatever comes next.

By the time we finish, it’s two in the morning. Jude parks his SUV in the driveway and takes long strides around the car to open my door. As I step out, the night air is warm and breezy, as a choir of crickets chirp around us. Standing in the middle of his long driveway, I tilt my head back and gaze up at the stars. I focus on the few constellations I can make out, watching as they sparkle brightly against the inky canvas of the sky.

He stands beside me, joining me in looking up into the darkness. “Do you remember when we watched that meteor shower together?”

I had shoved the memory aside during my grand mental purge of that summer, but the mention of it instantly brings that night flooding back.

“Oh, I remember,” I reply, smiling. We had parked my tiny, beat-up convertible on a secluded country road to watch the shooting stars. Ten minutes in, the bushes beside us began rustling. We screamed bloody murder,convinced a mountain lion was about to devour us, only to have the world’s most adorable possum pop out instead. “I still can remember the sound of your scream,” I tack on.

“I’ll deny it until the day I die. There was no screaming on my part. Maybe you simply heard the echo of your own scream.”

“Mhm. Yeah, sure. You can be honest. There’s no shame if you ever want to get it off your chest.”

We both fall silent, standing side-by-side on the still-warm cement, staring up into the sky as if it holds all of life’s answers.

Over the course of the last decade, I had convinced myself that Jude and I would be practical strangers. Now, standing here beside him, teasing him after saving the day together, squelches that theory altogether. I was wrong. Really, really wrong. Being around him is exactly the same as it was all that time ago. He’s as familiar as the warmth of morning sunlight—steady, reliable, and something I didn’t realize I missed until it was right in front of me again.

His pinky brushes against the curve of my hand. I hold my breath, waiting. Waiting to see if it was an accident or intentional, as my chest fills with a mix of hope and longing so intense I feel like I could float away into the starry night sky.

I don’t move an inch. I let that tiny fraction of him touch me, and I savor it. Whether it’s exhaustion or something deeper, I don’t pull away. Instead, I slide my hand into his, the warmth of his palm meeting the coolness of my skin. Time loses its meaning as his thumb gentlyswipes back and forth, silent and reassuring. In this fragile, fleeting moment, everything else fades away. It’s just us, together, holding hands under the stars.

Sometimes, you have to embrace uncertainty and trust that everything will unfold the way it’s meant to. And while I don’t think we could ever work again, I can admit I’ve missed this—I’ve missed us. So maybe, for now, it’s okay to lean into it, to lean into him.

It’s risky, yet comforting, and with every second we stand here, hand in hand, I feel the parts of me I thought were lost slowly coming back together.

Chapter Twenty

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