Page 15 of Garrett

But God, it hurts. Hurts to think about these cabins without him in them. About mornings without his coffee brewing, without his gruff voice arguing about load-bearing walls. About my bed being cold and empty again.

I’ve spent my whole life being practical, making smart choices. But there’s nothing practical about the way my heart clenches when I think about him leaving. Nothing smart about how much I want him to stay.

“Rachel?” Ryder’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “You okay? You went quiet.”

I straighten my spine, plastering on a smile I’ve perfected over years of gallery openings. “Just thinking about the trim options.” The lie tastes bitter. “I should get these organized before the light fades.”

But as I move toward the office, I can feel Garrett’s eyes on me. He sees too much, always has. And I’m terrified he can see right through my carefully constructed walls to the truth I’m trying so hard to hide:

I’m falling in love with a man who was never meant to stay.

Ryder finally leaves, his truck’s taillights disappearing into the swirling snow. The silence he leaves behind feels heavy, loaded with all the things I’m trying not to feel.

“These need to go to the lumber yard,” I say, gathering up trim samples with hands that aren’t quite steady. My voice comes out clipped, professional. The way I used to speak to contractors in New York.

“Rachel.” Just my name, but the way Garrett says it makes my chest ache.

“And we should check the schedule for the electrician. Make sure everything’s on track for—”

“Look at me.”

I don’t. Can’t. Because if I look at him right now, he’ll see everything I’m trying to hide. “We’re losing daylight. The crew will need these measurements for—”

His hand catches my arm, gentle but firm. “Since when do you not look at me when we talk?”

“Since when do we need to talk?” I pull away, hating how my voice catches. “You have a job to do. I have orders to place. That’s what this is, right? Just business?”

The hurt that flashes across his face makes me want to take the words back. But they’re already out there, sharp and defensive, a wall between us.

“Is that what you think this is?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Just business?”

“Isn’t it? You’ll finish the job, get paid, move on to Colorado. That’s how it works, right?”

“Rachel—”

“I have calls to make.” I grab my coat, needing to escape before I completely fall apart. “The trim samples are on your desk. Just... just pick whatever works best.”

I’m out the door before he can respond, but I swear I can feel his eyes on me all the way back to my cabin. The same eyes that watched me sleep this morning, that crinkled at the corners when I made him laugh, that darkened with heat when he pulled me into his arms.

The same eyes that will be watching someone else’s renovation in Colorado soon.

I make it inside before the tears start falling.

∞∞∞

The last few weeks pass in a blur of forced professionalism and careful distance. Every “good morning” feels like swallowingglass. Every accidental brush of hands as we review plans sends electricity through my veins.

We become experts at avoiding each other’s eyes, at speaking in clipped phrases about paint colors and cabinet hardware.

The work gets done. Of course it does - Garrett’s nothing if not professional. Each cabin emerges from its chrysalis exactly as I’d dreamed, though somehow the victory feels hollow now. The artists will love them, I know. But all I can see are the ghost-memories of what happened in each space: that lingering touch in cabin three when we argued about the windows, that almost-kiss in cabin four’s kitchen, that storm-swept night in cabin six when everything changed.

Today, a late winter blast sweeps in as we finish the final inspection. The bitter wind feels appropriate somehow - nature’s own commentary on endings.

“Rachel.” His voice stops me as I’m gathering the last of the paperwork. “We need to talk about what happened. About us.”

“There is no us.” The words taste like ashes. “There’s just a completed job and a contractor moving on to his next project.”

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

---