Page 36 of Second Chance Faceoff

Morning chores had started on autopilot, but the rhythm was off—like the dogs sensed I wasn't fully there. Again. And yeah, maybe it wasn't just about Colton. Perhaps it was the rest of it, too—that uncomfortable feeling that I'd built a whole life without ever stopping to ask if it was still the right one.

I didn't notice how long I'd been standing still until I shifted my weight and the sound of kibble crunching under my shoe made me look down. A whole scoop spilled across the floor—completely missed the bin. I sighed, crouched to clean it up, and realized I'd already filled that container to the top.

Again.

I was going through the motions, but my mind was somewhere else. Everywhere else. This time, I dumped the scoop more carefully, trying to shake the fog loose.

And that's when I heard her.

"You've dumped the same bag of puppy kibble into that bin three times. You good?"

I turned, startled. Tessa propped herself in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow arched in that I-love-you-but-I'm-going-to-call-you-out way.

"I'm fine," I said automatically, brushing off my hands like that would somehow reset the moment.

She pointed to the kibble mountain. "Your definition of fine needs work. That bin is practically overflowing."

I grabbed the scoop and tried again, slower this time. "Just distracted."

Tessa stepped into the barn, picking up a towel from the supply shelf and folding it with exaggerated precision. "Distracted? You've barely said two words to me all week. And you're stacking towels like they personally offended you. So, what is it?"

"It's nothing. Really. Just thinking."

She gave me a side-eye. "Thinking about what? And don't say inventory."

I hesitated too long. She didn't miss it.

"Ah," she said. "So, this is one of those big-thought spirals. The kind that makes you reorganize your whole life and alphabetize the flea and tick meds. Spill."

I blew out a breath, leaning my hip against the bin. "I've just been wondering… if I've outgrown things. Not the dogs. Not the rescue. Just… here."

Tessa's brows shot up. "You mean Silver Ridge?"

I nodded. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe it's just a thought. Or maybe it's been coming for a while, and I didn't want to see it."

She folded the towel slowly. "Okay. And what does Colton have to do with this epiphany?"

I looked away. "Nothing. Not directly. It's not about him."

Tessa gave me the kind of stare that cut through every deflection I'd ever learned. "Riley."

I sighed. "Fine. Maybe watching him face all his mess made me look at my own. I've been pushing him to figure out what he wants. Maybe I need to take my own advice."

Tessa didn't say anything right away. Then she tossed the folded towel onto the stack.

"So now you're planning some dramatic exit strategy? What, you're gonna skip town, start a wildlife rescue in Costa Rica, and pretend Colton never existed?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm just thinking about options."

Tessa stopped folding and looked at me. "No, you're not. You're avoiding a conversation you don't want to have—with him or yourself."

I traced the rim of the feed bin, tension settling low in my shoulders. "So now dreaming bigger is a crime?"

"No. But using it as a smoke bomb to run away from your feelings? That's not growth, Riley. That's fear in a new outfit."

I stared down at the scattered kibble. "I'm not afraid."

She softened, stepping closer. "You're always brave. But bravery doesn't mean quiet. It doesn't mean solitary. And it sure doesn't mean leaving town the minute something good starts to happen."

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