Page 39 of Wrecked for Love
My necklace.
“I believe this is yours,” he said, holding it out to me.
The breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t stop the tears that welled up. Without thinking—without any plan at all—I turned and hugged him. I held onto him like I had held Cody all those years ago. But I knew this wasn’t Cody. This was different. Forthe first time in a long while, I felt like I had someone on my side other than my brother.
“Thank you,” I quavered, then pulled away.
“It meant a lot to you, huh? Lucky Koda didn’t swallow it.”
I laughed through the tears, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. I tried to put the necklace on, but my hands were shaking too much. Elia reached over and helped me fasten it around my neck. His fingers brushed against my skin, and for a moment, my heart stuttered. I could’ve turned right there and kissed him.
Feeling that he’d shared more about his life than I had about mine, I found myself opening up. “You should know by now…I’m running away from something.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, his voice gentle, no pressure at all.
“I know,” I murmured. “But I just want you to know I appreciate everything you’ve done. And a part of me…” I let vulnerability rise to the surface. “A part of me desperately wants to stop running.”
Elia’s hand rested on the rock beside mine, so close but not quite touching. Slowly, almost as if it were instinct, he shifted it closer. His pinky finger stretched out just enough to brush mine. Without thinking, I hooked my little finger around his and squeezed it gently.
“Maybe it’s time,” he said like he was speaking more to himself than to me.
We both leaned in, our faces so close now, the space between us charged with something undeniable. My emotions were scattered, but fear wasn’t one of them. There were no fireworks and grand gestures here—just this moment, this pull, like we were teetering on the brink of something new.
Just as our lips were about to meet, Koda bolted, barking wildly as he tore off after a rabbit that had seemingly materialized out of thin air.
We both froze. And then, just like that, we burst into laughter, the spell shattering in the most absurd way. “Koda!” Elia called after him, still chuckling. “Get back here, you nut!”
I laughed too, glancing back just as Koda’s tail vanished into the brush. Elia had once told me the mutt was getting on in years, but right now, he looked like an overexcited puppy on a mission.
“I swear, that dog has the worst timing for anything that’s not cattle,” Elia said, shaking his head, though the amusement never left his face.
“Yeah, but you’ve gotta love him.”
We both got up, still smiling as we called for Koda to come back, the moment between us postponed but definitely not forgotten.
My stomach rumbled, and Elia heard it. He remarked, “Sounds like someone needs food.”
By the time we got back to town, Maggie’s Diner was the obvious next stop. It was the kind of place where everyone knew your name, and the coffee flowed until closing. The scent of roasts and gravy wrapped around us as we stepped inside.
We slid into a red vinyl booth, the tabletop worn smooth from years of elbows, coffee cups, and unhurried conversations.
Behind the counter, a wooden sign with faded gold lettering read:If You Leave Hungry, That’s on You.
Elia nodded toward it. “Truth in advertising.”
I’d figured that out the hard way after my first meal here when I got a Montana Burger the size of a saddle, piled high with bacon, crispy onions, and a slathering of huckleberry barbecue sauce, served with a mound of steak fries big enough to make a grown man reconsider his life choices.
“So the big portions are kind of their thing?” I asked.
“Yep. For forty years and counting,” he said, smirking. “Maggie doesn’t believe in empty plates.”
“Or human-sized portions,” I muttered, already mentally preparing myself for the feast ahead.
We ate, talked, and let the hours slip by unnoticed. When I insisted he keep me from overstuffing myself, he agreed to share. Elia barely blinked when I stole a bite of his roast beef as he was too busy loading his plate with mashed potatoes and every side the diner had to offer.
By the time we returned to the trailhead at Raven Bluff, where my car was parked, the evening had settled in.
He hopped out with me, despite my car being only a few feet away, and walked me over. Opening the door, he said, “Drive safe.”
