Page 108 of The Space Between
He baked me cookies.
My chest swells because no one but my grandma has ever baked for me.
I take a bite. Crispy on the edges and still raw in the middle, but I like cookie dough so I think it’s perfect.
He triedto bake me freaking cookies.
“Best cookie I’ve ever had,” I say after I eat the whole thing.
His face lights up like I handed him the moon and my heart threatens to leap clean out of my chest at how absolutely gorgeous Gruene Cavanaugh is when he smiles.
Holy shit…
We eatin silence after that, both of us sitting on the tailgate of his truck, legs swinging over the edge like we’re kids again. He tells me about some tubing group from Waco who clogged up thedock this morning. I tell him about the seventh-grade boy who asked if I was married, then called me “Miss Fat-Bottom Babe” under his breath
His jaw locked at that. Hard… and I liked it.
He didn’t pretend not to care. He didn’t try to hide the fact that a twelve-year-old boy noticing my figure wasn’t really something he wasn’t affected by.
We don’t talk about us. We don’t talk about anything important. We just talk.
As we do, he reaches over and brushes a crumb off my cheek with his thumb like it matters to him that I feel seen.
For now, that’s enough.
When he walksme across the street back to the school, I don’t want to let go of the thread that’s stretching between us.
Stopping at the edge of the curb, I glance up at him. “You working late again?”
“I’ll probably be done about 6,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair. “We have to patch some tubes and restring some vests tonight. We have a big group coming in tomorrow. Reece will probably stay a bit, and then, I’ll probably restock. Do inventory. It’s going to be a pretty late night.”
I nod. He’s never shared that much with me before.
I sense something tugging at him… something that’s still sitting in the middle of his chest. Finally, he tugs at the base of his neck and says it. “You free Saturday morning?”
That’s three days from now.
It’s also the day I don’t teach.
“It’s the weekend.” I arch a brow at him. “Why?”
He shifts his weight. “I want to show you something.” I wait but he doesn’t elaborate. Something in his voice—tight, like he’s offering me a sliver of something sacred.
I nod. “I’m free.”
He slightly smirks and I forget how to breathe as he mutters, “It’s a date.”
A date… a date with Gruene.
I have a date with Gruene. An actual date… if he shows… if he doesn’t run.
Saturday morning,I’m waiting outside on the porch when he drives up from the shop.
He doesn’t say much after he parks in front of my cabin and leaves the engine on. He just hands me a coffee and tells me to wear something I can walk in.
We drive for twenty minutes—away from the river, up through winding hill roads and dry fields with nothing but oak trees and the distant hum of crickets. After a bit, we pull off onto a gravel turnout near a locked gate with rusted hinges and a private property sign.
I glance at him. He’s tense. “I used to bring them here,” he says. “Before—” He doesn’t finish. He just turns off the engine, gets out, unlocks the gate, and waits for me to join him.
