Page 64 of The Space Between
Just a quiet kind of showing up.
I walk barefootout onto the porch in the early morning light, when the first hints of pink, orange, and yellow kiss the horizon. The wood is hot beneath my feet despite the hour, as though it still remembers yesterday.
I’m sure it does. I do, too.
I glance at his cabin. His truck isn’t in the drive but the river hums through the trees. The sun climbs higher in the sky. And I remind myself, over and over again.
Still here doesn’t mean easy.
Still here doesn’t mean I’m safe.
Still here means he’s trying.
And that… that’s more than I expected.
By ten,I’ve cleaned the kitchen, remade the bed, and done a load of laundry I didn’t need to do.
By noon, I’ve checked my email, scrolled through an empty inbox, and closed the laptop twice without responding to the welcome message from the principal.
And by two, I’m pacing from one end of the cabin to the other.
I don’t have a text. He hasn’t knocked. I haven’t seen him today. And he hasn’t returned. I know he’s at the shop. It’s a day on the river which means that he’s open for business. And it’s his business. Of course, that’s where he is.
But I can’t sit here alone in the silence with the ghost of his hands on my skin anymore.
I’m going crazy.
I can’t donothinganymore.
I pull on denim cutoffs, a soft white tank, and throw my hair into a low braid. Slipping on flip flops, I walk, taking the straight path across the grass and down the gravel road that leads to his shop.
The July Texas heat sticks to my shoulders, thick and humming.
I round the curve, and the tree line opens. Reece is outside the shop loading gear into one of the shuttles. He glances up when he sees me and lifts a brow like he already knows exactly why I’m here. “Afternoon, sunshine.” He smiles, friendly.
I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Hey, Reece.”
He leans against the tailgate, wiping his forehead with a black bandana and nods at the shop. “He’s in the back. Said he was fixing the cooler, but he’s really just hiding from the noise.”
Thanks Reece.
I nod. “Thanks.”
As I pass him, he calls out, quieter this time. “Blakelyn, you’re the first person I’ve seen walk toward his silence instead of away from it.”
I pause, my breath hitching in my throat, then, I keep going.
The shop smells like cedar and sunscreen and the faint trace of engine oil. He’s crouched behind the counter when I step in,one hand braced against a cooler, the other twisting something with a wrench.
I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. The second he senses me, he stops moving. When he stands, I can tell he hasn’t slept either. His face is tight, drawn, and cautious. His eyes have dark circles beneath them. But he still causes my breath to catch in my throat.
His eyes find mine. Theyhold.
“Hey,” I say softly.
He nods once and replies, “Hey.”
We sit on the back steps behind the shop, our legs stretched out, with a mason jar of sweet tea sweating between us.
