Page 63 of At First Dance
“Always,” he says, warmth under the word. “One last thing, then I’ll get out of your hair. You don’t have to say much but say the part that matters.”
“The part that matters,” I repeat, tasting the shape of it.
“You know it,” he says. “You’re just stubborn. Must run in the family.”
“Must.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “She’s sleeping,” I add before I can talk myself out of giving him anything. “Fever broke. That’s all I’m saying.”
“That’s enough,” he says, relief bleeding through. “Thanks.”
We sit in the soft crackle of the line like kids on the porch steps after lights-out.
“You going to be around tomorrow?” he asks.
“Here,” I say. “Same as always.”
“Then be here,” he says. “On purpose.”
I nod even though he can’t see it. “Night, Crew.”
“Night, Ro.”
I end the call and set the phone face down. The house settles around me.
Say the part that matters.
The sky is fully dark by the time I walk back to the guest cottage. The gravel crunches under my boots, each step heavier than the last.
After an unanswered knock, worry fills me, and I open the door to be met with a snoozing Ivy lying across her bed with a guitar resting beside her that she borrowed from Bailey when she stopped by this morning. Ivy refused to rest in the main house, and before I could argue, she was waddling back to the cottage on her own.
Just the faint scent of peach lotion and the ghost of something that felt like home for a moment. I stand there, chest caving in slow breaths.
I want to carry her back to my bed, but I don’t want to press my luck like I did the night before. Instead, I grip the quilt on the back of the couch and lay it across her body. Gripping theguitar by the neck, I haul it over to the small table, resting it on top with more care than I usually give the musical instrument.
On the bed, Ivy squirms, gripping the blanket in her fist and tugging it closer to her chin. By instinct, I gently rest my palm against her forehead, testing her temperature, which is still warmer than I’d like, but I know sleep is the most important thing I can give her right now.
Gently closing the cottage door behind me, I take a steadying breath. Every part of me wants to be at her side, but she chose to spend it alone today. Something about me taking care of her last night shifted things between us.
The single-seater porch swing creaks in the wind.
I cross to it out of habit, dropping down hard enough that the chain groans. I stare out at the darkening pasture, elbows on my knees, hands laced together like I’m praying to the ghosts of all the mistakes I’ve made.
And I’ve made more than I want to count.
I never meant to be this man—the one who lets the best thing to happen to him wonder where they stand to the point they walk away. Unfortunately, that’s who I am.
The porch light flickers on beside me. I didn’t even realize I flipped the switch.
It illuminates the empty path to the main house.
I press my palms to my face.
Marissa was the first person I ever loved. The first person I trusted with the softer parts of me. And when she left… when she shattered everything we were with one choice, I learned not to offer those parts to anyone again.
Not without cost. Not without hesitation.
I learned that love didn’t mean forever. That sometimes people choose their dreams over you. That sometimes they gave up and never looked back.
Ivy wasn’t supposed to be anything. Just a beautiful stranger in a ditch. A problem to fix. Yet somehow, she cracked me wide open.
