Just for a second.
One breath. One sob. One collapse into his arms.
Monte held me like I was fragile and fierce all at once. Like he knew I could burn a city down but still needed shelter when thesmoke cleared. His hands stayed steady—one at my back, one at the nape of my neck—and he didn’t say a word.
Because Monte understood silence, too.
We stood like that for what felt like hours, the weight of the week—of all the weeks—pressed between us. Not romantic. Not for me. Not yet. Just ... real.
Eventually, I pulled back.
I wiped my eyes, smoothed my dress, gathered the shards of myself like broken china.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be.”
“I just—I thought maybe he was different.”
“I know.”
“But he disappeared.”
Monte looked down at me, jaw tight. “Then he didn’t deserve you.”
I wanted to believe that. But part of me still ached. Still hoped. Still wondered what would’ve happened if Silas had just ... stayed.
I stared at Monte, and for a moment—a terrible, weak moment—I thought,Maybe this is it.
Maybe this is what I was supposed to want.
The man who stayed.
The man who never disappeared into shadows.
The man who didn’t make me ache or second-guess or unravel.
He was here. Always had been. Calm and capable, devoted in a way that felt like permanence. The kind of man you built a life with. The kind of man who didn’t ignite fires but laid foundations.
And wasn’t that the dream?
Wasn’t that what smart women chose?
Someone safe.
My hand trembled at my side. I stared at it, then looked up at him. He was so close. His eyes warm. Steady.
I could see it, just for a second—the version of my life where I chose him. Where I let the quiet goodness win. Where I stopped chasing lightning and let the storm pass me by.
I leaned forward.
His breath caught.
And I kissed him.
It was soft at first. Gentle. Like I was asking a question I didn’t know how to phrase. His big, strong hands moved to my waist, his mouth moving with mine, slow and sure and careful.
But that was just it.
