That the generator’s still working. That the roof isn’t leaking.
But the truth hums under my ribs like a second heartbeat.
I came because I wanted to see her again.
A faint movement in the kitchen window catches my eye.
Raine.
Hair loose, damp from a shower, wearing an oversized T-shirt and leggings. She moves through the kitchen like someone trying not to think too hard—setting a mug on the counter, staring out the window toward the vines.
I shouldn’t be here.
But my hands stay on the steering wheel, knuckles white.
When she leans closer to the glass, the sunlight hits her hair, and it glows like liquid gold. Even from here, I can imagine the way she smells—warm, sweet, wild honey and rain.
The words come before I realize I’ve thought them.
My chest tightens.
She glances toward the ridge.
For one dizzying second, I think she’s looking straight at me.
My breath catches.
Then she turns away, completely unaware that I’m sitting less than a hundred yards from her house, watching like a man who’s forgotten how to stop.
The phone buzzes on the seat beside me.
Calder.
I let it ring twice before answering.
“You alive?” he asks.
“Barely.”
“You sound like you haven’t slept.”
“I haven’t.”
“Right,” he says dryly. “Because you werechecking roads again,weren’t you?”
I stare at the house. “Something like that.”
He sighs. “Tristan, whatever this is—let it go. You scare the shit out of people when you start acting like Dad.”
That hits harder than it should.
I end the call without answering.
When I look back toward the house, Raine’s gone from the window. The kitchen light flickers off.
For a moment, all that’s left is the valley, silent and waiting.
I start the engine, but I don’t drive away.
