I won’t put up with Ford’s hot and cold behaviour, and I’m certainly not wasting my energy on someone who clearly doesn’t want me.
Not when I know what it costs to keep chasing someone who won’t meet me halfway.
Since that moment in the field with Jensen and Ford, I’ve done everything I can to avoid him. I don’t read in the garden in the mornings anymore, even though I’m still up early every day. I don’t peek out of thewindow when I hear his truck pull up in the evenings. And I know, without a doubt, that he’s avoiding me, too.
But if I want to make a real go of things here, if I want to build something that lasts, I need to get over it, over him. Need to power through, just like I’ve been doing these past few weeks. Even if the hollow ache in my chest suggests otherwise.
A sharp knock echoes through the shop, and before I can even call out, the door swings open.
Will steps inside, easy confidence written all over him.
“Oh—hi, Will.” I rise from the floor, brushing dust off my legs. “Thanks so much for coming. I really appreciate it.”
Missy, still seated on the ground beside me, looks between us with wide eyes, like she’s missed an entire chapter of my life.
I grin, nudging a stray paper aside with my boot. “I ran into Will again at the hardware store, and he’s been so nice, offered to help out with the shelves and things.”
Missy draws out an exaggerated, “Okaaaayyyy,” clearly suspicious, before scrambling to her feet. “Well, I guess I’ll just … leave you guys to it.”
She walks past Will, slow, and shoots him a pointed look, chin slightly lifted, brows narrowed. But Will doesn’t flinch, doesn’t take much notice, just smiles at her.
Missy turns to me, softer now, “Call me if you need me.”
I give her a small nod, and she finally exits, though I don’t miss the way she glances over her shoulder one last time before stepping through the door.
Will walks over with open arms, pulling me into a hug. I hesitate for half a second, but return it, loosely, cautiously. He seems genuine enough. Handsome, but not exactly my type. He’s been helpful, and unlike Ford, I believe that more friends can’t hurt. It’s comforting—this reminder that I’m not completely on my own.
He steps back, hands resting casually on his hips.
“Alright, boss. What’s the plan?”
I glance down at my notes, flipping through my sketches. “Shelves along the back wall, a reading nook over in the corner, and a counter here for checkout.”
“Sounds great,” he says, his hand brushing casually across my back as he moves past. “Put me to work.”
We get on with the work, bouncing ideas back and forth. He’s easy to talk to and full of suggestions, some good, some not so much. But there’s an edge to him. His confidence moves into arrogance, and there’s a casual flirtation woven into nearly everything he says. But I try to look past it, he’s been nothing but nice to me since I arrived.
“You know,” he muses, leaning against the unfinished counter he’s working on, “I think you just invited me over so you could boss me around.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You literally volunteered.”
A small smirk plays at the corner of his mouth.
“Doesn’t mean you’re not secretly enjoying it.”
I snort, shaking my head as I shove a pile of tools closer to the wall as we finish up for the day.
Will straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“How about a drink after this?”
I pause, considering.
It’s harmless. Friendly. And honestly? After weeks of stress, frustration, and a mess of emotions I still haven’t untangled, it sounds nice.
I nod.
