“From what?”
“From getting hurt again. From trusting someone who’ll use that trust as a weapon. From wanting something I can’t control or predict or fix when it breaks.”
Zara nods slowly. “All good reasons. All completely human. And all completely useless if what you’re hiding from is worth having.”
“How do I know if it’s worth having?”
“You don’t. That’s the whole point.” She finishes her wine and sets the glass aside. “Love isn’t a business plan, D. You can’t research your way into it or protect yourself out of it. You just have to show up and see what happens.”
“What if I fuck it up?”
“Then you fuck it up. And maybe you learn something about yourself in the process. Or maybe you discover that the right person sticks around even when you’re being an idiot.”
I think about Rye’s careful boundaries, how she defined exactly what we were and weren’t to each other before slipping out of my apartment like smoke. How she treated our encounter like a business transaction—satisfying but ultimately meaningless.
“She’s not exactly asking me to stick around.”
“Maybe she’s as scared as you are.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me. I’d been so focused on my own terror of getting too close that I hadn’t considered she might be fighting the same battle from the other direction.
“So what do I do?”
“Whatever feels true. Not safe, not logical, not guaranteed to work out perfectly. True.” Zara stands and stretches. “And maybe stop trying to solve everything in your head before you give it a chance to exist in the world.”
Before I can respond, the back door opens, and Levi appears with fresh beers. “Mind if I join you, or is this a private counseling session?”
“Public counseling,” Zara says, accepting a beer. “I’m explaining to my stubborn brother that hiding isn’t a life strategy. Where’s Poppy?”
Levi leans down and kisses my sister before settling into the chair across from us. “Stormy offered to give her a bath while we have adult time. I wasn’t about to tell her no.” He takes a long pull from his beer. “I had a similar conversation with myself about two years ago.”
“Before Zara,” I say.
“Before I admitted I wanted Zara to stay.” His voice carries the particular contentment of someone who chose love over safety and got lucky. “When the girls’ mom died, I thought my life was this upside-down carnival ride with no stop in sight. Stormy’s big break loomed, Willow was so lost, and then there’s Zara wearing my coffee because I was such a fumbling cowboy.”
“My cowboy,” Zara says. “My life was as twisted up as yours was the day we met.”
“And now look at you,” I add.
“And now look at us,” Levi echoes my statement. “But we didn’t get here easily. Your sister gave up everything to live here. And when she’s ready to get back to making her type of music, I’ll do the same for her. She’s taught me we can have both lives and be happy. That’s something I couldn’t see or refused to see when I was married to Iris.”
While the words aren’t the same as what Zara said, they carry the same punch. Levi knows what it costs to open yourself to someone who could destroy everything you’ve built. He also knows what you get in return when you choose vulnerability over protection.
“Everything worked out.”
“It worked out because I stopped trying to control how it worked out.” Levi leans forward, elbows on knees. “You know what I learned? The right person doesn’t make you choose between your music and your life. They become part of both.”
“And the wrong person?”
“Uses one to hurt the other.” His expression darkens briefly. “But you can’t let the wrong people keep you from finding the right ones.”
We drink in comfortable silence. Around us, the night settles into its rhythm—horses moving through the pasture, wind through the trees, distant traffic on the highway that connects this peaceful space to the city where my real life waits, and Willow plays her song for me. It’s soft, melodic, and exactly what we need to finish the night.
“I should head back.”
“You could stay,” Zara offers. “The guest room’s always ready.”
“Thanks, but I need to get back.” What I need is to figure out whether last night was exactly what she said—two people caught up in the moment—or whether the way she looked at me while I played her song meant something more than physical release.
