I look down at the note again.
Hope, he wrote. No pressure. Just hope. I fold it up, gently, and tuck it into the pocket of my cardigan. Then I finally take a bite of the cinnamon toast, and the sugar rush hits just enough to make the decision feel a little clearer.
I think it’s time I went to the barn.
Thirty minutes later, I come to a stop and get out of the car. The gravel crunches beneath my boots as I step out of Mom’s borrowed car and shut the door behind me. The sun is high now, and the scent of dust, hay, and saddle leather hits me the second I cross the split-rail fence that marks the edge of the property.
Every step I take toward the barn tightens something in my chest. My fingers are curled around the folded note in my pocket, like it’s some kind of talisman.
The barn doors are wide open, and I hear the familiar sound of hooves against wood, the low murmur of country music playing from a portable speaker, and the deep, occasional murmur of Liam’s voice.
He doesn’t see me at first.
He’s in the back of the barn, bent over the flank of a sorrel mare, brushing her down. His sleeves are rolled up again, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt, his jeans dusted with dirt. The light through the slats paints golden streaks across his back. He looks peaceful. Capable. Like home.
I don’t speak right away. I just watch. Watch the way he works. The gentleness in his hands. The quiet way he exists when no one’s watching.
Eventually, he senses me. He glances up. And stops.
For a long, quiet moment, neither of us moves.
Then he straightens slowly, brushing his palms down his jeans, and wipes a forearm across his brow. There’s a long rope of tension in his shoulders like he doesn’t quite know which version of me is walking toward him.
I cross the space between us, stopping just short.
“You left breakfast on my porch,” I say.
His mouth tips up at one corner. “Wasn’t sure if you’d open the door or throw it at me.”
“It was perfect. Thank you.”
His shoulders drop just a fraction, like he’s been holding his breath.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he says softly. “I’m trying not to push. Just show up. Like I should’ve before.”
I nod, glancing around the barn, then back at him. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”
“But you did.” His eyes meet mine. “That means more than you know.”
I swallow. “You said no pressure.”
“I meant it.”
Another silence stretches between us, but it’s not empty.
It’s full of every word we haven’t said, every apology we’re still figuring out how to make.
“I thought maybe…” I reach into my pocket and pull out the note, unfolding it between my fingers, “…you could tell me what happens next.”
Liam takes a step closer, slow and careful, like I might vanish if he moves too fast.
“I don’t know what happens next, Olive,” he says quietly. “But I know I want to be in it with you. With them.” His eyes drop to my belly. “Every hard day. Every beautiful one. I want to build something that lasts.”
My throat tightens. “Even if it’s messy?”
He chuckles under his breath. “Especially if it’s messy.”
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling.
