I want to snap that “trying” isn’t the issue—being unreachable is—but I bite it back.
Zane’s eyes soften for a moment, only a moment, as he watches me process. “Ella… we can’t wait around forever. We needed to move.”
“I know,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “I get it.”
But inside, a slow panic unfurls. A bidding war means competition. Competition means uncertainty. And uncertainty means Cole could lose the one thing that might help him win Dawson Construction from Calista.
I look down at my plate, appetite gone, heart pounding in quiet, stubborn defiance.
If Cole wants this project, someone has to make sure he wins it. Because he deserves it. And because I’m not ready, not even close, to let this distance between us stay permanent.
The conversation shifts to ranch updates and Ava’s upcoming show, but it all blurs around me. My mind is somewhere else entirely, stuck on one man and the way he’s been slipping further and further out of reach.
I press my napkin into my lap, grounding myself, inhaling slow. Cole Dawson is not perfect. He’s stubborn, guarded, slow to trust, especially now after what Calista and Toby did to him, and he carries more weight on his shoulders than most men twice his age.
But he’s good at what he does, in the ways that matter—the ways people forget to look for.
And he deserves someone in his corner.
I lift my head and look at my family, all of them talking around me, making plans that don’t include him. Plans that will leave him behind if he stays silent one day too long.
Dad says something about reviewing bids next week, and Quinn’s already scheduling site visits.
“I still think he’s the right man for the job,” I say quietly, mostly to myself.
No one hears it, or maybe no one cares to respond.
But it’s fine, because this isn’t about convincing them anymore.
This is about me.
About the way my chest tightens at the thought of him losing something he would fight for, if only he’d let himself. About the way I can’t stop remembering how distraught he looked at the thought of losing his company to that witch, how focused he was in that meeting, how he looked like he actually wanted to take it… just didn’t know if he should.
About the way I cannot, will not, sit back while he disappears into the silence he uses like armor.
I set my fork down and straighten in my seat. If Cole wants this project, he’s going to have it. And if he’s too weighed down or too damn stubborn to step forward on his own… then I’ll push.
Not for me. Not even for my family, but for him.
Because something in me refuses to accept that this distance is the end of the story. I step outside into the crisp afternoon air, letting the screen door swing shut behind me. The ranch humswith its usual rhythm—horses shifting in the paddocks, distant laughter from the stablehands, the breeze rolling over the fields—but it all feels muted, background noise to the storm gathering inside my chest.
I pull out my phone. Cole’s contact stares back at me, mocking in its simplicity. I hit call. The line rings once… twice… three times…
And then it cuts to voicemail. His voice, that low, steady tone that always sounds like he’s two words away from a sigh, fills my ear.
“You’ve reached Cole Dawson. Leave a message.”
I hang up before the beep. I try again. And again.
Each call goes unanswered, straight into that quiet void where nothing exists except the space between us—space he refuses to bridge.
By the fourth attempt, my frustration coils tight in my throat.
He’s avoiding me. He’s not busy or overwhelmed. Just plain avoiding me.
I tuck the phone into my back pocket, march down the steps, and head for my jeep. Gravel crunches under my boots, each step faster than the last.
“Ella?” Tessa calls from the kitchen window. “Where are you going?”
