She tilts her head a little, not cold but guarded. “Cole.”
The name is soft on her lips, but the distance is unmistakable.
“I’m… sorry,” I start, but she holds up a hand.
“Walk with me?” she says instead.
I nod, relief loosening my chest a fraction. We fall into step side-by-side, heading toward the path that wraps behind the barns, towards the construction site. It’s awkward at first—two peoplewho’ve kissed, fought, loved, hurt each other, and now don’t know what the hell they’re allowed to be.
She tucks her hands into her pockets. I keep mine at my sides so I don’t reach for her.
“So,” she starts, glancing at the dirt road ahead, “you heard my little… meltdown.”
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “I did. Everyone did.”
She groans, covering her face. “Kill me now.”
“Ella.” I slow my steps, and she reluctantly slows too. “I didn’t hear all of it. Just enough to know you’ve been carrying more than anyone realized.”
She peeks at me between her fingers. “It was humiliating.”
“It wasn’t,” I say. “It was honest.”
Her hand drops. “I hate crying in front of people.”
“You didn’t cry. You fought, and defended yourself for the first time in years.”
She kicks at a pebble. “It was still messy.”
“Maybe,” I allow, “but messy isn’t wrong.”
She looks up at me then, and the exhaustion in her eyes makes something inside me shift—something steady, protective, and immovable.
“I didn’t know. I thought you handled everything so well. I didn’t realize you only looked okay because you were taking care of everyone but yourself.”
She exhales. “I didn’t want anyone to know how much it still hurt.”
“I wish you’d told me.”
“You didn’t exactly give me space to,” she replies gently, not accusing, just stating the truth.
I nod, throat tight. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I pushed you away because I panicked. Because I felt like I was dragging you into my messy life. My divorce. My past. My ex. The guilt. The age gap. I… thought I was doing you a favor.”
“Cole,” she mumbles, voice soft and trembling, “you don’t get to decide what’s best for me. That’s my job. You just get to love me and let me love you.”
The words hit like warmth and ache mixing together. We stop walking without meaning to. The quiet between us is no longer awkward, just heavy with everything we should’ve said sooner.
She gives a small, tentative smile. “Can we try again? Both of us? But better this time?”
I step closer, just enough that I can feel the heat of her skin without touching her. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Better sounds good.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “We really suck at this, don’t we?”
“Only a little.”
“And we keep hurting each other.”
“We can stop. If we actually talk instead of running.”
