She swallows, snowflakes clinging to her pale lashes.
“I woke up early. I couldn’t stop thinking about last night. I wanted to clear my head. And my car.” She gestures helplessly to it.
“You weren’t leaving,” I say slowly. “Not this morning.”
She shakes her head, eyes bright.
“No. I wasn’t. I wasn’t planning to run again.”
That thread of tension inside me unspools, just a little.
“Then why come to your car?” I press, gentle but firm.
“Because,” she whispers, “I wanted it to be ready for whenever I go. Whether that’s today or tomorrow or—” she breaks off, voice trembling. “Or whenever you tell me you don’t want to see me.”
My breath leaves me in a rough exhale.
“I didn’t say that,” I murmur. “I’m never going to say that.”
“But I hurt you,” she says, hugging her arms around herself. “I could see it, and I did it anyway. I hurt us both for no reason. Every time I closed my eyes last night, I kept thinking about how I just shoved everything aside because I got scared.”
Her gaze flicks up to mine, regret glimmering with the faintest trace of hope teasing the edges.
“I was going to knock on your door,” she says. “To try to fix things. I wasn’t leaving yet, Reid. I swear.”
Something in my chest eases. I step closer to her until there is only a breath of space between us.
“Jodi,” I say quietly. “You really thought I’d let you just walk away?”
Her breath catches because she knows the answer.
“No,” she whispers. “I didn’t.”
I let the silence settle between us, warm despite the cold air biting at our faces.
“You should’ve come to me,” I say, softer now. “You don’t have to figure things out alone.”
Her lips part.
“I’m trying. I promise I’m trying.”
She looks so small in the snow.
I reach out, brushing a cold curl from her cheek and behind her ear.
“Come inside,” I murmur. “Get warm and we’ll figure this out.”
Her eyes soften like a spring thaw.
“Yeah?” she asks.
“I wasn’t planning on letting you go without a fight,” I say simply. “You’re mine Jodi. It’s as simple as that.”
Jodi
The walk back toward the inn is slow, our boots crunching through the packed snow. My pulse is louder than our footsteps.
He opens the door to the lobby and gestures me in first like I’m something precious. It’s neutral ground, neither my space or his.
