I nod. Keep walking toward the stairs, dress bag swinging. My heart's already picking up speed.
"Scout?"
I stop. Look back.
"Whatever's going on with you two—" He shakes his head. "He's miserable. For what it's worth."
"Yeah well, me too."
I climb the stairs but at the top I pause. The workshop door's open. Holt's at the workbench, organizing tools. His shoulders are tight. Jaw set.
I could keep walking. Go to my room, text Grant back, get ready for tomorrow like nothing's changed.
I turn toward the workshop instead.
He looks up. Sees me. Sees the shopping bag.
Something crosses his face—hope maybe, or longing, or regret. Our eyes meet and my heart's trying to punch through my ribs. For a second I think he might say something. Might finally say something.
"Scout."
"Yeah?"
A long pause. So long I start to think he's changed his mind. He sets down the wrench, turns to face me fully. His mouth opens.
Then closes.
"Never mind."
The words are so quiet I almost miss them. He turns back to the workbench, picks up the wrench again, and I can see it in his shoulders—he's forcing himself not to look at me. Forcing himself to let me go.
I stand there. Waiting. Giving him the chance.
He doesn't take it.
"Okay then," I say. My voice cracks on the second word but I don't know if he hears it.
I turn. Walk to my room. Close the door. Sit on the bed with the dress bag in my lap and pull out my phone. Grant's text is still there, patient and uncomplicated. Still on for tomorrow?
I could ignore it. Could keep myself locked in this limbo where I'm waiting for Holt to wake up and realize I'm not made of glass.
Or I could move forward. Could choose easy instead of hard. Could prove that I'm capable of more than drowning in the silence of a man who won't fight for what we both want.
My thumbs move before I can overthink it.
Saturday sounds great. 10 AM?
The response comes almost immediately.
Perfect. Looking forward to it.
I set the phone down. Pull the sage dress from the bag. Hold it up to the fading light. It's beautiful. It's mine. It's exactly what I needed.
Even if what I needed isn't what I want.
I hang it on the back of my door where I can see it—proof that I'm taking care of myself, that I'm moving forward, that I'm making choices. Good choices. Healthy choices. The kind that prioritize my own wellbeing over waiting around for a man who can't believe I know my own mind.
I should feel proud. Maeve would be proud. Finn would probably be relieved. This is the mature thing, the smart thing, the thing that protects my heart instead of offering it up to someone too scared to take it.
