Brody and I didn’t rush.We didn’t tumble headfirst into passion like the movies said we should.Instead, we built something in the small moments.He’d show up with coffee out of the blue, I’d tag along to the farmers’ market and end up buying too many peaches, while his hand stayed warm and steady around mine like it always belonged there.We camped on different corners of the property, each trip another test for where the house might go, but sometimes I forgot to look at the trees or the slope of the sun because I couldn’t stop looking at him.
The mornings continued, when the barn smelled like wood shavings and something uniquely him, and I’d be at the picnic table red-penning edits while he planed a board smooth.The sound of his work, low, rhythmic, patient, stitched itself into the background of my days until it felt like music.There were afternoons when we’d pile into his truck with Jackson, headed to a lake to swim or as Jackson liked to call it, the summer of Ice Cream adventures, where whoever was around would huddle close together, laughing too loudly when sprinkles went everywhere.Evenings spent walking the ridgeline with our shoulders brushing, talking about nothing and everything.
We kissed, God, did we kiss, but he kept his promise.Nothing rushed.And still, somehow, it felt like more intimacy than I’d ever had in my life.
I was happy.So happy I almost didn’t trust it.
At Clara’s café, sunlight pooled through the front windows, catching in the steam rising from my tea.I was planning out my social media around my new author's account, something Marin told me I needed to do, when my entire body went on alert.That cold drag across my shoulders, like an icy finger drawing my attention to someone watching from just beyond the glass.
I looked up.The street outside was busy enough, cars passing, a couple walking a dog, but no one stood out.Still, the chill clung, making me tuck my arms around myself.
“Hey,” Clara said, sliding onto the stool across from me.“You’re making your thinky face again.”
I forced a smirk and pushed away the uncomfortable feeling.“Question for you.Can women get blue balls?”
She snorted so loud that a customer turned.“Excuse me?”
“Because I swear,” I muttered, lowering my voice, “this slow-burn thing Brody and I are doing is going to kill me.It’s sweet, it’s intentional, it’s… so him.But Jesus, Clara.”
Her laugh softened into something gentler.“Itissweet.Nobody does this anymore.People hook up and hope love shows up later.He wants you to feel safe.That’s rare, Cass.That’s good.”
I toyed with my spoon, heart thudding.“I know.And heisgood.He’s so good that I… I lo...”
The word lodged in my throat, but it was too late.Clara’s eyes went wide, a grin blooming.
“Youlovehim,” she whispered, delighted.“Oh my God.You love him.”
I swallowed hard, heat rushing to my face.The truth rang through me, undeniable.“Yeah,” I whispered, almost to myself.“I do.”
Before I could say more, my laptop pinged.An email from Marin.My stomach dropped and lifted all at once as I clicked it open:
Everything is signed.Final draft approved.Publication date confirmed.Early buzz is strong.We’re moving the release up.Congratulations, Cassidy.This book is going to be big.
I pressed my hands to my mouth as I read through all the details.My book.My name.A date.It was really happening.
Clara leaned over, eyes scanning, then squealed so loud that half the café turned.She threw her arms around me, and I let myself laugh, dizzy with everything at once.She was talking quickly, saying we had to celebrate, but I didn't hear it all.
Because I had a book coming into the world.My story, my truth.
And I was in love with Brody Palmer.
And I couldn’t wait to tell him.
The pub was buzzing when I walked in later, nerves jangling.Adam had mentioned Brody was hauling in supplies from the farm, and I wanted to see him.To tell him.
But the sight that met me at the bar knocked the air from my lungs.
Brody stood with a woman pressed too close, her laugh sharp, her hand brushing his arm like she owned it.Amber.The ex.The face I recognized from photos, from stories, from the couple of times she’d been back in town with him over the years.
She leaned in like a shadow sliding over him.My stomach clenched, panic surging.The old script wrote itself instantly:this is what men do, this is what Andrew did, this is what you’ll never escape.
I spun toward the door, ready to run.
Adam appeared like a wall, catching my wrist.“Whoa.Where are you going?”
I shook my head, choking on it.“He’s withher.”
Adam’s eyes flicked toward the bar, then back to me.His voice was calm, grounding.“Cass.He’s not.Look.”
