“That’s your specialty.” She turns away like she’s done talking.
I should let her. I should respect the boundary.
But we’re standing in the dark with years between us and a fake relationship built on a real history, and I’m tired of letting the most important things in my life be decided by my worst moments.
I step closer, slow. “Laney.”
Her head tilts just enough to show me I’m not fully shut out.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight.” My voice drops, rougher. “I’m asking you to understand I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you. I left because I loved you and I was scared love wasn’t enough to keep me from ruining you.”
Her breath shudders.
For a heartbeat, the night goes still.
Then she turns.
We’re close now—close enough that I can see the freckles I used to count when we were kids, close enough that the heat in her gaze feels like a hand on my throat.
“This fake dating thing,” she says quietly, “is for the ranch.”
“I know.”
“Don’t turn it into closure.”
“I’m not trying to close anything.”
Her lips part, and that’s the end of my good sense.
I lean in. She doesn’t move away. The space between our mouths is a fragile, trembling inch.
“Tomorrow,” she whispers, and it sounds like a dare and a plea.
“Yeah,” I whisper back. “Tomorrow we’ll be believable.” My hand lifts on instinct, stopping just shy of her cheek.
Her eyes flick to it like she can feel the ghost of my touch already.
I tilt closer?—
A horse neighs sharp and loud from the paddock.
We both freeze.
Then she lets out a breath that might be a laugh or might be surviving. “Even the horses are tired of our unresolved issues,” she mutters.
“Bossy animals,” I say, because my heart is trying to climb out of my chest and I need humor to nail it back down.
She shakes her head, but the tension in her shoulders eases. Just a fraction. It feels like winning a war over an inch of ground.
Then my phone vibrates. A sensor alert. South line. And my body switches gears so fast it’s almost violent.
Delaney sees it happen—the shift in my eyes, the way my posture goes hard. “What is it?”
“Fence alarm.”
Her face drains of color. “Again?”
“I’m going.” I’m already moving before the last syllable hits air.
