"Storms and faulty wiring aren't your fault," I say, rougher than I intend.
Her smile falters. She shifts her weight, and vanilla wraps tighter around me. "I'm not usually this much of a mess. It's been a long day."
"You're not a mess."
She laughs, quiet and self-deprecating. "You don't know me well enough to say that."
"Maybe not." I take a step closer. Not quite within reach, but close enough that her breathing changes. "But I know you didn't panic when that outlet sparked. You stepped back, assessed the situation, kept yourself safe. That's smart."
Her cheeks flush. She looks away, focusing on the books piled near the register. "I haven’t felt very smart lately."
"Why not?"
She hesitates, weighing whether to answer. Whether to let me in or keep the walls up. I wait, patient, because pushing feels wrong.
"I recently left a job in Denver," she says finally. Her voice is steady, but rawness bleeds through underneath. "A career, actually. PR work. I was good at it."
She pauses. I nod, encouraging her without words.
"But I caught a mistake, and my boss, also my fiancé, made sure everyone believed it was my fault. Work came first for him." Her voice wavers slightly. My jaw locks. Heat surges through my chest, sharp and immediate. "He took credit for everything I did right and blamed me for everything that went wrong. And I let him. I stayed. I believed him when he said I wasn't good enough."
My hands curl into fists before I force them flat against my thighs. I don't know this man. Don't know his name or his face. But I want to find him and make sure he never says her name again. Some guy had her and threw her away like she was nothing. The thought makes my jaw ache.
"That's not on you," I say, and the words are hard in my mouth.
"Isn't it?" She looks at me, eyes bright with hurt and hope tangled together.
"No." I take another step closer, near enough to touch now, but I keep my hands at my sides. Every muscle locks against the urge to reach for her. "You left. That's fighting back."
She shakes her head but doesn't argue. Instead, she crosses her arms tighter, like she's holding herself together. I want to pull her against me and tell her she doesn't have to carry this alone. But I stay where I am because I'm not sure she'd want that. Not sure I'd know how to stop once I started.
"The outlet’s dead. Why'd you really come back?" she asks.
I meet her eyes. Vulnerability stares back: hope, fear, trust. She told me her truth. Showed me her wounds. The least I can do is give her mine.
"Because I couldn't stop thinking about you."
Her lips part. Her hand trembles where it rests against her ribs. Her pulse flutters at the base of her throat. I track it like I'm cataloging proof she feels this, too. She sways forward. Just an inch. But I feel it like gravity shifting.
My hands ache to touch her. To cup her face and close the distance between us. To see how it feels to kiss her. Every instinct screams at me to move.
But I don't.
Not when she's raw from Denver. Not when she's trusting me with her wounds. She deserves better than me having my way with her when she's vulnerable. She should be mine to protect. Mine to—
I stop the thought before it finishes.
"I should go." The words taste wrong. My hands curl at my sides. They’re the only thing keeping me from reaching for her.
I take a step back, and leaving feels like ripping skin. The loss of her warmth is immediate and painful.
"Brooks—"
"Lock the door behind me." My voice comes out too rough. "And get that wiring checked."
She nods, but she doesn't move. Neither do I.
Thunder cracks overhead, loud enough to rattle the windows. She flinches in a full-body jolt she tries to hide by crossing her arms tightly around herself. But I see it. See the way her breathing goes shallow. See the fear flash across her face before she banks it.
