“I know,” I say softly. “But it’s honest.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “You scare me, Crew.”
I nod. “You scare me, too.”
Her laugh is a breath. “At least we’re consistent.”
The wind picks up, tangling her hair. Without thinking, I reach out and tuck a strand behind her ear. My fingers graze her skin, light as a whisper.
She stills.
“Crew,” she says, voice barely audible.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t.”
I drop my hand. “Okay.”
But she doesn’t move away. She just looks at me—eyes wide, pulse flickering at her throat—and every bit of her body language saysdon’t stop, but don’t rush either.
Her voice wavers. “You can’t keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Making it impossible to breathe.”
I swallow, throat tight. “Guess we’re both out of practice.”
She huffs out a laugh, shaky and soft. “You’re impossible.”
“You love impossible.”
“I used to,” she whispers. “I don’t know if I can again.”
“Then don’t yet,” I say. “Just…sit here with me. That’s enough.”
Her eyes meet mine. For a heartbeat—one single, suspended second—it feels like gravity tilts. Her hand brushes mine on the step, fingers grazing, hesitating.
Neither of us pulls away.
The contact is light. Barely there. But it’s everything.
When she finally stands, she looks dazed. “You should go before the town writes another article.”
“Let ’em,” I say quietly. “They’ll never get the good parts right anyway.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she goes inside.
I stay on the steps a while longer, staring out at the water, every nerve in my body humming with her.
When the light sweeps over the bay, I look up and whisper, “I’m trying, B. I really am.”
The following morning, the farm smells like coffee and the kind of trouble that comes dressed as peace.
I wake early, mostly because I didn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face — the way her breath hitched when my fingers brushed her hair and the war playing out in her eyes.
When I finally gave up and came downstairs, Mom was already in the kitchen, flour dusting her hands like snow. “Morning, handsome,” she says, without looking up. “Someone dropped off books for me.”
