I blinked. “You think?”
He shrugged. “It’s … complicated. I don’t fully understand it yet. Someone reached out. Made some things right that shouldn’t have been possible. I showed up to hear them out.”
“That tracks,” I murmured. “Nothing about that place feels accidental.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. “It doesn’t.”
“And you?” he asked. “Flowers, obviously. But that wasn’t a small thing.”
I felt a flicker of pride cut through the tension. “Wedding. Montana. They’re flying them out.”
His head snapped up. “Montana?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Big one. Important family.”
Something unreadable passed through his eyes. “Huh.”
“Do you have a Montana connection?”
“Born there,” he confirmed. “Grew up there. Left when I could.”
I smiled softly. “Funny. I’m trying very hard to do right by a place I’ve never even been.”
“You will,” he said immediately. “I can tell.”
That certainty—that faith—did something to me. Made my throat tight.
Silence fell again, heavier this time. More intimate.
My gaze drifted to his hands. Big. Scarred. Resting loosely on his knees like they could do incredible damage—or incredible care.
Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out.
“I thought about you, too.”
His eyes lifted slowly. Locked onto mine.
“After,” I clarified, my face heating. “I couldn’t stop replaying it. The way you looked at me. The way you sounded.”
His breath hitched. Just barely.
“I … took care of myself,” I added, the confession trembling but honest. “Thinking about you.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move.
Then his eyes darkened in a way that made my pulse skitter.
“Jesus,” he murmured.
“I didn’t plan to tell you that,” I said quickly. “I just—after what you said, it felt unfair not to be honest.”
His body shifted toward me. Not touching. Still not touching. But closer now. Enough that I could feel the heat of him.
“That doesn’t make me think less of you,” he said. “It makes this … harder.”
“Harder how?” I whispered.
“Because now I know I’m not the only one imagining things I shouldn’t.”
