“Because if that’s why,” I said gently, “you can say it. I won’t be angry. I’ll know my place and stick to it.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “That’s not fair. You think I don’t want to work with you because of one night?”
I searched her face. “Do you?”
She looked down, scuffing her boot against the gravel. “I think… that night complicates things.”
Complicates.
A neutral word. A safe one.
But her voice cracked almost imperceptibly, giving her away.
I stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully. “Complicated isn’t the same as bad.”
She let out a shaky breath. “Complicated is how people get hurt.”
I felt the truth of that settle between us.
She wasn’t pushing me away because she didn’t want me around.
She was pushing me away because she was scared.
Scared of us.
Scared of feeling too much.
Scared that she couldn’t run if she let this get real.
I softened my voice. “I’m not asking for a declaration. I just want to know if you’re trying to draw a line.”
“I’m not trying to draw anything,” she said, frustrated. “I’m trying to think clearly. And every time I look at you—”
She cut herself off, cheeks flushing.
“Every time you look at me… what?” I asked.
Her arms crossed herself, as if bracing against a wind that wasn’t there. “I lose my ability to think.”
Heat curled low in my stomach.
I took another step forward. “Sienna…”
She backed up half a step. Not because she wanted space, but because she was afraid of the opposite.
“I don’t want to mess things up,” she whispered. “Partnerships, guiding assignments, the whole season… It’s too important.”
“It is,” I said quietly.
Her head snapped up.
I held her gaze.
Her mouth parted. “You…”
I didn’t move closer or touch her. I didn’t push. I just let the truth sit there.
She looked overwhelmed, and I felt bad.
