Her honesty made me chuckle.
She said the last part almost nervously, as though she knew how much it mattered.
Something deep in my chest loosened.
“I had to grow up fast,” I said quietly.
She didn’t interrupt.
“My parents died when I was twenty-three,” I continued. “Boat accident. I was suddenly responsible for my younger brother. He was still in high school. Needed rides, food, and someone to yell at him when he skipped class. I became the parent before I’d learned how to be an adult.”
Her expression softened with something tender but not pitying. Just present.
“I don’t regret taking care of him,” I said. “He deserved stability. And he’s doing great now—married, kids, stable job. But after my parents died, everything in my life became…serious. Heavy. I didn’t leave space for anything that wasn’t survival.”
She folded her hands, listening intently.
“And around that same time,” I added, “I was engaged.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “What happened?”
“She broke it off.” My throat tightened faintly, though the wound was old. “Said my world had become too serious. Said I didn’t laugh enough. Said I didn’t have room for a relationship while I was trying to be a stand-in parent.”
Sienna’s eyes softened again, but there was a flash of frustration too. “That seems unfair.”
“She wasn’t wrong,” I said. “I was hollowed out by everything happening around me. I didn’t know who I was supposed to be—not for her, not for myself. And after that… I avoided anything that felt like it required emotional investment.”
She leaned forward slightly, voice gentle. “For how long?”
I gave a quiet laugh. “Until now, apparently.”
Her breath stopped, and for a moment neither of us spoke.
I didn’t know when I’d last told someone all of this. Maybe years. Maybe never in this exact way. But saying it to her felt strangely natural, like she’d opened a door I didn’t mind walking through, as long as she didn’t slam it.
She reached out, resting her fingertips gently on the table between us.
“I’m sorry you went through all of that,” she said softly. “But… I’m glad you’re here. At the lodge. In Buttercup Lake. On this date.”
My pulse climbed.
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” I admitted.
Her lips parted faintly, a soft intake of breath.
The food arrived, breaking the moment, but the shift lingered between us—warm, tentative, real.
Sienna didn’t speak right away after I finished. She didn’t rush to fill the silence or smooth over the exposed places. Instead, she sat there with her fingers resting near mine, close enough to touch, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin, but giving me control over the space.
“That must’ve been a lot,” she finally said, voice quiet but steady.
“It was.” I swallowed. “It took years before things felt normal again. And even then… I think I stopped letting anyone close enough to matter.”
She tilted her head slightly. “So you just went full wilderness hermit.”
“Pretty much,” I said, a short laugh pushing out. “Turns out isolation is surprisingly straightforward.”
“But lonely,” she said gently.
