She looked at it for a moment, one beat and another, before sliding her fingers into mine.
Something in my chest loosened.
We walked toward the truck in silence, but it wasn’t the uneasy kind. It was the kind that hummed with everything unsaid, everything almost said, everything waiting.
When we reached her door, she hesitated, still holding my hand, thumb brushing lightly along the ridge of my knuckle.
“So,” she said, voice low, “this was… something.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “It was.”
She looked up at me, eyes bright and uncertain. “Carson, I’m trying. I’m really trying not to run.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
The corner of her mouth lifted. “You’re going to make this hard, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
“That’s rude,” she whispered.
“It’s honest.”
She swallowed, breath catching faintly, then released my hand slowly, fingers trailing until the very last second.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sienna
The morning after our date, I woke up feeling… odd.
Not bad odd. Not panicked, odd. Just—lighter. As if some internal spring that had been wound too tight had finally loosened during the night. Maybe it was the sleep. Maybe it was the dinner. Maybe it was the way Carson had held my hand like we were something that could be real and not just a wild scenario the Sunshine Breakfast Club created in a group chat over cinnamon rolls.
Either way, I woke up with a flutter in my stomach and a thought that should’ve terrified me but didn’t:
I want to see him again.
Unfortunately, I didn’t even have time to sit with that because Violet knocked on my cottage door at seven in the morning, holding a small basket.
“Here,” she said, shoving it at me.
“What is—Dear God.” The basket was heavy and warm and smelled like sugar and butter and the kind of magic only Violet’s kitchen produced. “What is this?”
“Your morning provisions,” she said, as though that explained everything. “Mom said breakfast is ready in the lodge. But you…” She eyed me up and down. “You look like you have plans to tell me everything.”
“I do not have plans,” I said, definitely lying.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Violet smirked. “I’m not asking questions.”
“You’re absolutely asking questions.”
“I’m only asking how the date went.”
“I knew it,” I muttered.
She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, because personal boundaries were more of a suggestion in our family.
“Well? Was it good?”
