I hesitate to say anything, partly because he’s probably heard it a thousand times. But also because those words feel like a tripwire to something more, and this isn’t the time or place for that.
Acknowledging that logic doesn’t stop the urge to step forward and caress his cheek, knowing full well he’d press into my hand. What would his beard feel like against my skin? All I remember is smooth skin and the occasional five o’clock shadow. The memory hits so hard I have to remind myself where I am—and who I am now.
A heavy quiet settles between us, thick with everything we’re holding back. Is it just restraint, or fear?
Maybe I’m just imagining the tension because there’s so much unsaid between us from before. My heart can’t fully tell if the silence is his or mine.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Either way, standing here with him on this land feels like picking up a story in the middle, and I don’t know if I’m allowed to read the next chapter. Just that I probably shouldn’t.
“You know, that tree over there is probably as old as we are.”
His sudden subject change is jarring, but I’m eager to get out of my head. So I turn my head in the direction he’s pointing. There’s a giant evergreen that towers over the other rows of trees. I’m disappointed it’s not decked out in Christmas cheer.
“Has anyone ever asked to buy it?”
I don’t know why anyone would need a tree that size—maybe the Rockefeller Center? Perhaps it isn’t even big enough to qualify. If it were, how would you let something like that go? This farm has nurtured that tree for at least as long as I’ve been alive; that’s a lifetime of love and care.
“A couple of times, but it’s not for sale. It takes a tree decades to get to that size, so I’m not willing to let her go.”
The words land like a bruise.Not willing.My throat tightens, because once upon a time, he’d been willing to letmego.
The heat of his stare is hard to ignore, and when I let myself look back at him, pain swirls in his eyes. I recognize it because the same emotion clogs my chest.
We ended over a decade ago, and I can’t help but wonder why he’d hold on to that tree, but not to me. I’m not sure I want the answer. There’s a small part of me that wishes he’d confess he should’ve held onto me, too.
I wonder if he ever realized that when he chose this place, he taught me how easily love could be left behind.
Yes, Chloe—hold onto that part.
“You know, I really thought it might snow today,” I say, needing something neutral. Safe. Emotionless.
I walk toward the edge of the row, craning my neck to look up at the sky. It’s overcast, heavy with promise, but not a single flake in sight.
“I always liked the way the trees looked covered with sn?—”
My center of gravity shifts, and I take a step to right myself again. And wouldn’t you know it? I find a hole instead.
My ankle twists, and I squeeze my eyes closed as I prepare to fully humiliate myself as I land on my face, but strong arms prevent that from happening. For one reckless second, I let myself lean into him, before panic snaps me back.
His arms tighten, just once, before he loosens them like he’s afraid of what holding on might mean.
“Are you okay?”
He’s so close that I can smell the morning coffee on his breath. Of course, the first time I step back onto his land in years, it tries to eat my ankle and toss me into his arms like some kind of over-invested matchmaker.
If Abby sees this, I’m never going to live it down. If Phoebe sees this, I’ll never live it down either.
Fantastic.
“I think so,” I whisper, unsure where I fall on the mortification scale. Pretty high, I think. He grips my arms to help me stand again, his touch heating my skin despite all the layers I’ve got on.
“Put some weight on the ankle. I thought I saw it twist.”
“I’m fine, Aiden.” Determined to show him how fine I am, I stand straight, despite the shooting pain.
“Some things never change, I see,” he jokes, moving one of his hands to the small of my back to support me.
