“You’re telling yourself this is practical,” she says, quieter now. “But I see the way you look when her name comes up. You’re already emotionally compromised. And when this blows up in a year?—”
“It won’t,” I say, firmer than before. “I won’t let it.”
She laughs under her breath. “You said that last time. Don’t forget I was with you when you bought that ring. The sooner you stop lying to yourself, the better.”
“I was younger,” I say. “I listened to Dad when he told me I had to choose. I don’t believe that anymore.”
Owen watches us both carefully.
“You don’t get to decide who I marry,” I continue. “But you do get honesty. I’m not doing this blindly, and I’m not doing it to hurt anyone. I’m trying to fix something before it breaks completely. Maybe even rebuild it as something entirely different.”
“And if it breaks you instead?” she asks.
I meet her gaze. “Then I’ll deal with it. But I don’t run.”
Evelyn’s jaw tightens. For a second, I think she might argue again, but she looks away instead.
“I only got you back for a little while before Mom and Dad,” she says quietly. “Then I lost you all over again. I can’t lose you again.”
She said it before, but now that she's calmer, the words hit differently. Harder. I knew she was hurt when Chloe and I broke up, but I didn’t realize how keenly she saw my own pain.
I was oblivious to most things after I lost her.
“You won’t,” I say, softer. “I promise.”
She nods once, sharp and decisive. “I hope you’re right.”
Her gaze flicks toward the hallway that leads toward the stairs, toward the empty rooms we haven’t used in years.
“And now there’s a kid involved,” she adds. “That changes things for all of us.”
“Believe me, I’m not taking that lightly,” I say.
“Good.”
She grabs her coat and turns toward the hallway.
“I’m finishing up some orders, and then going to bed,” she adds. “We’ll talk later.”
The door to her room closes a moment later, leaving Owen and me alone in the kitchen.
Owen lets out a low whistle. “Well. That went… less terrible than expected.”
I stare at the hallway. “She’s not wrong.”
“No,” he says. “But neither are you.”
seventeen
CHLOE
If you’d toldme a week ago that I’d be packing up my entire life to move into the gorgeous old lodge on Whispering Pines Tree Farm with a proposal on the table, I’d have laughed.
Ten years ago, everything felt like it was borrowed time. “Next season”, “after the Christmas rush”, or “next semester”. It was a prolonged period of waiting, of hesitation, and emotions we kept buried as deep as we could afford.
Now? There’s still borrowed time. We’re planning a future that’s based on a one-year timeline. But there’s no hesitation or secrecy. There are still things we need to talk about, but we’ve been too wrapped up in the chaos to have deep conversations.
And we will.
