“Better to be safe, than sorry.”
I nod and start the truck —which thankfully roars to life on the first try— and pull out of the parking lot.
For a minute, neither of us speaks. The heat slowly kicks in, and I turn it up, directing the vents toward her. She’s shivering, tiny tremors running through her body.
“You okay?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Just chilled.” But her voice shakes too, and I don’t think it’s entirely from the temperature.
I want to ask what’s wrong. Want to know what put that fear in her eyes. Want to tell her that whatever or whoever hurt her, they’d have to go through me to get to her now.
But I don’t know her well enough for that. We’ve exchanged maybe fifty words total over three months. I don’t have the right to her story.
So instead, I say, “That photo on my dash… that’s my son, Ben. He’s seven.”
She leans forward slightly, looking at the picture I keep clipped to the sun visor. Ben’s grinning face, missing two front teeth, his dark hair sticking up in every direction.
“He’s adorable.” Her voice softens, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
“Agreed, but he’s also a handful.” I can’t help but smile. “But he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Is his mom...?” She trails off, like she’s not sure if she should ask.
“Not in the picture.” I keep my voice neutral. “She left when he was two. Said motherhood wasn’t for her.”
“I’m so sorry.” And she sounds like she means it.
“It’s okay. We’re better off.” I glance at her. “Sometimes the people who leave are doing us a favor. Even if it doesn’t feel like it at the time.”
She’s quiet for a moment, staring out the window at the snow-covered streets of Valentine. Then, so quietly I almost miss it, she says, “Yeah. Sometimes they are.”
And I know that she’s not just talking about my Jenna.
She’s talking about someone who hurt her.
Someone she left behind.
Someone who made her believe she needed to make herself small.
And I hate that person in this moment.
The clinic comes into view too soon, and I pull into the parking lot, already wishing I had an excuse to spend more time with her.
“Thank you,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt but not moving to get out. “For the ride. And for looking at my car. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll have Jake call you with an estimate.” I’m scrambling for a reason to see her again. “And I can pick you up after work if you need a ride back to the bakery to get your car.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Willa.” I wait until she looks at me. “I know I don’t have to. But Iwantto.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and color floods her cheeks— not from the cold this time but from something else. Something that mirrors the heat building in my chest.
“Okay,” she whispers. “That would be... that would be nice.”
“I get off at three. Text me when you’re done with patients.” I pull out my phone. “What’s your number?”
She rattles it off, and I send her a quick text so she has mine. When her phone buzzes in her pocket, she pulls it out and looks at the screen.
