His head tilts slightly. Nostrils flaring.
He can smell me.
Even through the glass, even through the snow, he’s caught my scent. I watch his shoulders go rigid, watch his easy stride falter, watch him look up—right at my window—like he knew where to find me.
The porch light catches his face.
Sandy brown hair a little darker than I remember, still falling across his forehead. Jaw sharper now, cheekbones more defined, the softness of youth carved away into something devastating. And those warm hazel eyes, the ones I used to get lost in, going wide as they find me standing at the window like a ghost.
We stare at each other.
Snow falls between us. Thick and silent.
I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t do anything except stand here while a decade of carefully buried feelings claws its way back to the surface.
Emotions flicker across his features. Surprise, something that looks almost like hunger, then something tired andcautious before he locks it down. Not walls, exactly. More like... resignation. Like he’s been waiting for this and is exhausted by the fact that it’s finally happening.
He gives me a single nod.
Just a nod.
No smile. No wave. None of the sunny warmth that used to pour off him. Polite acknowledgment, like I’m anyone. Like I’m nobody.
Like I didn’t break his heart.
He sets the casserole dish on the porch railing, turns around, and walks back to his truck without looking back.
I watch his taillights disappear into the storm, my hand pressed flat against the cold glass like I could somehow reach through it.
Ten years.
Ten years, and Theo Holt can still take me apart with a single look.
Below me, the front door opens and closes.
“Cara, honey?” Grandma’s voice is carefully neutral. “That was Theo. Returning my baking dish.”
I don’t answer. I’m not sure I can.
“He knows you’re here now.” A pause. Heavy with meaning. “I imagine the other two will know by morning.”
Her footsteps retreat toward the kitchen.
I sink onto the edge of my childhood bed and press my palms against my eyes.
So. Here’s where I am.
Theo Holt is somehow even more gorgeous than he was at eighteen. His scent still makes me feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. He looked at me like I was a stranger, which I’ve earned, and my stupid heart is still pounding five minutes later.
Tomorrow, Lucas and Nate will know I’m back.
Tomorrow, the whole town will be buzzing about the Donovan girl who finally came home.
Tomorrow, I’ll have to figure out how to exist in the same zip code as three men who I used to love. Who I probably still love, if I’m being honest with myself. Which I try to avoid whenever possible.
But tonight?
Tonight, I lie back on my childhood bed and stare at the ceiling and accept the truth I’ve been outrunning for ten years.
