Apparently, he still hadn’t learned that lesson.
He leaned toward the fence to check out a post. As he gave it a tug, the section swayed.
He straightened, frustration flaring across his face. “Something else that will need to be added to my to-do list.”
Without thinking, Millie reached out and laid her hand on his arm.
It was a simple touch. Meant to steady. Meant to sayit’s okay.
But Caleb froze beneath her hand, his muscles locked. Millie felt the heat through his jacket, the solid strength she remembered too well.
The world narrowed to the space between them, the cold suddenly irrelevant.
She felt that same pull she’d tried to convince herself belonged to another life. Another version of them. Not something that could exist here.
Caleb turned his head slowly. Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
The past pressed in without permission—late nights, shared laughter, the easy way they’d fit together once. The way it had felt safe to lean into him. The way it had hurt when that safety disappeared.
Millie pulled her hand back as if burned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have?—”
“It’s fine,” Caleb said at the same time.
They both stepped back. Too fast. Too careful.
Millie folded her arms against the cold and forced herself to breathe evenly. Her pulse took longer to settle.
She couldn’t afford this. Not the hope. Not the ache. Not the dangerous thought that maybe things could be different now.
She’d already learned how quickly trust could turn into heartbreak.
She wouldn’t let that happen again.
Millie watched Caleb carefully. Watched as he cleared his throat. As he turned his attention back to the piles of leaves, his movements slower now, more controlled.
“I just want to finish this before tomorrow, so I can check it off my list,” he told her.
“I know. You’ve always loved lists.” Millie’s voice sounded steadier than she felt. she probably shouldn’t have brought up the past, but the statement had slipped out, reminding herself—and Caleb—that she was familiar with him, probably more so than he’d like.
“I have,” Caleb finally said.
“You’re doing a lot. More than most people would. Running security, taking care of the kennel, making sure everyone here feels safe—all while trying to keep the shelter running smoothly. You’re carrying everything on your shoulders again.”
He didn’t look at her. “It’s what needs to be done.”
“That doesn’t make it easy.”
He paused, then nodded once. “No, it doesn’t.”
She watched him finish filling the bag of leaves. She sensed the weight he carried—not just the leaves, or zoning, or budgets.
He held the responsibility of everyone inside the walls of Refuge Cove.
Seeing his humanity made something soften in her chest.
Admiration, she realized. Not nostalgia. Not longing. Something deeper and more dangerous.
