He steps inside, and suddenly the room feels smaller. Not in a threatening way—in a way that makes me hyperaware of how broad his shoulders are, how his presence seems to fill every corner. He doesn't touch anything. Doesn't move closer than necessary. But I can smell his cologne—something woodsy andmusky—and I have to focus on his words instead of the way his uniform fits.
"Keep the door locked," he says. "Chain too. If anyone knocks who you're not expecting, you don't answer. Call the front desk or the station."
I nod again. "I will."
He studies my face, and something in his expression softens. "You don't look like someone who scares easily."
I let out a quiet laugh. "I didn't used to."
"What changed?"
The question is gentle. No pressure. Still, my mouth goes dry.
"I trusted the wrong person,” I say. "And when I realized it, I left."
"You’re strong,” he says, matter-of-factly.
The certainty in his voice makes something in my chest loosen.
A memory flashes through my mind. I’m standing in front of my closet six months ago, hands shaking as I put back the red dress I wanted to wear and pulled out a beige one instead."You look better in muted colors,"Brandon had said that morning."You don't want people getting the wrong idea."
I'd worn beige for six months straight. Until two days ago, when I threw every beige piece of clothing into a donation bin and drove away.
Ross is still watching me, patient, like he has all the time in the world.
"I always thought I was strong, but Brandon made me feel weak.” I laugh bitterly. “He threw away a book I was reading once. It was just a library book about hiking the Appalachian Trail. I'd been dreaming about doing it, and he just threw it away. Like my dreams were trash. Said I was a fool for thinking I could do it in the first place."
Ross's jaw tightens, but his voice stays gentle. "Hiking the Appalachian Trail is an admirable goal. What made you want to hike it?"
The question surprises me. No one ever asked. Brandon certainly never did.
"My dad used to talk about doing it together. Before he died." I look down at my hands. "I know it sounds stupid—"
"It doesn't," Ross interrupts. "My mom wanted to see the Grand Canyon. Never made it. Sometimes I think about going for her."
Our eyes meet, and something clicks into place. Not just attraction. Recognition.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small card, setting it on the table. "That's the station number. My name's on it too."
"I know," I say, then I feel my face warm. "Your name, I mean. From your uniform."
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. "Right."
Silence settles between us, not awkward, just heavy with things unsaid.
"I won't stay long," he says. "I just wanted you to know I'm nearby tonight."
"Thank you," I say. "For earlier. For now. For everything."
He meets my gaze, and for a moment, the air between us pulls tight and electric, like the space is charged.
"You're welcome," he says quietly, and his voice has dropped lower, rougher.
He turns toward the door, then pauses, hand on the knob. For a moment, I think he's going to say something else. His jaw works like he's wrestling with words. Instead, he just looks at me for a long moment, and the intensity in those gray eyes makes my breath catch.
"Ashley," he finally says.
"Yes?" It comes out barely above a whisper.
