His thumbs brushed across my cheekbones.
“This isn’t about rescuing you. This is about finally getting the nerve to talk to the woman I’ve wanted since the first time she handed me a beer and smiled like she could see right through my grumpy bullshit.”
My eyes burned. I blinked hard, trying to keep the tears from falling.
“You mean that?” I asked.
“Sweetheart, I’ve never meant anything more.”
I kissed him then—soft and sweet and full of everything I couldn’t put into words. When I pulled back, the doubt that had been gnawing at my chest was gone. In its place was something warm and steady. Something that felt a lot like certainty.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go end this.”
We got to the roadhouse an hour before my shift. Briggs drove, his hand resting on my thigh the whole way, warm and grounding. I tried not to think about what was coming. Tried not to rehearse the words in my head.
Then I saw the silver sedan in the parking lot, and my stomach dropped.
“He’s here,” I said.
Briggs’s hand tightened on my leg. “You ready?”
I took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Thought about the woman I’d been a month ago—suffocating under expectations, disappearing into the life everyone else wanted for me. And I thought about the woman I was becoming. The one who’d packed her car and driven to a town she’d never heard of. The one who’d climbed onto a stranger’s lap and asked him to save her.
The one who didn’t need saving anymore.
“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”
Preston was sitting at the bar when we walked in. I recognized the back of his head, the rigid set of his shoulders, the way he held himself like he was bracing for something. He must have heard the door, because he turned on his stool as we approached.
That’s when I saw his face. He looked tired. Worn. Like the drive up here and the sleepless night had taken something out of him.
He stood. “Elsa.” His gaze dropped to our joined hands, then lifted back to my face. “Can we talk? Please. Just the two of us.”
“No.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. “Whatever you need to say, you can say it in front of Briggs.”
Preston’s jaw tightened. He looked at Briggs—really looked—and I saw the moment he understood. This wasn’t a game he could win through patience or logic. This was over.
“I just wanted to understand,” he said, turning back to me. “I thought we had something. I thought if I gave you time, if I showed you I was willing to wait?—”
“That’s the problem, Preston.” I kept my voice gentle but firm. “You were always waiting for me to become someone I’m not. Waiting for me to want what you wanted. But I tried to tell you—over and over—that I didn’t feel that way about you. And you never listened.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. His brow furrowed, like he was genuinely trying to process what I was saying. I’d seen that look before. The wheels turning. The calculations running.
“I know it doesn’t make sense to you,” I continued. “I know you thought we were compatible on paper. And maybe we were. But that’s not enough for me. I need more than logic. I need…” I glanced at Briggs, feeling his solid presence beside me. “I need someone who sees me. Not someone who sees a business arrangement.”
Preston was quiet for a long moment. I watched the emotions move across his face—confusion, hurt, and finally understanding.
“I never meant to make you feel like a business arrangement,” he said quietly. “I just thought if I was consistent enough, you’d see what I saw.”
“I know.” I softened my voice. “And I’m sorry it took me leaving for you to hear me. But this is my life now, Preston. This town. This job.” I squeezed Briggs’s hand. “This man. And you need to go home and find someone who wants what you’re offering. Because it was never going to be me.”
The finality hung in the air between us. I watched Preston absorb it—watched the fight drain out of him, replaced by something that looked almost like relief. Like maybe he’d needed to hear it this clearly all along.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Okay.”
He stood there for another moment, searching for something—the closure he’d driven all this way for.
“Take care of yourself, Elsa,” he said. Then his gaze shifted to Briggs. “Take care of her.”
