“Neither should you. It’s freezing.”
“I just needed a minute,” she tells me.
“Me too. Do you mind if I stand here with you?” I ask. She shrugs as a long bout of silence filters between us.
“Riley was right.” She finally looks at me, and the pain in her eyes guts me. “I have been talking about you. Constantly. Like some pathetic idiot who can’t let go of a guy she knew for a couple of days.”
“You’re not pathetic.”
“Then what am I?” She laughs bitterly. “What do you call someone who falls for a stranger and can’t move on?”
“Sloane …”
“It was never going to work. We live in different worlds. I have too much baggage. You have your life here, I have mine in Denver, and it was stupid to think …”
I cross the distance between us and kiss her. It’s desperate and hungry and painful in the best way. She makes a small sound of surprise, then melts into me, her hands fisting in my jacket, pulling me closer. I kiss her like I’ve been dying without her. Like she’s air and I’ve been drowning. Like this might be the last time I ever get to touch her. When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I’ve missed you,” I breathe against her lips. “God, Sloane, I’ve missed you so much.”
“Then why did you leave?” The question comes out broken, and it kills me.
“Because I thought it was what you needed. I saw how complicated your life was, and how you were struggling. I didn’t want to make it worse. I was scared that if I stayed, you’d feel obligated to choose, and I wanted you to be sure.”
“Sure, of what?”
“Of me. Of us. Of this.” I cup her face gently. “I didn’t want to be a rebound. Didn’t want to be the guy you ran to because you were running from someone else. I wanted you to choose me because you wanted me, not because I was convenient.”
Tears spill down her cheeks. “You idiot. I did choose you. I chose you every day this week when I thought about you constantly and missed you so much, I couldn’t breathe.”
“Sloane …”
“But it doesn’t matter.” She pulls away, wiping at her tears. “Because you’re right. It is complicated. I live in Denver. You live here. I have a life to rebuild, a job to figure out, and family drama to navigate. And you have your work, your farm, your family. How is this supposed to work?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“How?” Her voice breaks. “How do we figure it out when we can’t even be in the same room without it hurting?”
I don’t have an answer. Because she’s right. This is painful. Being this close to her and not being able to have her. Knowing she feels the same way, and still being separated by logistics, timing, and fear.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I know I don’t want to give up. I know that this past week has been the worst week of my life. I know that seeing you walk into that bar felt like I could finally breathe again. And I know that if we walk away from this now, we’ll both regret it.”
She stares at me, tears streaming down her face, and I can see her trying to decide. Trying to figure out if this is worth fighting for.
“I need time,” she whispers finally. “I need to figure out my life. Figure out who I am without Chett. Without anyone. I need to be okay on my own before I can be okay with someone else.”
It feels like she’s ripping my heart out, but I understand. I do.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Take all the time you need.”
“You mean that?”
“Kills me to say it, but yes.” I brush a tear from her cheek. “But, Sloane? When you figure it out, when you know what you want … call me. Please. Don’t let this be the end.”
“I don’t have your number,” she says, and there’s something almost funny about it.
I pull out my phone, open a new contact, and hand it to her. “Now you do.”
She takes it with shaking hands, types in her number, sends herself a text, making her phone vibrate, and hands it back. For a long moment, we just stand there, looking at each other. Then she leans up and kisses me one more time. Soft and sweet and goodbye.
