He reached for her hand.
She let him take it.
But she didn’t lean in.
She didn’t melt.
She stood there on her porch in full daylight, aware of the open curtains, the watching town, the history between them.
Visible didn’t mean safe.
Public didn’t mean permanent.
And one afternoon with a wrench didn’t erase the night he’d told her no.
Eli clearedhis throat from the doorway.
Grace looked up from the sink. “What’s that face?”
“The face of a man about to tell his sister something she is not going to like.”
She sighed, dried her hands on the dish towel, and turned to face him. “If you broke my coffee maker, I swear to God?—”
“I didn’t break anything,” he said quickly. “I’m… moving out.”
The words landed softer than she expected. Still, her chest tightened.
“What?” she said. “You know you don’t have to.”
“I know.” He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, casual but watchful. “But I’ve got options now. A guy I knew back before everything—before I screwed things up—still lives here. Turns out he’s got a spare room.”
Grace frowned.
“And I’m on probation anyway. I can’t leave town. Figured I should stop imposing.”
“You’re not imposing,” she said immediately. “Eli. Your ribs are still healing. You shouldn’t be?—”
He smiled gently. “Gracie.”
She stopped.
“This isn’t about my ribs.” He smiled at her. “This is about me being a third wheel.”
Her shoulders stiffened.
Eli tipped his head, studying her. “The man’s fixing your railing.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something,” he said. “At least… the way he looks at you does.”
“You don’t know him like I do,” she said. “You don’t know how good he is at showing up when it suits him. How convincing he can be when you don’t know better.”
“That’s not what this looks like.”
“You weren’t here before,” she said, sharper now. “You didn’t see how it was. Sneaking around. Being—” She cut herself off, swallowed. “Avoided.”
His teasing faded. “I’m not saying you should forget that,” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t.”
