The words come out before I can stop them. Her expression flickers—surprise, maybe hurt—and I curse myself.
"That's not—I didn't mean—"
"No, I get it." She sits up, reaching for her sweater. "I'm not your usual type. This isn't your usual situation."
"That's not what I said."
"It's what you meant."
"Madison." I catch her hand before she can pull the sweater on. "What I meant is that I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. You're not—this isn't—" I exhale. "I don't do this."
"Do what?"
"Care."
The word lands between us like a grenade. Her eyes widen slightly.
"You care?"
"I don't know." I release her hand and run my fingers through my hair. "Maybe. I don't know. That's the problem."
She's quiet for a moment, studying me with those eyes that see too much.
"For the record," she says finally, "I don't know what I'm doing either."
"No?"
"I have that rodeo in Heart River. I paid a lot of money for that spot. It's one of the biggest events of the season since it lasts for five days."
The words hit harder than they should. I knew she was leaving. I've known since the beginning. That was supposed tomake this easier. A built-in expiration date, no expectations, no complications.
It doesn't feel easier.
I nod slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know." She pulls the sweater on, and I try not to mourn the loss of all that bare skin. "Something. Anything."
Silence stretches for too long. I sigh, running a hand through my hair again. "New topic. How about I go shovel and you work on something to eat?"
She looks at me for a long moment. Then she nods. "Okay."
Chapter 7
Madison
The tomato soup simmers on Jake's fancy stove, filling the kitchen with the smell of roasted tomatoes, basil, and a hint of cream. I've been at this for two hours now. Partly because good soup takes time, partly because I needed something to do with my hands while my brain processes everything that's happened.
I give the soup another stir and check on the rolls rising under a clean dish towel. They're almost ready for the oven: soft, pillowy rounds that will be perfect for dunking. Comfort food. The kind of meal you make when everything feels uncertain and you need something warm to hold onto.
Jake left right after our awkward conversation on the couch. Said he needed to check on the road conditions too, see how much progress the plows had made. We both knew he was giving us space. Giving me space.
I should be planning my exit. The storm has finally broken, pale sunlight streaming through the windows for the first time in days. The roads will be passable soon. I have a schedule, a route, a rodeo in Heart River that I've been counting on attending for months.
Instead, I'm making soup.
