It’s Clint. Of course it’s Clint.
Because why wouldn’t it be? The one time I manage to get a little peace, here he comes, trotting down the trail like he owns the place.
I try to focus on my sketch. Pretend he’s not here. But I hear the unmistakable sound of reins being tied, followed by the slight rustle of fabric. I look up.
And there he is.
“Well, well,” he says, flashing me that crooked smile that’s way too charming for his own good. “What’s this? A peaceful moment all to yourself?”
I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed, even though my heart does that little flutter. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
He chuckles, a sound that rumbles through the air like thunder. “No, just happened to be out this way. Thought I’d stop by, see what you’re up to.”
I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Because you’re totally the kind of guy who just happens to wander down a trail, see someone sketching by the creek, and decide to interrupt.”
His grin widens, the same knowing look in his eyes that’s been making my stomach do flips ever since I showed up back in town. “Maybe it’s just a happy accident. It’s not my fault you’re ignoring the world.”
“I’m not ignoring the world,” I say, folding my arms across my chest, trying to act tough even though my brain is doing cartwheels. “I’m just enjoying some peace and quiet. You know, like normal people.”
Clint raises an eyebrow. “Normal people? I’m not so sure about that. Normal people don’t sit alone by a creek, sketching stuff. They’re more into…” He glances around dramatically. “I don’t know, playing games on their phones, or doing something… normal.”
“Well,” I say, smirking, “I’m not normal, then.”
Clint steps closer, boots crunching softly against the dirt as he peers down at my sketchbook. He’s so close now that I can feel the warmth of his presence filling up all the space between us. My heart skips a beat, and I’m pretty sure my pulse betrays me.
“You know,” he says, bending down just enough to get a better look, “you’re really good at this.”
I freeze. I wasn’t expecting that. Not from him.
“Uh, thanks,” I mutter, self-conscious all of a sudden.
Why is it that when he says something nice, I feel like I’m about to trip over my own words?
Clint’s still standing too close, his presence too large, and it’s messing with my concentration. I focus on my sketchbook, but I can’t stop noticing how his hand brushes against the cover, or how his breath catches a little when he sees the lines I’ve drawn.
“So, what’s going on with you?” he asks, the teasing smile fading just a little, replaced by something… quieter. “How’s the house? Settling in okay?”
I hesitate, glancing down at the half-finished sketch of the creek. I’m not sure what to say, or where to even start. The mess I’m trying to sort through?
Or the fact that I’ve been seriously considering staying here, even though every part of me knows it’s a bad idea. Even though Clint is part of the reason it’s so complicated.
“It’s… fine,” I say, more to myself than to him. “A lot of work, though. It’s been harder than I expected. There’s a lot of history here. And a lot of memories that are… not easy to deal with.”
Clint doesn’t say anything for a long moment. His face is stoic, his features a mask of calm that only makes me want to push a little harder. “I get it. And you’re selling, right?”
“I…” I want to say more. I want to tell him that it’s not just the house. That I’ve been thinking about staying here for good.
That I want Charlie to grow up here, in Colter Creek, even if that means dealing with Clint and the past I’ve been running from. But I can’t bring myself to say it.
“Yeah, that’s right.” I swallow hard.
Because what if he doesn’t want us here? What if he doesn’t wantmehere?
His silence makes it hard to gauge anything. Clint’s not giving me anything to work with. And that’s the problem.
If I’m going to tell him how I feel, I need some kind of reaction. Some sign that he… might actually want us to stay.
But right now, it’s like I’m talking to a wall.
