Page 142 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

“You thinking about what happens if Kelly sells?” he asks.

I hesitate.

Because yes. Yeah. I am.

“Clara’s been staying with her. Temporarily. I mean, she doesn’t fucking live here, does she? Shit,” I say finally. “She lives in Manhattan.”

“And?” Thatcher prompts.

“And what if she goes back?” I snap. “What if this place—me—what if I’m just a chapter for her?”

The word tastes bitter.

Willow’s expression softens.

“Did you tell her you don’t want it to be?” she asks.

Silence.

Because I haven’t.

I’ve told her I’m choosing her right now.

I’ve told her I don’t want to run.

But I haven’t told her I want her longer than now.

I haven’t told her I don’t want her to leave.

Thatcher shakes his head slowly.

“You’re not scared she’s pulling away,” he says. “You’re scared she has. That she’s leaving.”

“That’s not—” I start.

He raises a brow.

I exhale hard.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Maybe.”

Willow stands from the swing and walks closer.

“She’s not a mind reader, Greyson,” she says gently. “If you’re building futures in your head, and she’s trying not to assume anything, you’re going to miss each other in the middle.”

That lands too.

“Did she say something specific?” I ask.

Willow hesitates.

“She’s trying not to get ahead of herself,” she says carefully. “She doesn’t want to assume she belongs here if you don’t see it that way.”

My chest tightens.

Belongs.

Jesus.