Page 151 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

The wind moves through the trees behind us.

The porch light hums faintly.

And for the first time tonight—this doesn’t feel like something slipping through my fingers.

It feels like a crossroads.

Like a line drawn in the dirt.

Like something worth standing still for instead of running from.

Something that might not be easy.

But might be ours—if we’re brave enough to fight for it.

Chapter 30

Greyson

Leaving Clara on that porch last night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Harder than walking away from the world.

Harder than releasing my work without my name attached.

Harder than building a life where I told myself I didn’t need anyone.

But she needed space.

And if I’m honest?

So did I.

I spent half the night staring at my ceiling, replaying every word, every look on her face when I questioned her loyalty.

The way she stood there—strong and shaking at the same time.

I almost lost her because I panicked.

Again.

It’s six a.m. when I pull into Kelly’s driveway.

That’s about all the space I can give her.

I’ve got a paper bag from the Lunchroom on the passenger seat—breakfast burritos, blueberry muffins, and coffee in a thermos.

Peace offerings.

But the food isn’t the point.

The point is that I can’t wait another hour.

I don’t use the front door.

Kelly and Evan don’t need to be dragged into whatever this is at sunrise.

So I circle around back to the spare room where Clara’s been sleeping.