And it’s enough.
He drives me home through the dark with the windows down, the warm night air rushing through the truck’s cab. We don’t speak much, but it’s not an awkward silence. It’s the silence of two people comfortable enough with each other to let the quiet breathe.
When we pull into The Rusty Spur’s parking lot, he turns off the engine but doesn’t move to get out right away.
“So,” he says, turning to look at me. “Same time next week?”
“I’d like that very much.”
He nods, then gets out and walks me to the side entrance. We stand on the small porch for a moment, as we did this morning. This morning, we were setting ground rules, and now we’re standing in the aftermath of something that felt effortless.
“Good night, Eleanor,” he says softly.
“Good night, Wyatt.”
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, gently, the way you’d want to touch something you’re careful with, and then he steps back. It’s our thing.
I watch him walk to his truck. He raises his hand in a small wave before climbing in, and I wave back.
Then I go inside, climb the stairs, and sit on the sofa in the dark.
I think about the little carved bear on his windowsill and how he caught fish himself this morning, planned a whole meal, and set the table with worn cloth napkins because that’s what you do when someone matters to you. About how he held my hand on the porch and didn’t ask for anything more than that.
I think about how, for the first time in my life, I sat across from someone and didn’t once wonder if I was impressive enough.
I just felt seen.
CHAPTER 14
Monday morning starts the way most Mondays do at The Rusty Spur, with me still trying to figure out Mavis’s filing system and failing spectacularly. I’m not sure who was crazier, me or her. I’m in the office, surrounded by folders labeled with things like This Is Important Stuff and That Thing I’m Supposed to Remember From 2019, when my phone buzzes with an email notification.
I almost ignore it, but the sender’s name catches my eye.
Gary Allen.
I thought I’d deleted his last email, put it out of my mind, but apparently, he’s not taking my silence as an answer, so I open it.
Ms. Whitfield,
I wanted to follow up on my previous message regarding our interest in The Rusty Spur property. I understand you may need time to consider such a significant decision, so I want to present our formal offer in person.
Our clients are prepared to offer you $3.5 million for the property, with flexible closing terms to accommodate your timeline. This is significantly above the current market evaluation and is a unique opportunity for you.
I’ll be in Copper Creek this Wednesday and would welcome a chance to meet with you. I believe once you see the full scope of what we’re proposing, not just for your property, but the entire Copper Creek community, you’ll understand why this partnership makes sense for everyone.
I plan to be at your establishment on Wednesday at 2 p.m. and look forward to our conversation.
Best regards,
Gary Allen
I read it three times.
$3.5 million.
I paid off the last of my mother’s medical bills six months ago and sold everything I could to keep the studio afloat. My credit cards are maxed out, and my savings account currently has $1,247.
And last week, without telling anyone, I closed the studio. Didn’t renew the lease. Hired a company to remove my personal belongings and put them in storage.
