It's about the shed. The porch. The way he's been holding himself back.
I open the truck door and step out. The evening air is cooler now, carrying the smell of pine and earth. His cabin sits quiet, a light on inside.
He's in there.
And I'm out here.
My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my throat.
This is the choice.
Not someday. Not when I'm sure. Right now.
I cross the gravel toward his door, each step deliberate, and don't let myself slow down.
Chapter twenty-seven
Hazel
Idon't knock.
The cabin is quiet except for the low hum of the overhead light and water running in the sink. Eli stands with his back to me, sleeves shoved past his elbows, hands braced on the counter.
He goes still.
"Hazel." He doesn't turn around. Just says my name like he's testing whether I'm real.
"I need to talk to you."
He turns slowly. His eyes search my face—guarded but open, wary but wanting. The tension in his jaw could crack teeth.
"Okay," he says.
I step inside and close the door behind me. The click of the latch sounds too loud in the quiet.
"Red Fern Stables called," I say. "They want to board three horses. Asked about Fall Classic."
Something flickers across his face. Not quite relief.
"That's good," he says carefully.
"Yeah." I swallow. "Mae said Cole's still pressuring her. But if we prove the ranch works—if the show goes well—she won't have to sell. Which means I need to stay. Through Fall Classic at least."
He waits. Doesn't move. Doesn't give me anything.
"But that's not why I'm here," I say.
His jaw works. "Why are you here?"
"Because I can't promise you forever right now." The words come out steadier than I feel. "I can't tell you I'll never leave, that I'll never get scared again."
I watch his shoulders tense, watch him brace for the blow he thinks is coming.
"But I can promise you tonight," I continue. "And tomorrow. And every day I wake up and choose to be here. I can't give you certainty about next year. But I can give you all of me, right now, without holding back."
He's so still I can see his pulse jumping at his throat.
"Leaving you was the worst thing I ever did," I say, voice cracking. "And I'm not asking you to forget that. I'm asking you to let me choose you now. Fully. Not halfway. Not one foot out the door."
