"I'll be there."
He nods. Then, so quietly I almost miss it: "Good."
The word lands soft but certain. Warmer than anything he's said to me in days.
Something in my chest loosens at the sound of it.
I turn back toward Blaze, but pause when I feel Eli's attention shift.
He's watching me now.
Not openly. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But his attention is there, steady and intent, like he's measuring something new. Something that wasn't part of the plan this morning.
I meet his gaze and don't look away.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The space between us feels charged with something I can't name—something that's been building since the moment I rode up in the dark this morning. Maybe longer.
Then he nods once. Simple. Final.
See you tomorrow.
I swing up onto Blaze and turn him toward the ranch, dust rising softly behind me. The land stretches wide and familiar, full of quiet promise and quiet warning all at once. The cattle graze without concern, unaware of anything beyond the grass at their feet.
And for the first time since I came home, I feel like I'm not standing on the outside of my own life anymore.
Chapter twelve
Hazel
Two days later, I'm driving into town.
The road hasn't changed. Same turns. Same landmarks. I could drive it blind. But making this drive regularly again—after five years of barely coming back at all—feels wrong somehow. Like muscle memory that doesn't fit the person using it anymore.
The past two days on the ranch have been different, though. Not dramatically. Just... different. Eli includes me in morning decisions now. No testing. No edge. Yesterday he asked my opinion on rotating pastures like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I'm not sure what scares me more—that it's happening, or how badly I want it to keep happening.
I park along the side street near the square and kill the engine. When Mae mentioned needing a grocery run, I volunteered. I need an hour away from the ranch.
The silence in the truck feels heavier than it should. Like the town is holding its breath right along with me.
I sit for a second, staring at the storefronts I know too well. Nothing here is new. It's just watching me differently now. Waiting to see if I'm really back or just passing through again.
I step out. Boots hit pavement. The sound is solid, familiar. I adjust my jacket and head toward the market.
A couple of people I recognize pass by. I nod. Don't stop. Boundaries, not avoidance. I'm still figuring out the difference.
Inside, the store is exactly as I remember. Narrow aisles. Faint smell of charcoal and spices. Radio murmuring somewhere behind the counter. I grab a basket and move with purpose, scanning shelves, checking labels. Building the recipe in my head.
This part feels easy.
Food has always been easier than people.
I pay. Exchange brief pleasantries with the clerk. Step back out into the sun with my bag tucked against my hip.
The town feels busier now. More voices. More movement.
I take a breath and turn toward my truck.
