That's when I see him.
Eli.
Across the street near the hardware store, talking to someone I don't recognize. One hand rests on his hip. Posture easy butalert. Like he's halfway in a conversation and halfway ready to leave it.
My pulse kicks.
I shouldn't stop. Should just get in my truck and head back.
My feet don't listen.
He looks different here. More contained than he does on the ranch. Not out of place—Eli never looks out of place—but pressed into narrower lines. Like the town demands a version of him the land doesn't. Same boots. Same jacket. But there's something sharper about the way he holds himself. Aware of eyes on him in a way he never is out in the pasture.
I shift the bag in my hand and start walking again.
Very aware of the distance between us.
Very aware of the way my chest tightens just looking at him.
I'm halfway across the street when a voice cuts in from my left.
"Hazel Clark."
Cole.
His tone is warm. Almost delighted.
"Twice in one week. People are going to start talking."
I stop. Turn.
Cole Maddox stands just outside the café, hands in his pockets, expression open and pleasant in a way that makes my shoulders tense automatically. He's smiling like we're old friends. Like our last encounter wasn't layered with something I still haven't figured out how to interpret.
I smile back out of habit. Polite. Guarded.
"It's a small town, Cole. Hard to avoid anyone for long."
"True enough."
His gaze flicks to the bag in my hand, then back to my face. Assessing. Casual. Interested.
"Good to see you settling in. Been making the drive to town pretty regularly now, haven't you?"
The observation lands like he's been keeping track.
I don't answer.
He shifts his weight. Settling in like he has all the time in the world.
"So you staying, then? Or is this still just a... temporary thing?"
The question hangs.
Before I can answer, the air shifts.
Eli has gone quiet across the street.
He hasn't moved closer. Hasn't interrupted. But his attention is on us now. Sharp. Unmistakable.
