The golf cart disappears into the trees, and I stand in my dark house alone, telling myself I did the right thing.
Telling myself this is what I wanted.
Telling myself that the ache in my chest will fade by morning.
9
Asher
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment on the golf cart over and over. The way Eva leaned in. The way her lips parted. The way I reached past her like a coward. I recognize I just took the easy route, but it had to be done for my long-term preservation.
If I started something with Eva and she inevitably went home to her real life and actual family, it would break me completely. Yet here I am, awake at three in the morning, regretting not kissing her, marinating in the shame of knowing I hurt her.
When dawn eventually comes, I drag myself out of bed and go through my morning routine on autopilot, waiting for her to knock and make the coffee. So I can turn her away.
Except… eight o’clock comes and goes.
She doesn’t show up.
I tell myself this is good. I wanted distance for safety and control. But I’m still watching the clock for her, noticing how quiet the house is, how the coffeemaker seems lonely on the counter.
I could make my own—I’m steadier on my feet now—but somehow, I just stand there, staring, willing the door to open.
At nine, I give up pretending to work and go to the window.
Eva’s outside, dragging more equipment out of the sugar shack. I watch her for longer than I should. She examines equipment, takes photos, wipes sweat from her forehead, stretches…
She’s not giving up on Pierce Acres, but does that mean she’s planning to stay? I force myself from the window and back to staring at code like I’m Neo in the Matrix.
A knock comes at noon.
My stomach swoops with excitement, knowing it’s her, and I hate myself for it.
“It’s me!” Eva’s voice, bright as always. That’s unexpected, and I don’t know how to respond.
She lets herself in. I hear her footsteps in the kitchen, the sound of the coffee maker starting. “Hey,” she says from my office doorway. “My morning got away from me, so I’m making the Joe a little late.”
“Working.” I don’t look up from my screen.
The energy in the room shifts. “Right. Well, I brought lunch. Did you know there are fresh empanadas up at Alex and Molly’s place?” She sets a container on my desk. The smell is incredible—beef and spices and homemade pastry.
I should thank her or at least look up and acknowledge her kindness like a normal human being. “Thanks,” I say, my voice flat and dismissive. “Anna makes these.” Come on, Asher.
I’m met with silence, of course.
“Asher.” Her voice is careful now. “About last night?—”
“Nothing happened last night.”
“I know, but I thought maybe?—”
“You thought wrong.”
More silence. I can feel her staring at me, but I keep my eyes on the screen. Code I’m not actually reading blurs together. All I can see is her reflection in the monitor, standing in my doorway in her work clothes, holding out kindness like an offering.
“Take it,” something in me screams. “Take it before it’s gone.”
But I’ve been here before. I’ve reached for something good and watched it slip through my fingers. Safer never to hold it at all.
