Straight to it. No small talk.
Good.
“I don’t like the atmosphere at the ranch,” I tell her, saying exactly what I mean, just what I’ve been thinking.
Her expression shifts. Confusion first, then cautious. “The atmosphere?”
“Yes.”
She swallows. “Did something happen?”
I hold her gaze.
“Not like that,” I say. “Nothing’s on fire. Animals are fine. Fences are still standing.”
She exhales, relief flickering across her face. Then it’s immediately replaced by tension again, because she knows that means it’s more.
It’s harder.
“What then?” she asks.
I take a breath. This is the part where most people soften it.
I don’t.
“I’m going to be blunt,” I say.
Her mouth curves faintly. “I figured.”
“Jesse likes you,” I tell her.
Her breath catches.
“Wyatt likes you.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“And I like you, too.”
Silence.
Abilene goes very still. Like she’s trying not to move in case this is a trap.
Her cheeks flush. Her throat works as she swallows. Her fingers loosen on the phone, then tighten again.
She doesn’t speak, so I keep going.
“We need to talk to you,” I say. “Because this isn’t going away on its own. And it’s starting to affect everything.”
Her brows knit. “I… I didn’t mean for?—”
“I know,” I cut in, because it’s true. “I’m not blaming you.”
She looks down at her table, at her honey jars lined up perfectly. She wants to hide behind them.
Then she looks back at me. “What do you want me to say?”
I don’t answer right away. Because the truth is, I don’t know. Not fully.
