“Hey.”
We stand there, the space between us deliberate. Careful.
“I was supposed to get advice tonight,” I admit.
She arches a brow. “How’s that going?”
“Poorly.”
That earns a soft laugh.
“I didn’t know your aunt was in town,” I add.
“She just arrived,” Abilene says. “We’re… catching up.”
There’s a lot in that sentence.
“And are you getting anything from her?”
Her lips purse, and she offers me a one-shouldered shrug.
“Some things,” she says. “Mostly distractions.”
I nod. “She looks good at those.”
That pulls a small smile from her.
The cool night presses in around us, cooler than inside, carrying the smell of dust and spilled beer and summer grass. Somewhere behind the building, a truck passes on the road, headlights briefly cutting across the gravel lot.
“She seems… warm,” I add.
“She is,” Abilene says. “Which almost makes it harder.”
I don’t pretend not to understand. Warm doesn’t mean truthful. Warm doesn’t mean steady.
We stand there, shoulders angled toward each other now, the distance shrinking without either of us acknowledging it. I can feel the pull, low and constant. A tide I’ve been trying not to name all night.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” she admits.
“Me neither,” I say. “But I’m glad I did.”
She draws in a breath, folds her arms tighter, then lets them drop again. She’s decided against hiding. “This week’s been… a lot.”
“I know,” I say, and mean more than one thing.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth. Back to my eyes.
There it is.
The moment where everything tilts.
“I don’t want to rush you,” I say quietly. “I just…” I stop, because honesty means not dressing things up. “I wanted you to know that we meant what we said. All of us. About taking this at your pace.”
She steps a fraction closer.
Not enough to touch, but enough that I can feel her heat, feel the shift between us as a held breath.
The space tightens. Electric. Alive with everything we haven’t said and everything we’re trying not to do too fast.
