“I’m not?—”
“You are,” he said, without judgment. Just a fact. “And I get it. Believe me, I know what it’s like to want something you don’t think you’re allowed to have. But Owen—” He waited until I looked at him. “You told me once that the only thing worse than losing is never trying. You were right. So maybe take your own advice.”
I stared at the pasture, at Honey grazing in the afternoon light, at Riley and Mia walking back toward the house. Mia’s stride unconsciously matched Riley’s now, the way kids start to mirror the people who raise them.
Three years ago, none of this existed. Now it was solid. Real. Proof that the hardest roads sometimes led somewhere worth going.
“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?” My voice came out rougher than I intended.
“Then at least you’ll know,” Liam said, clapping me on the shoulder. “And you can stop torturing yourself with maybes.”
I drove back toward town as the sun set.
The ranch shrank in my rearview mirror. Liam and Riley were on the porch, his arm around her shoulders. Mia perched on the fence rail nearby, close enough to be part of things even while she scrolled through her phone.
What do you actually want?
The question circled like smoke, filling the cab of the truck, impossible to escape.
I’d spent my entire life being what other people needed. The good son who became a firefighter like his dad. The steady boyfriend who showed up even when it wasn’t convenient. The reliable friend who fixed whatever was broken.
I was so good at being needed that I’d forgotten how to want.
Or maybe I’d never learned.
Wanting had always felt like too much to ask. Like the universe had a limited supply of love, and people like me were meant to earn it by being useful. By showing up until showing up became invisible.
But sitting here, the B&B twenty minutes away, I knew the truth.
I wanted Grace.
Not to save her. She didn’t need saving.
Not to fix her. She wasn’t broken.
Just her.
Her sharp humor and terrible taste in reality TV. The way she hummed while she baked, always slightly off-key. The way her whole face changed when she talked about her grandmother—soft and sad and full of love.
The way she looked at me sometimes. Like I was more than the sum of my usefulness. Like I was someone worth seeing.
I wanted that. I wanted her.
And I was tired of pretending I didn’t.
I pulled into the B&B driveway and sat in my truck, engine off.
The main house was lit up against the dark. Through the kitchen window, I could see Grace moving around, probably making tea. Her silhouette was familiar now—the rounded shape of her at seven months, the way she moved more carefully than she used to.
Marcus was nowhere in sight. Probably on another business call. Probably texting someone with that small smile that had nothing to do with Grace.
I watched her for a long moment. Watched her fill the kettle, set it on the stove, and lean against the counter while she waited. Even from here, I could see the exhaustion in her posture. The weight she was carrying.
I made a decision.
I couldn’t keep doing this; living a hundred feet away, pretending I didn’t feel what I felt; watching Marcus play devoted father while Grace tried to convince herself that was enough.
I needed to tell her the truth.
