I nod once, satisfied.
“So you dated him a long time?”
I don’t want to ask.
Don’t want to picture her with someone else.
Don’t want to imagine another man touching what’s mine.
But I need to know.
She glances at me, then back at the line as it inches forward.
“Short version?” she says. “We were together a couple years. Moved to the city. He decided I wasn’t what he wanted.”
My hand tightens around hers.
She doesn’t pull away.
“I came here to reopen my aunt’s shop,” she continues, softer now. “But honestly? I think I checked out of that relationship long before he did. He probably did me a favor.”
I squeeze her hand.
“Damn right he did, Cookie.”
She looks up at me.
Those eyes—Jesus.
Warm.
Bright.
Soft in a way that hits me right in the chest.
“Any man who can’t see you for the miracle you are,” I say, holding her gaze, making damn sure she hears me, “doesn’t deserve you.”
Something shifts between us.
Quiet.
Heavy.
Real.
And I don’t look away.
I need her to see it.
All of it.
That I want her.
That I respect her.
That I’m not going anywhere.
That I’m the only man who should ever stand at her side again.
