The confession surprises both of us. His hands slow.
“I thought I might feel clearer once I left,” I say carefully. “Like maybe the change of scenery would help me realize what I was missing from my life.”
He watches me, his expression unreadable.
“But I’m starting to think that maybe it’s not about finding what’s been missing but more about finding what makes me whole.”
He nods once.
“If leaving is what you need,” he says quietly, “you should go.”
I’m not sure why, but his words leave me unsettled for the first time since I arrived. Does he really want me to leave?
For the first time since I quit school and walked away from my life, I’m no longer sure running away is what I need.
I just don’t know what that means yet.
And I’m definitely not ready to say that out loud.
Chapter Eleven
Holt
Ilet her feet fall from my hands and ease them from my lap. The stew’s been simmering long enough, and I need a minute.
I move through the kitchen, gathering bowls and slicing thick wedges of the bread I pulled from the freezer earlier. The actions help center me and give me the space I need to think about what she just told me.
She’s leaving. Traveling. Going to go looking for herself.
Hell, she doesn’t need to look for anything. She’s right here. Amazing and perfect.
With me.
Not that I’ll tell her that. Not if what she wants is to see the world and look for whatever she thinks is missing from her life.
She’s young and still figuring out who she is. I won’t be the man who stands in the doorway of her life, blocking it, just because it feels good to have her here.
I blow out a breath and start dishing out the stew.
“Do you really think that?”
Her question stops me, ladle in hand.
“Think what?”
I look over my shoulder to see her watching me. She’s pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.
“That I should go?”
Is it a test? Does she feel this connection between us, too? She must. Still, I won’t be the man who stops her from chasing her dreams.
“Yes,” I lie easily. “I think life is too short not to live it.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” she asks. “Living it?”
I suck in a breath, exhaling slowly with a chuckle before I finish dishing out the stew. “I lived a lifetime before you were even born.”
She frowns at the reminder of our age difference, her brow furrowing as I cross the room and hand her a bowl of stew.
