“Thank you,” I said.
She blinked. “For what?”
“For all of it.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I didn’t do it to earn anything.”
“I know.”
That was another problem; she wasn’t keeping score, she wasn’t maneuvering. She just… gave. And I didn’t know what to do with someone who didn’t require repayment.
Dani reached up then, hesitant at first, and adjusted the brim of my hat, allowing her fingers to brush my temple.
If she moved any closer, I would’ve felt her breath.
If I moved any closer, I wouldn’t have stopped.
Instead, her hand lingered, then dropped, as she continued to hold my gaze.
Then, as if sensing the tension of the moment, Dani broke it. “C’mon, cowboy,” she said, her manicured fingers tapping my hat once before walking away.
Damn the things this woman did to me.
My feet refused to move for a moment as I took in the ranch and the scenery once more. I stared at my daughter, at Dani, at the ranch behind us.
At the version of myself that existed here.
And something in me loosened.
Not all the way, but enough.
Harper popped up, interrupting my thought. “Can we come back every weekend?” Her eyes wide and hopeful.
Dani didn’t respond; she just laughed softly.
“You’re asking for a lot, bug.”
Harper just kept looking at me, impatiently awaiting my answer.
“We’ll come back,” I said.
Harper squealed.
Dani didn’t. Instead, her lips parted like she might say something—then closed again, gaze lingering, caught on mine for one breath too long.
She just watched me.
Like she knew that wasn’t the only promise I’d made today.
Because somewhere behind the words I spoke to Harper, I made quieter promises too—one to Dani, that maybe I could finally try to let her in, and one to myself, that it was time to stop holding back from the life still in front of me.
As we drove home, the Bronco rumbling beneath my hands, Harper singing in the backseat, Dani watching the horizon like she wasn’t pushing anything.
I realized the terrifying truth.
This wasn’t just help.
This wasn’t just temporary.
