I blink. “My room?”
“Yeah.”
“You... you moved my bed?”
“We did,” he says. “Boone and me. This afternoon. Before the party.”
I stare at him. The alcohol in my brain makes it hard to process. “You went in my room?”
“We did,” he says simply.
I let out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped in my lungs for days. I look at the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The lights are on in there, too.
“Show me,” I say.
“Come on,” he says.
He walks toward me. He doesn’t touch me, but he stays close, a steady presence at my shoulder in case I trip.
We walk down the hall. The floorboards creak under our feet.
He stops at my door and pushes it open.
I gasp.
The room is... different.
The bed is back. The heavy oak frame stands against the wall, the mattress piled high with quilts. But that’s not all.
The boxes I had stacked in the corner are gone. The clutter is cleared. The old curtains have been taken down, replaced by simple, clean blinds. The rug has been shaken out. There are fresh flowers on the nightstand—a small mason jar filled with wildflowers and sage.
It looks clean. It looks peaceful. It looks like a room someone actually lives in.
“Rhett,” I whisper.
“Boone found the flowers,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “I just did the heavy lifting.”
I walk into the room. I run my hand over the quilt. It’s soft. It’s real.
“You did this for me?” I ask.
“We did it for the ranch,” he corrects me. “But yeah. We did it for you.”
I turn to face him. The alcohol in my blood makes me bold. It strips away the layers of defense I usually keep wrapped so tightly around my heart.
I reach up and cup his cheek. His stubble is rough under my palm. His eyes are dark, serious.
“Things won’t,” I say. My voice trembles.
He frowns slightly. “What things won’t?”
“Be normal,” I say. “They won’t ever be normal again. You can’t just move a bed and put flowers in a jar and expect... expect everything to be okay. We can’t go back to who we were.”
I think about the kiss in the rain. I think about the kiss in the truck. I think about the money in my pocket and the loan they were willing to take out.
“We’re too far gone,” I whisper.
Rhett looks at me. He doesn’t pull away. He leans into my touch.
