“You should stop trying to fix this.”
“What if I don’t want to fix anything?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“What if,” I continued carefully, “I just want to know you?”
That hit her harder than anger ever could.
I saw it in the way her breath caught.
The way her fingers curled tighter against her sleeves.
Dangerous.
Too dangerous.
“This,” she whispered, motioning weakly between us, “is exactly why I said no.”
“Because I care?”
“Because men like you always think caring is enough.”
I stared at her.
“And what if it is?”
“It’s not.”
The answer cracked out of her instantly.
Raw.
Certain.
Like she’d already learned that lesson the hard way.
Silence stretched between us.
Outside, a truck rolled slowly past the shop.
Inside, the cooler hummed steadily behind her.
“You think I didn’t try?” she asked suddenly.
My chest tightened at the look in her eyes.
Not anger anymore.
Exhaustion.
“You think I didn’t tell people the truth?”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t interrupt.
Because something told me this mattered.
