“She’s not ready,” I say. “She just got out of a relationship with a man who spent two years telling her what to feel. If I push this now, I’m just another man making decisions for her.”
“There’s a difference between pushing and being honest.”
“Is there? From where she’s standing?”
Isabel is quiet for a moment. “You’re not Owen, Mateo. Telling someone you love them isn’t the same as controlling them.”
“I know that.”
“Then trust her to know it too.” She squeezes my shoulder. “She’s stronger than you think. And she deserves to know the truth.”
She’s right. I know she’s right.
But wanting to protect someone and wanting to be honest with them don’t always point in the same direction. And I’d rather wait forever than risk becoming another person who made Sadie Pierce feel like she didn’t get to choose.
Isabel shakes her head. “You can’t protect her from being loved, Mateo. That’s not how it works.”
Damn it.
Isabel heads toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, and Mateo? Mamá‘s expecting you for dinner on Sunday.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. And bring Sadie with you. Mamá‘s been asking about her.”
“Isabel—“
“Just think about it.” She grins. “No pressure.”
The door closes behind her, and I’m alone again with the forge and my thoughts. I pull out my phone and stare at Sadie’s contact. No new messages. We don’t text much—our friendship exists in those moments at the forge and the brief conversations when she stops by. It’s an easy silence we’ve built over years of careful distance.
Isabel’s words echo in my head.Use your words. Clear, direct, can-not-be-misinterpreted words.
Five years of waiting. Five years of hoping she’d see it without me having to risk saying it out loud. And where has that gotten me? Watching her panic this morning, unable to ask what’s really wrong because I’ve kept us in this careful friend zone for so long.
I check the time. Book club starts at seven. It’s just after noon now. Seven hours until I see her again.
I pick up the hammer. The metal’s cooled too much. I shove it back into the coals and wait for it to heat.
I’m good at waiting. I’ve had five years of practice.
But Isabel’s right about one thing—Sadie deserves the truth. And sooner or later, I’m going to have to find the words.
CHAPTER 3
I’m rearranging the chairs.
Again.
For the fourth time.
Book club doesn’t start for another hour, but the anxiety roiling through my veins doesn’t give a shit about that. It needs a place to go, and apparently, that means moving furniture from here to there to fucking nowhere because there is no feasible way my secret won’t be discovered.
I stop. Take a breath. And plop into the chair I just placed in the circle.
Get yourself together, Sadie. They’re not going to figure it out. It’s just a book. Lots of books are set in small towns.
Macy’s setting out wine glasses and cheese plates, humming along to the playlist she put on. She has no idea my hands are shaking or that my brain is doing an acrobat show trying to figure out how to survive tonight.
