His expression closes.
“Drew.”
“A rake hit me.”
I blink. “A rake?”
“Technically, I stepped on it.”
“So you attacked the rake.”
His eyes narrow. “That is not what happened.”
I fight the smile tugging at my lips. “Okay,” I say softly. “Then what happened?”
His expression shifts. The humor fades first. Then the embarrassment.
He looks away, focusing on anything except me.
“I don’t know,” he admits.
My fingers still.
Because that’s the first honest thing he’s said all night.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he continues. “One minute I was fine, and the next I was drinking whiskey, losing a fight with a rake, and breaking into your house.”
“You stepped on it.”
“Not important.”
My lips twitch.
Then he exhales. “I think I just… freaked out.”
“About me?”
His eyes meet mine.
For a second, I don’t think he’ll answer.
His voice is quiet when he says, “About everything.”
He clears his throat.
“Consider it bad judgment. And the fact that my ex is getting married.”
I still.
That’s the first thing he’s said that softens the amusement in my chest.
I study him more carefully.
His embarrassment is real.
So is the fear beneath it.
Not because he wants her back. But because something shifted today. Something that forced him to look at his life and realize he doesn’t know where he belongs anymore.
