“Thank you,” I said. “For the invite.”
She turned to look at me, the streetlight catching the loose strands of hair around her face. “I'm glad you were able to come.”
“I almost didn't.”
Her expression shifted, something careful sliding into place. “Because of the emergency?”
“The mare and foal were stable when I left.” I stepped closer without meaning to. “Usually, I'd stay another hour. Two. Just to be sure.”
“But you didn't.”
“Not this time.”
The space between us felt charged with something I didn't have words for yet. Close enough that I could see the way her breathing changed, shallow and uncertain.
“Why not?” Her voice came out quieter than before.
Because you invited me. Because I wanted to be here more than I wanted to stay there. Because I'm tired of always putting others before myself.
“Felt important,” I said instead. “To set that boundary.”
“Oh.” She looked down at her keys, turning them over in her palm. “That's... that's good. You should do that more.”
“I'm working on it.”
She glanced up at me through her lashes, and the look on her face made something tighten in my chest.
“You had fun tonight?”
“Yeah.” The admission cost me less than I expected. “I did.”
“Even the sad story competition?”
“Especially that part.”
Her mouth curved. “You're lying.”
“I'm not.”
We stood there, too close for casual conversation, not close enough for what I actually wanted. The streetlight hummed overhead. A car passed a block down, headlights sweeping across storefronts.
Rosie shifted her weight, and her shoulder brushed mine. She didn't step back.
“Cal.”
“Yeah?”
“I'm really glad you came.”
She'd already said that. But it meant something different this time. It made my pulse kick up in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion or adrenaline.
I should say something. Something that acknowledged what was happening between us without pushing too hard, too fast. Something that left room for her to decide.
“Me, too.”
Not enough. Not nearly enough.
But it was what I had.
