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Chapter 9

When Plans Go Wrong

Wayne woke to sunlight streaming through his bedroom window and the immediate, crushing realization that he was alone.

His hand reached across the mattress automatically, finding only cool sheets where Jess should have been. Where she had been—he could still smell her shampoo on his pillow, still feel the ghost of her warmth against his side.

The panic hit like a bucket of ice water.

She'd left. Of course she'd left. They'd had sex—proper sex, in his bed, not just the desperate encounter in the barn—and she'd woken up and realized what a mistake it was.

He reached for his phone to check the time, and relief surged through him so strong he gasped.

Jess: At the barn. Come find me?

Wayne exhaled so hard his lungs hurt. She hadn't left. She was just in the barn. Working, probably, because that's what they did.

He reached for his phone to check the time, and his breath caught.

Wayne: Be there in 5

Jess: Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.

The words should have been reassuring. Instead, relief and fear and want all tangled together, too much to sort through.

His bedroom still smelled like them—like sex and sleep and possibility. The sheets were rumpled, pillows scattered. Evidence of what they'd done, what they'd been to each other.

He should probably change the sheets. Make the bed. Return everything to its usual order.

Instead, he got dressed, left everything else exactly as it was and headed for the barn.

Jess was at her workstation when he entered, torch already lit, a gather of amber glass rotating slowly in the flame. She looked up at the sound of the door and smiled—the kind of smile that made his chest hurt.

“Morning,” she said. “There's coffee on your workbench. I raided your kitchen.”

Wayne found the travel mug waiting for him, still steaming. She'd made it the way he liked it—black, no sugar, strong enough to wake the dead.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” She returned her attention to the glass, shaping it with quick, practiced movements. “Besides, I figured you'd panic when you woke up alone.”

The casual way she said it—like she understood him, like she'd planned for it—made something in his chest unclench.

“I did,” he admitted.

“I know.” She pulled the piece from the flame and began working it with her paddle. “That's why I texted. Figured I'd save us both the awkward conversation where you assume I ran away.”

“Did you think about it? Running?”

“No.” She glanced at him, expression serious now. “Wayne, I told you last night—I'm not going anywhere. I meant it. I'm here because I want to be here. With you.”

He crossed to her workspace, unable to stay away. “I'm working on it. The panic thing. But I'm going to mess this up sometimes.”

“I know.” She set down her tools and turned to face him fully. “And when you do, we'll talk about it. Figure it out. That's what people do when they're—” She paused, seeming to weigh her words.

“When they're what?”

“When they're building something real.” Her eyes searched his face. “Is that what we're doing?”