Page 139 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

Still fits against me like she belongs there when I take her hand and we walk toward the picnic tables after the game.

She doesn’t pull away.

That’s good.

Right?

But there’s something else.

A distance.

Subtle.

Like a drawbridge lowering between us—quietly, efficiently—without warning.

She smiles. She cheers for Evan. She laughs at something Willow says.

But it feels measured.

Like she’s withdrawing from me. Holding back.

And I hate it.

I don’t know what I did wrong. But it’s my fault.

I’m self-aware enough to be sure of that much.

After the game—ended in a tie, which Thatcher pretends not to care about but absolutely does—we grab hot dogs and sodas with the rest of the team.

I ruffle Evan’s hair when he trots past, sweaty and proud.

Kelly looks exhausted but grateful.

Clara stays close to her. Arm brushing. Quiet support.

I watch her from a few feet away and feel something warm and tight in my chest.

She’s good.

Too good.

When the crowd thins and it’s time for Kelly to take Evan home, I lean closer to Clara.

“Wanna grab dinner?” I ask quietly. “Just us.”

Her eyes flicker.

“Um… maybe tomorrow?” she says. “I think I’m going to hang with Kelly tonight. She’s had a day.”

That’s reasonable.

That’s kind.

That’s exactly who she is.

And, asshole that I am, I hate it.

Hate that she’s choosing a friend over me.