Page 197 of That Rush

“No. I think she watched what you were doing and understood where you expected it to lead.”

“I made room for you.”

“You made a plan for me.”

“A drawer isn’t a plan.”

“A drawer, closet hangers, a bathroom shelf, the space under the sink, riding lessons, Thanksgiving, and a permanent library sounds like one.”

“The riding lessons were never scheduled.”

“That is the detail you want to defend?”

I force my hands to relax. “No.”

“Everyone at that table understood the future you were building for me before I did,” she says. “Your mother put me on the Thanksgiving calendar. Josie thinks my belongings are moving into your house. You answered for me because you believed I could only say yes.”

“I believed you’d want to spend a holiday with me.”

“You didn’t give me the chance to want it.”

“Fine. I should have asked.”

“You keep saying that after you decide.”

The tires crunch onto the gravel lane, and the sound is too loud. She was in my bed. She told me she loved me. How did we get here? Every place I made for her is suddenly proof I never listened.

“What was I supposed to think?” The words come out too loud. “You have a key. You’re at my house half the week, leaving clothes and books so you don’t have to pack. You love me, Paige. Am I supposed to pretend all of that just disappears tomorrow?”

She flinches.

“You were supposed to talk to me.”

“I try to talk about it. I ask you where this is going, and you only ever answer for today. Then you shut it down.”

“It doesn’t stop. I just don’t have every answer yet.”

“You’ve had an answer for everything except us.”

Her mouth tightens. “I’m not just looking at today.”

“So why am I the only one who will say it? Why won’t you?”

I park beside the house and shut off the engine. Paige removes her seat belt while the metal beneath the hood ticks in the sudden quiet.

She opens her door.

“Paige.”

She gets out anyway.

I follow her to the porch steps. The light catches the hurt in her eyes, and I reach for her waist.

She steps back.

“This isn’t just your risk to take,” she says.

“I came into your life, Paige.” My empty hand drops. “I spend time at your cabin. I show up at the library. I sit with your friends. I leave when you ask for quiet. I keep trying to love you and still make room for what you need.”