Page 211 of That Rush

“Josie left this at the library,” I explain. “Will one of you give it to Axel so he can return it to her?”

“Of course,” Sadie says, joining us with my coffee. “I’ll see her this afternoon.”

“Please don’t tell her I was upset when I found it.”

“I won’t.”

“And I’m not sending a message to Aiden through her.”

“I know.”

The immediate agreement loosens the knot beneath my ribs. Sadie folds the drawing along its existing crease and places it safely behind the counter.

That should be my cue to leave. Instead, I anchor my hands to the cup, chasing its warmth.

Rowan closes her laptop.

“I thought there would be no emotional ambushes.”

“No one invited you over here,” Rowan says.

“You watched me sit down.”

“I support free will.”

Sadie hides a smile behind her coffee.

I take a drink. Aiden’s coffee is better than Pike’s Perk’s, too, which is an unacceptable quality in a man who is currently making me miserable from a respectful distance.

I set my cup down. “I spent last night at the cabin.”

Neither woman points out that I always spend Friday with Aiden and Josie.

“I read. Made dinner. Sat on the porch. It was peaceful.”

Sadie offers a gentle smile. “That sounds nice.”

“It was nice.” I trace the edge of the cardboard sleeve around my cup. “I kept waiting for the quiet to prove I made the right decision.”

Rowan’s expression remains careful. “Did it?”

“It proved I still love my cabin.”

“Good,” Rowan says.

The answer catches me off guard. There is no concern beneath it, no suggestion that loving my home means I have chosen wrong.

“I thought independence meant preserving my life as it was,” I admit. “Last night, I realized I had already changed it. I was the one who made room for Aiden and Josie because I wanted them to come back.”

Sadie says nothing. She gives me room to hear myself.

Rowan turns her coffee slowly between her palms. “Do you miss having someone want you, or do you miss that specific life?”

The question lands, sharp and clean, giving me no room to deflect.

“That life.” My voice is quiet. “I miss Aiden.”

My throat tightens on his name, a familiar ache, but the bitter taste of defeat isn’t there this time.