Page 11

It's the second hard question she's asked today. I take my time answering.

"I wasn't at first. When I came back, I was just surviving. Going through the motions. Doing the job, going home, repeating it the next day. I kept waiting to feel like I belonged here again." I wrap my hands around my coffee mug. "It took a while. Couple years. But yeah. I'm happy now."

"What changed?"

You showed up. That's what I want to say. But that's insane. I met her this morning.

"I stopped waiting for something to change and just lived where I was," I say instead. "Figured out that this was my life now, and I could either keep wishing I was somewhere else or I could be here."

She nods like that makes sense to her. "I think that's what I'm trying to do. Be somewhere. Stop running."

"You think you're running?"

"I drove six hours to a town I'd never heard of because my ex-boyfriend wouldn't leave me alone. That feels like running."

"Or it's being smart enough to leave a bad situation."

"Maybe..."

The light outside is fading now, the sun sinking behind the mountains and casting everything in shades of orange and purple. Through the window I can see people walking down the street, leaves blowing across the pavement, the streetlights starting to flicker on.

"We should probably go," I say, even though I don't want to.

"Yeah. Probably."

Mae brings the check, and I pay before Lyla can argue about it. Outside the air has turned cool, and she hugs herself against the chill as we walk to the truck.

The drive back to her cottage is quiet. Not uncomfortable, just loaded with something neither of us is naming.

When I pull into her driveway and cut the engine, we sit there for a minute in the gathering dark.

"Thank you," she says finally. "For today. For showing me around. For dinner."

"You don't need to thank me."

"Yeah, I do." She turns to look at me. "You didn't have to do any of this. Check on me, take me into town, spend your whole afternoon and evening with me. You could've just filed the report this morning and moved on."

"I didn't want to move on."

The words hang between us. Her eyes are dark in the dim light from the porch, and she's close enough that I could reach out and touch her. Close enough that I can see the pulse beating at the base of her throat.

I want to kiss her. Want it so badly that my hands tighten on the steering wheel just to keep from reaching for her.

But she's scared and running from someone who wouldn't respect her boundaries, and the last thing she needs is me pushing.

"I should let you get inside," I say. "It's getting cold."

"Right. Yeah." But she doesn't move immediately. She just looks at me for another moment, and I wonder if she's thinking the same thing I am.

Then she opens the door and climbs out. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

The certainty in her voice does something to my chest. "Then you'll see me tomorrow."

She smiles, small and genuine, and heads for the porch. I wait until she's inside, until I see the lights come on, before I put the truck in reverse and head back toward town.