Page 28 of Saltwater Cowboy

A small reminder that the world is still moving.

“You should draw something too,” she says, glancing at me with expectant eyes.

I hesitate, but she slides a blank page in front of me before I can make up an excuse. “You don’t have to be good,” she adds, as if she already knows what I’m thinking. “Just do it, Auntie Rose.”

A breath escapes me, half a laugh, half something else. I pick up a crayon. The color doesn’t matter. The shape doesn’t matter. What matters is that, for the first time in a long time, I want to try.

And that’s enough for now.

Once dinner was cleaned up, I pulled a shot of espresso and carried it to my room, the rich aroma curling through the air like a small comfort.

I unzipped my suitcases, the sound sharp in the quiet, and took inventory of everything I had brought with me. Now that Thad and I were officially over, most of it felt like dead weight—gifts, memories, reminders of a version of us that no longer existed.

Shoving my headphones over my ears, I hit play on my workout playlist and got to work. For the next hour, I sorted through every item, emptying my suitcases until the floor was covered in carefully constructed piles—clothes, shoes, household essentials, and everything in between.

Then I straightened up, surveying the mess. My gaze landed on a flower pot painted with a single rose, the one my grandma had given me when I was ten. A wave of realization hit me, knocking the air from my lungs. Everything I owned was right here, spread out in front of me. The bare necessities. Just enough to get by.

This move had turned me into a minimalist, though not by choice. Space was limited, and that had forced me to be intentional. No need for a parka in Georgia, which meant I had room for all my water tumblers—something Thad always claimed was a waste of space. My eyes locked onto the stack of forty-ounce tumblers on my dresser. My life might have crumbled, but at least I was hydrated.

Slowly, I started putting my life back together, one small step at a time. Clothes folded into drawers. Shoes lined up neatly in the closet. Dresses hung with care. Water tumblers placed in the kitchen where they belonged. And finally, for the first time since I got here, I unpacked my toiletry bag, setting my skincare neatly in the bathroom cabinet.

I glanced around my space and felt like the thousand-pound weight was lifted off my shoulders. This wasn’t just a room anymore. It was mine. It was time I accepted my reality.

I went to close the blinds before bed but paused when I saw Blythe sitting out on the dock, her figure outlined by the soft glow of the moon.

Is that where everyone goes to clear their mind?

Grabbing a sweatshirt, I slipped my feet into my slides and made my way down to her, careful with my steps so I wouldn’t startle her. The cooler spring air sent a shiver down my spine.

“Hey,” Blythe greeted, not even turning around.

I settled next to her, the wood cool beneath me. “How did you know it was me?”

She let out a soft laugh. “Are you kidding? You act like I don’t know the sound of your footsteps after all these years.” Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she rested her head on my shoulder.

“Fair enough.” We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the gentle lapping of the water filling the space between us. “What are you doing out here?”

Blythe sat up and stretched before shrugging. “Needed some fresh air. I’ve been staring at spreadsheets all day, and my eyeballs were starting to hurt.”

I nudged her shoulder. “Look who’s using her accounting brain again.”

She shot me a playful glare. “We hired Larry, but I still have to deal with some of the stuff. I didn’t want to do this again.” Her last words came out in a dramatic whine.

“At least your business is thriving, and you actually need to balance the books.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” She gazed back out at the water, thoughtful. “What about you? I saw you moving around your room.”

I turned to her, narrowing my eyes. “Blythe Hannigan, were you spying on me?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Never. But you were dancing in front of your window while doing… whatever it was you were doing.”

I twisted around and, sure enough, there was a clear view straight into my room.

“Well,” I muttered, shaking my head, “I saw you down here and wanted to check on you.”

“Yeah, I’m good. What about you? How are you holding up?”

I exhaled, feeling the weight of it all settle in my chest. “I put everything away, but all that did was make the breakup feel more real, you know? I don’t know where to go from here. Staying seems pointless. Going back to Seattle isn’t an option. I feel untethered. Like I’m drifting in and out of other people’s lives.”