“From what? From you?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You’re so afraid of ending up like your parents that you won’t even try. You’ve already decided how this ends, so why bother starting, right? Better to be alone and miserable than risk feeling something real.”
“You don’t understand?—”
“I understand perfectly.” I was on a roll now, the words pouring out faster than I could stop them. “You’ve been here six months. You’ve watched half the men in this town find love—real love, the kind that lasts. The fire captain and the mayor. Kross and Sydney. All those guys on the logging crews with their wives. Happy. Settled. Building lives together.” I threw my hands up. “But you’re so determined to believe love is a trap that you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”
He stared at me, silent. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
“I’m not asking you to marry me,” I continued, softer now but no less fierce. “I’m not asking for forever. I’m asking you to have dinner with me. To see where this goes. To stop being so damn afraid of something that might actually make you happy.”
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, could feel the adrenaline slowly draining from my limbs. I’d said my piece. Laid it all out there. Now it was up to him.
Kade looked away, his throat working. When he spoke, his voice was rough, barely above a whisper.
“And if it falls apart?”
I blinked. “What?”
“If we try this.” He met my eyes again, and I saw something I hadn’t expected. Fear. Real, raw fear. “If we go to dinner and then another dinner and then suddenly we’re a year in and itall goes to hell. If we end up like them—screaming, destroying each other, wishing we’d never met.” His voice cracked slightly. “What then?”
The anger drained out of me, replaced by something softer. He wasn’t being cruel. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was terrified—genuinely, bone-deep terrified of repeating the only pattern he’d ever known.
I stepped closer and took his hand. His fingers were cold, stiff, but he didn’t pull away.
“Then at least we tried,” I said quietly. “At least we were brave enough to find out. I’d rather have something real that might hurt than spend my whole life wondering what I missed because I was too scared to reach for it.” I squeezed his hand. “Wouldn’t you?”
He looked down at our joined fingers. I watched the battle play out across his face—fear versus want, cynicism versus hope, the walls versus whatever had cracked open inside him when he held me.
The seconds ticked by. The space heater hummed. Outside, a car drove past, probably headed to some Valentine’s dinner, and I thought about how strange it was that my whole future might be decided in this cramped construction trailer that smelled like sawdust and cold coffee.
Then Kade let out a long, shaky breath.
“Okay,” he said.
My heart stuttered. “Okay?”
“Dinner.” He lifted his head, and something in his expression had shifted. Still guarded, still wary, but with a flicker of something new underneath. Something that looked almost like hope. “We’ll start with dinner. See where it goes.”
I stared at him, not quite believing it. “You mean it?”
“I mean it.” He pulled me closer, his free hand coming up to cup my face. His thumb brushed my cheekbone, gentle,reverent. “I can’t promise I won’t screw this up. I can’t promise I won’t panic and try to run. But I…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. And I don’t want to let you walk out that door without at least trying.”
The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over—not from sadness, but from relief. From the overwhelming rush of being seen, being chosen, being worth the risk.
He kissed my forehead, soft and lingering, and I melted into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my face against his chest. His heart was pounding as hard as mine.
“I know a place,” I mumbled into his shirt. “For dinner.”
“Yeah?”
“The roadhouse. Right across the street.” I tilted my head back to look at him. “They do a really good steak. And it’s Valentine’s Day, so they probably have some cheesy special we can make fun of.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Fair warning, though.” I smoothed my hands down his chest, straightening his rumpled flannel. “Everyone in town is going to see us together. And people in Wildwood Valley talk. By tomorrow morning, half the population will have us engaged.”
“Let them talk.” He caught my hands, brought them to his lips, and kissed my knuckles. “I spent six months trying to be invisible. Maybe it’s time I stopped hiding.”
Something warm bloomed in my chest—hope and affection and the giddy, terrifying thrill of new beginnings.