I was good at pretending. I'd had practice.
But standing in that driveway, watching her watch me, something had cracked. Something I'd kept locked down tight for years.
She was back. She was close. And every instinct I had was screaming at me to fight for her this time, to tell her the truth, to make her understand that walking away had been the hardest thing I'd ever done.
She had her own pain to carry, and adding mine to it wouldn't help either of us.
But God, I wanted to.
I wanted to cross that driveway and climb those porch steps and put my hands on her face and tell her I'd never stopped.That there had never been anyone else. That every woman I'd tried to want had turned to ash because none of them were her.
I picked up the whiskey and set it down again.
I'd see her tomorrow, and I'd keep my distance, and I'd fix her water heater like a professional, and I'd walk away without breaking.
I'd done it once. I could do it again.
I repeated that until I believed it.
***
The next morning, I pulled into Cal's driveway at eight.
His truck was gone, so his shift must have started early. That was fine. Better, actually. Easier to keep my mask in place without Cal watching.
I grabbed my tools from the truck bed and headed for the front door. The morning was cool, mist still clinging to the trees, the mountains sharp against a pale blue sky. Hollow Peak at its most beautiful. The kind of morning that made you forget why you'd ever wanted to leave.
I knocked.
Footsteps inside. A pause. Then the door swung open.
Daisy.
She was wearing a thin robe, pale pink, tied loose at the waist. Her hair was damp, like she'd showered recently. No makeup. Coffee cup in her hand. Bare feet on the hardwood floor.
She looked soft and warm and completely unprepared for me to be standing on her porch.
That made two of us.
"Knox." My name in her mouth. Flat. Cold. Nothing like the way she used to say it.
"Daisy."
We stared at each other. The silence was thick enough to choke on.
"Cal said you'd be coming by," she said finally. "I didn't realize he meant this early."
"Water heater's in the basement. Won't take long."
"Fine."
She stepped aside to let me in and I caught her scent as I passed. My hands tightened on my toolbox.
The cabin was warm, fire crackling in the woodstove, smell of coffee heavy in the air. I'd been here a hundred times over the years, but it felt different now. Charged. Like the air before a storm.
"Basement door's in the kitchen," she said, already turning away. "You know where it is."
I did. I headed that direction without another word.