Page 5

He takes a drink, slow and thoughtful.

“I don’t know. I hear the first few seconds and then it goes quiet. The wolf takes over. After the first few seconds... everything else fades.”

A small silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable, just thick. Charged.

“So,” he says eventually, “we’re skipping the family dinner. If this were April, Raul would be furious.”

I laugh quietly, leaning against the counter.

“Monica would kill me too. She gets this look when she’s been around the Crawfords too long. Like, ‘Don’t you dare leave me alone with these people.’ It’s kind of cute.”

Ray lifts his brows. “She clicked with Raul fast.”

“Yeah,” I say, softer. “Like two puzzle pieces just snapping together. Have you ever felt that?”

His eyes stay on his beer.

“Not really,” he says, then pauses. “But I don’t think it always has to happen like that. Sometimes love doesn’t come with fireworks. Sometimes it’s a slow burn.”

Something in the way he says that makes my throat tighten.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nods, quiet.

“At those family dinners... you’re not like this.” I wave a hand suddenly self-conscious. “This… serious, I mean. You’re different. You tease your siblings, joke around. Where is that Ray?”

His gaze lifts to mine, steady and unreadable.

“I put him away when I saw you in Tiffany’s.”

That hits hard, making my breath stutter and my pulse skip, then thunder. I’m left blinking and confused, trying to figure out what he means by that but I can’t make sense of it. Finally I have to ask.

“What do you mean?”

“That Ray—the one who jokes and teases—he likes you.” His voice is low, almost reluctant. “Always has. But we want different things.”

I stare as my chest tightens. “Like what?”

He finishes his beer and sets the bottle down with a soft clink. He stares at the now empty bottle in silent contemplation before he answers.

“Ask yourself that, Stacy.” His voice is calm, but it cuts deep. “Because I think you already know.”

His movements are sudden, like a decision has been made. He moves past, brushing close enough that I catch a whiff of cedar and something darker—something that is uniquely him. It floods my senses and makes my pulse race.

“Thanks for the beer,” he says. “Stay away from married men. Next time I might not be around.”

He walks to the door. No pause. Not even a glance back.

I’m frozen. Every part of me burning with the things I should say but can’t. His words hit their mark. Each one slammed home and hit a target I didn’t know was exposed. He’s gone before I can move. But his words won’t leave. They hang in the silence like smoke—impossible to catch, impossible to ignore.

I stare at the door long after it clicks shut, feeling the echo of him inside the house. The room feels too still and too empty. Why did that feel like more than a goodbye? Like a long-term goodbye.

I move to the couch and sink, knees folding under me, bottle still in hand. The beer’s grown warm and unappealing. My throat aches. Ray’s voice loops in my mind.

You want different things.

But I don’t know what that means.