Page 37 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

STORMY

W e wake up, have breakfast, then immediately get to work.

The day I leave is coming fast, and I want the bottom floor finished before I go.

Two and a half more days. That’s all I have before I fly back to New York to face everything I ran from.

Tomorrow is dinner at Remi’s. Saturday is my packing day.

Sunday, I’ll leave. I’ve already scheduled a private jet, and I know my father was notified. I don’t care anymore.

We spend the better half of the morning mounting face plates for the outlets and doing final touch-ups on the walls. It doesn’t resemble the same house.

By the time I make it to the kitchen for lunch, Colt’s already pulled the lids off the leftovers and warmed them. The house smells like fresh tortillas, fajita chicken, and cilantro.

He’s tucked napkins under two paper plates on the worn table we’ve sat at a handful of times.

A fan hums lazily in the corner, stirring the humid air as soft afternoon light spills through the windows.

He glances up when I walk in, eyes sweeping from my hair to the bare skin beneath the hem of my tank top.

“You can make anything look good,” he says.

“Even you,” I tell him.

“Damn, ain’t that right?” His mouth curves into a lazy grin as he pats the spot beside him. “Come eat before I lose my manners and hand-feed you.”

I drop to the seat in front of him with a soft sigh and fold a leg beneath me. “Smells amazing.”

“You do too,” he says.

There’s heat behind his voice. His words warm my skin like I’ve stepped into sunlight.

I don’t realize I’m staring until Colt nudges my leg with his knee.

“You okay?” he asks.

I shrug. “Sorry, was thinking.”

“About?” he asks.

“The future,” I explain. “And how I suck at this.”

His eyes crinkle as he scoops up another bite. “You mean the philosophical future or tomorrow? And you suck at what?”

“Tomorrow. Forever. I suck at this. At being … well, not to put titles on this, but I don’t think I’m girlfriend material.” I take a bite of a taco and avoid his gaze, not ready to see how he’s taking this.

“You’re not,” he confirms. “Your wife material.”

“Always stealing my breath,” I mutter. “I’m used to the idea that everything is temporary. That if I get comfortable, something or someone will come along to kick the legs out from under me. I’m waiting for the floor to drop out below me.”

Colt’s quiet for a beat, fork hovering in the air like he’s weighing my words against something heavier. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he finally says. “You deserve stability and safety. I’ll give that to you.”

His voice isn’t a promise. It’s a conviction, like he already decided I’m worth the risk.

“I want that. I want you,” I confess, “but I never get what I want. That’s the pattern. Want something too much, and life takes it away.”

“That’s bullshit,” Colt says. “I won’t accept that.”

A drop of sour cream clings to his lip, and he swipes it away.

I wonder what it’d be like if this all really belonged to us—the afternoons, the tacos, the silence, and the future.

I’ve never been allowed to want these things.

Donovan used to treat me like I was a winning trophy. Colt cherishes me like I’m his future.

Right now, I’m thankful I didn’t say I do .

While we eat, I allow myself to admire his messy hair under his baseball cap and bright blue eyes. He’s too handsome and tempting.

There’s something about the way he sits—shoulders relaxed, forearm resting on the table—that makes me feel like I could have this.

Colt makes me want to say fuck it to all my responsibilities and stay here with him forever.

That’s a fantasy though. And fantasies have expiration dates, even if they feel like home when you’re in the middle of one.

My plate’s almost empty now. Colt’s still chewing like this is any other day.

My chest tightens with every beat that ticks us closer to goodbye. I know he feels that strange stretch in the air that’s followed by the hush of our time winding down because I can’t escape it.

Today, his shoulders aren’t quite as relaxed, and we both know we’re nearing the end of this.

“I keep waiting for this to feel fake,” I say suddenly, before I can second-guess myself.

“What?”

“This. Us. The house. All of it. But it never does.”

He watches me for a beat. “It’s ’cause it’s not.”

I try to push past the ache that’s building in my chest. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re not,” he says. “Even if you go, I’ll be so damn grateful to have met you for showing me the spark is still alive. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way again. You proved me wrong in the best way possible.” He doesn’t smile when he says it. It’s not a line. It’s his truth.

I swallow hard, understanding it more than he knows. I’ve been so worried about hurting him, but I’m not sure I’ll survive leaving either.

He’s not only become my lover, but also my confidant and friend. Colt doesn’t ask for anything in return, only my company. He continues showing up every day, reminding me that I deserve better than I believe and that he’s here. And each time I hear my name on his lips, it’s like I belong to him.

I clear my throat and set my plate in the sink. “Why’d you help me? That first day, when you didn’t even know me?”

He doesn’t answer straightaway, only gazes out the large bay window toward the barn. His jaw shifts like he’s searching for the right words and trying not to overthink them.

“Some things you feel in your gut,” he says finally. “You were one of ’em.”

I want to believe there’s such a thing as gut feelings and good moments that aren’t a setup for heartbreak. I want to believe Colt and I are the exception and we’ll never have to experience that.

This place is still a work in progress, like us.

I take a deep breath, exhale slow, and sit on his lap now that he’s finished eating. “Can we stay here for a little while?”

He shifts, wrapping his arms around me and inhaling my skin. “We can stay as long as you want.”

The truth is, I must go to New York to confront my fears, but I don’t know how to leave anymore.

Twenty minutes pass, and I know it’s time to get moving. Colt washes our dishes, and I sit in my thoughts, letting the weight of them press down in the quiet.

I agreed to stay for a week and a half after we met so there would be no complications. And yet here I am.

I move to the bathroom and wash my hands. After I dry them, I notice there’s one of his shirts folded beside the sink, like he left it there without thinking. I pick it up and press it to my nose, inhaling the smell of his soap and skin.

It smells like early mornings and safety.

When I glance in the mirror, I don’t see the woman who ran away. I see someone who found herself.

For a second, the realization stings. How long had I been a shell of myself? Years.

I rest my hand on the edge of the counter and watch my reflection settle, but I know this is the calm before the storm.

I’ve officially been gone for over two weeks since I took my time driving across the country to Valentine.

My absence is a headline, and it’s snowballing out of control. I must end the lies.

Friday night, before I leave, I’ll check what people are saying about me. I can’t handle it right now. I want to hide a little while longer and need time to mentally prepare myself. It will be overwhelming, and I’m already anticipating as much.

After ten minutes, I find Colt in the front room, where all his building supplies have been stored. His shirt’s half tucked, half twisted, and I can tell he’s deep in thought.

He treats me like I belong to him.

The softest smile pulls at the edge of his mouth when he sees me. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, sliding past him in the hall and giving his shoulder a careful bump. “Thinking a lot.”

He cocks his head. “About getting me naked?”

“Actually, yes. That thought is on repeat,” I admit, noticing how his shirt clings to his body. I force my gaze away and allow my eyes to trail around the space. “I can’t believe what we’ve accomplished.”

“It’s finally starting to feel like a house,” he says.

“More than that,” I say before I can stop myself. “Feels like a home.”

He wipes his hands on a nearby rag and nods once, almost to himself.

I press my back to the wall, needing something solid to lean on. “I’m leaving on Sunday.”

He studies me quietly, as if I stunned him. “Forever?”

Colt’s asking me if I’m about to walk out of his life after he opened every door for me.

I glance down at the hardwood floor, then back up. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, brief, but it’s so loud that I could scream.

“You can always come back to me,” Colt says. It’s a truth, not a plea. “You have a choice.”

I want to stay in this unfinished house with this man who kisses me like I’m the only thing he’s ever believed in. I can’t move forward until I face everything I ran from first.

“Would you ever consider moving to New York?” I ask.

Colt shakes his head. “No. My life and family are here.”

I walk toward him slowly, until I’m standing close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. I place my palm flat on his chest, over his heart.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, grabbing my hand. “I just don’t want this to be goodbye.”

“You once told me you don’t believe in goodbyes,” I say.

“I don’t,” he tells me, tucking hair behind my ear. “I refuse to believe this is the end, but I can’t leave and I don’t want you making sacrifices for me.”

Something heavier than lust and quieter than love passes between us.

It feels like a future. One we haven’t committed to yet, but somehow already have.

And just like this house, we still need work, but we’re building this relationship piece by piece until it’s complete.