Page 11

Max

I knocked lightly on her door, two soft raps with my knuckles.

“Tessa?” I waited. “Tacos are ready.”

There was a pause, long enough I almost turned away, then her voice came through the door—cheerful, too cheerful.

“I’ll be right there!”

She came out a minute later, fresh-faced, hair down, lips tugged into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was wearing one of her bright shirts again—this one with tiny smiling planets orbiting the world.

But something about her was different.

Quieter. Guarded.

She sat at the table, thanked me for dinner, complimented the seasoning like she was reading off a script. I played along, responding with a half-smile and a joke or two. But it felt like we were both standing on opposite ends of a cliff, pretending we couldn’t see the drop between us.

She didn’t ask about my day.

And I didn’t ask about hers.

Halfway through dinner, I cleared my throat and said it.

“Your cabin’s ready tomorrow.”

She paused with her taco halfway to her mouth.

“Oh,” she said. Just that. No smile this time. She nodded. “Okay. Thanks for letting me stay here this long.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine for a heartbeat, then dropped back to her plate. “No, it’s good. I should get settled in my own place.”

I wanted to say something else— anything else. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t ready for her to go. That I wasn’t sure what this was between us, but it was something, and it scared the hell out of me because I’d already lost someone I loved once.

But I didn’t say it.

Because if I opened that door and she walked through it, I didn’t know if I could handle her walking away again someday.

And I didn’t know if it would be worse to risk loving her—or worse to regret never trying.

So I kept quiet.

Tacos. Weather. Light conversation.

And the whole time, her smile stayed in place like she’d practiced it in the mirror.

When dinner was done, she stood, thanked me again, and said, “I think I’m going to turn in early.”

“Long day?”

“Yeah,” she said, still not meeting my eyes. “I’m just tired.”

But I knew she wasn’t.

And I hated myself a little for letting her walk away without saying what I needed to say.

I heard her before I saw her.

Her laughter floated up the drive as she got out of the Jeep—light, practiced, the kind of sound you made when you didn’t want anyone to ask if you were okay.

She thanked Eloise for helping her unload her things, waved off Gabe’s attempt to carry the single lamp she insisted she could handle, and made her way toward the cabin like it wasn’t breaking my damn heart to watch her go.

She looked happy, like the move was just a normal step. Like everything was fine.

But I knew better.

Because I hadn’t seen her real smile since yesterday afternoon.

And I couldn’t stop replaying the sound of her feet walking away from me after dinner last night.

I stood on the porch with a wrench in my hand, pretending to fix something on the railing. But my eyes kept drifting back to her as she carried a box inside and came back out for another. One after the other, quiet and steady. Efficient.

She was pulling away, and I could feel it like a weight in my chest.

I wanted to go to her. Say something. Anything. But I still didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to say.

Sorry I kissed you like you meant something to me.

Sorry I didn’t mean to fall for you, but I think I might have.

Sorry I’m still too scared to do this, even when every part of me wants to.

She paused halfway through the last trip and glanced toward the porch. Our eyes met.

Her expression didn’t change. No wave. No smile. Just a simple, unreadable glance like I was someone she used to know.

Then she turned and disappeared inside.

I stood there for a long time after that, holding a wrench I didn’t need, watching the cabin like it might give me an answer I hadn’t already tried to bury.

And all I could think was—

I let her walk away.

And I didn’t stop her.