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Tessa

T he last box hit the floor with a dull thud.

I stood there for a second, hands on my hips, looking around at my new cabin like I was waiting for it to feel like home. Like something would click inside me and say, Yes. This is good. This is yours.

It didn’t.

It just felt… quiet.

Too quiet.

I closed the door gently behind me and let out the breath I’d been holding since I left the B&B. Since Max told me—casually, like it didn’t mean anything—that my cabin would be ready today.

Like we were just roommates. Acquaintances. Strangers who shared a few nights and nothing else.

I dropped onto the edge of the bed and stared at the box marked “Books + Random T-Rex Mug” in big blue letters. I didn’t move to unpack it.

I didn’t move at all.

The moment I was alone, every single thing I’d been trying to hold back pushed forward like a wave.

I fell for him.

And I knew better.

I knew what it looked like when someone had walls they didn’t want you to climb. I knew what it felt like to be the only one holding the string, pretending it was a connection when it was just me, tied up and waiting.

I shouldn’t have let myself hope. Not after everything I’ve already survived. Just another thing to mess with my mind. STOP IT TESSA!

But Max had this way of looking at me like I was something new. Like he saw the chaos and didn’t flinch. Like I wasn’t broken.

And maybe that’s what made me fall.

Because for the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone.

Until now.

I stood and walked to the window. He walked slowly to his truck. Like he didn’t want to leave, still holding that wrench. When he sat behind the wheel, I saw him looking around.

Was he watching me too?

Did he feel this aching silence?

Or was he relieved?

I pressed my palm to the glass and whispered, “You could’ve stopped me.”

But he didn’t.

So I turned away.

And this time, I didn’t look back.