Page 54 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)

Things between us since that night have been tense.

Also, a little awkward. Her advances have ceased to exist—which I’m grateful for.

But we’ve both put all things uncomfortable aside for the sake of professionalism.

The facts are Krista is good at what she does, and so am I.

I can breathe easier around the office knowing that whatever happened between us is in the past, and everyone can move on.

“If you’re not going to take the call, can you at least silence it? Roy wants the material board finalized before five.”

“I know. Sorry. You can keep going.” I fumble to switch my phone to Do Not Disturb as the same number flashes across the screen for the third time.

A chill runs down my spine. I don’t let it show, but my thoughts immediately spiral.

My dad. Tia. Something’s not right.

I lift a hand to Krista in quiet apology and nod toward my phone. She doesn’t say a word, just continues the meeting as I calmly push back from the table and step out of the room.

Jaw tight and breath steady, I try to brace for whatever’s waiting on the other end.

“Hello?”

A pause. Then a shaky breath filters through the line.

“Hey, baby.”

Her voice slices through me. My stomach knots instantly, and a cold sweat beads at my hairline. My shirt clings to my skin like it knows something’s coming.

Panic barrels in without warning. This isn’t how I pictured it. Not like this. No amount of pep talks or mental rehearsals could’ve braced me for the real thing.

But if there’s a lesson in all of this, it’s surrender.

Sometimes life throws it in your lap with no script, no warning—just a silver platter and a choice.

So I make mine.

“Hi,” I say, breathless, like I’ve just sprinted through a wall. “How’d you get my number?”

Another pause, then a swallow. Her voice is quieter this time. Fragile. A world away from the woman I went to war with in Las Vegas.

“Your father.”

Of course. He’s never stopped loving her, no matter how many reasons she gave him to. But I don’t hold it against him. I know his heart. And if she reached out to him to reach me, maybe that says something.

Maybe she’s hurting too.

“Listen, Logan. I’m in Austin.”

I jolt upright in my chair, launching my clicky pen across the desk where it clatters to the floor.

I glance around the office—no one seems to notice. Through the glass wall, I see Krista and the rest of my team still deep in the meeting I should be in. But right now, none of that exists.

“Oh. How long are you in town?”

“That depends,” she replies tentatively. “I was wondering if you’d be open to seeing me. Maybe dinner tonight? Or ... whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Her voice floats in the silence like it’s suspended there, waiting for me to catch it.

I don’t speak. Not yet.

I look out the window behind my desk, past the buildings and traffic and skyline, to nowhere in particular.

Dinner.

It’s such a simple word. But with my mother, nothing’s ever been simple.

I swallow hard, and suddenly I’m sixteen again, standing frozen on the sidewalk in a town we didn’t live in, watching her kiss a man who wasn’t my father.

I remember the heat in my cheeks. The nausea. The way I couldn’t make my feet move. I remember the silence after. The space she left behind.

And now she’s here. With a voice that sounds smaller than I remember. Asking for time, like it’s something she never ran out of.

But something about the tremble in her voice makes me realize this isn’t just hard for me. She’s nervous too. Maybe even afraid.

And if I’ve spent all this time in therapy learning to stop running, maybe this is what not running looks like.

I rake a hand through my hair and lean back in my chair, heart pounding in my throat. “Yeah,” I say finally, my voice steady but soft. “I think I’d be open to that.”

She exhales. Relieved, maybe. Or maybe she’s just as unsure as I am. “Okay. Wherever you’d like. I’ll be there.”

After we hang up, all the air comes rushing back into my lungs.

I stand, push away from the desk, and walk straight past the conference room without even glancing in. I make it to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, lock the door behind me, and grip the edge of the sink like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

My reflection stares back—tense shoulders, blown pupils, a storm beneath the surface. I splash cold water on my face, trying to pull myself out of whatever spiral I feel building.

I don’t know what I’m walking into tonight.

But I know I don’t want to show up like this—untethered, full of rage, half a breath away from shutting down again.

I wipe my face with a paper towel, toss it in the bin, and walk back out. I message Charlotte on my therapy app before I can talk myself out of it.

Logan

My mom is here. Asked to see me tonight. I don’t feel ready for this.

Her reply comes a moment later.

Charlotte

You don’t have to be ready, Logan. Just willing.

I stare at the screen for a long time.

Willing.

That might be all I have.

But maybe it’s enough.