Chapter sixteen
Bryan
The next day I find myself working at the house again. It’s a good thing that I have such a terrific staff at the office, because I know that all the work needs are getting done and that I’d be called for anything serious.
The hammer’s steady in my grip, tapping against the last shelf as I fasten it into place. The soft creak of wood settling fills the space, blending with the faint rush of waves outside. Sunlight filters through the window, casting warm stripes across the cushions I just arranged.
I step back, surveying the reading nook. Emma’s spot. It used to be her escape, a tiny space tucked into the upstairs hall, nestled between the window and built-in bookshelves. I’d find her here as a kid, curled up with some novel too thick for her small hands, completely lost in whatever world she’d wandered into.
She always wanted it back. And now she has it. The fresh coat of paint brightens the alcove, and the new cushions are inviting. I even dusted the shelves, she’ll notice, she notices everything. A smirk tugs at my lips. She’s gonna love this. I don't even know why I'm doing this. The sane part of me can't figure out what it is that draws me to her without reservation.
Buddy’s paws tap against the floor downstairs, then a car rumbles into the driveway. I shift to the window, glancing down. Emma.
She’s alone, stepping out of my truck, arms wrapped around a bag from the supply store.
Something in my chest tightens. I hear her footsteps, light, sure, nearing. My heart pounds as I move back, resting my hands on my hips just as she rounds the corner.
She stops dead. Her breath catches. Her fingers tighten around the bag. Her eyes shift past me.
“The nook…” she exhales, stepping closer, eyes shining as they sweep over the space. “You finished it.”
She sets the bag down, barely aware of it, drawn in by the transformation. She comes up the steps and reaches out, brushing her fingertips along the wooden shelf, tracing the fresh coat of white paint.
Her awe hits me in the gut. I shrug, forcing nonchalance, even as something deep inside me wants to soak in this moment, wants her to see what this means. “Thought you’d want it back.”
She turns to me, her eyes wide, something soft and unreadable in them. For a second, I swear she sees right through me. Sees the truth I haven’t said out loud.
Then she smiles. And goodness, that smile. Something shifts between us, like the air thickens, pulling us closer before we even realize we’ve moved. She steps in, just a fraction, close enough that I catch the faintest hint of the freshness clinging to her. Her voice is quiet, almost hesitant. “Thank you, Bryan, really.”
We stay staring at each other. My heart beating fast. I don’t even think about it.
I lean in. Her breath hitches, her lips part just slightly an invitation, a hesitation, both at once. I could kiss her. Right now.
The space between us is nothing, barely a breath. My chest tightens, every muscle locked between the pull of just do it and the fear that she’ll step away again. Then she does.
A quick, sharp inhale, and she pulls back, almost too fast, turning slightly so all I get is the brush of her hair as she tucks it behind her ear. She won’t look at me. Not yet. But her cheeks are flushed, her fingers still grazing the shelf like she needs something to hold onto.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to step back, to loosen my hands that suddenly want to fist in frustration. Not into me? No. That’s not it.
The way she reacted, the way she wouldn’t meet my gaze, the way her pulse fluttered at her throat before she turned away, it’s not that she doesn’t feel it.
She does. She just doesn’t know what to do with it. So, I let it go. For now.
She finally exhales, shifting her weight, then presses a palm to the wooden surface and murmurs, “It’s perfect.”
Her voice is steady, but when she turns back, just slightly, just enough to catch my eye there’s something lingering there. Something she wants to say. Something she’s not ready to say. Yet.
I nod, rubbing a hand along my jaw, keeping my tone even. “Good.”
She lingers for another second before scooping up her bag and walking away. I don’t stop her. I don’t have to. Because now I know.
She’ll be back.
***
The engine hums low as I pull onto a gravel path, tires crunching over loose stones. The lot is empty, grass overgrown, a faded FOR LEASE sign hanging crooked on the fence. It’s not much yet. Nate recommended this place, and I can see the reason. It is in the center of the town, just the perfect place for a good clinic.
Emma shifts in the passenger seat, staring through the windshield, hands gripping the edge of her hoodie sleeves. The space is hers to dream on, hers to build. And goodness, does she deserve it. I cut the engine.
She steps out, slow at first, taking it in. “It needs a lot of work,” she murmurs, pacing a few feet ahead, eyes scanning like she’s piecing it together. Then, under her breath, “But it's really good…”
I shove my hands into my pockets, watching her. “I think so too.”
We go around the building. There isn't much to see. I'll have to discuss with Nate on bringing it back to life. We return to my car. She stops. Turns. Her lips part slightly, and for a second, she just looks at me.
Like she’s seeing something she wasn’t expecting. Her fingers flex at her sides, and I swear she’s about to say something but then Buddy jumps out from the back seat, leash tangling around my legs, and the moment shatters.
I clear my throat. “C’mon. Let’s get ice cream at Warren's.”
The bell above the door jingles as we step inside. The place is the same as it’s always been … sticky booths, posters of sundaes that haven’t been updated in a decade, a line of kids smudging the glass display with tiny fingers.
Emma grins. “Mint chip, right?” I smirk. “Rocky road?”
She nods like she never left. Like we never lost those years between us. Minutes later, we’re back outside, ice cream cones in hand, Buddy tugging at his leash, sniffing for dropped crumbs.
Emma takes a slow lick of her mint chip, then flicks her gaze up at me, all innocent mischief. “You have a little something…”
Before I can react, she smears a stripe of green across my nose. I freeze.
Her giggle light, breathless wraps around me like a hook, sharp and sudden, tugging me under.
I wipe my nose, giving her a look. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” She shrieks as I reach for her, stepping back too fast. “Bryan, don’t…”
Too late. I swipe a streak of chocolate against her cheek, and she gasps, touching her face in horror. “You’re dead.” She lunges, laughing, and we’re twelve again, sixteen again, seventeen and stealing time. Buddy barks, jumping between us, his tail wagging like this is the best day of his life.
And maybe it is. For me too. Emma’s got ice cream dripping down her wrist, her cheeks flushed pink from the chase. Her smirk is pure trouble as she lifts her cone threateningly. “One more step, and this is going in your hair.”
I hold up my hands, feigning surrender. “Truce?” She squints. “Hmm. Say I’m the best.”
I step closer, dropping my voice low. “You already know you are.”
Her breath catches, her fingers flex around her cone, and the moment shifts, softens. Her gaze flickers down to my mouth, just for a second.
It’s instinct to close the space, to lean in. She turns, bolting for the bench. “Race you!”
I blink, thrown off for half a second before I take off after her, chasing the sound of her laughter.
She trips. I catch her. My arm wraps around her waist, steadying her before she can fall, her body pressed against mine, her breath warm against my collarbone.
Neither of us moves. The world around us slows, just us, just this. Her hands grip my arms lightly, fingers curling like she wants to hold on but doesn’t know if she should.
I don’t let go. Not yet. She tilts her head back, eyes flicking up, and I swear she’s daring me to just do it. To just close the space.
But as I move, she straightens, adjusting her hoodie, pretending her pulse isn’t hammering as hard as mine. “You okay?” she asks, breathless.
I exhale, running a hand through my hair. No. Not even close . But I smirk, because that’s what we do. “You’re a menace.”
She laughs softly, and I’d chase that sound to the end of the earth. We sit down, ice cream melting between us, breath still uneven from running, from almost … I glance at her, and she’s looking at me like she’s seeing something she wasn’t ready to see.
Maybe it’s the same thing I’m finally ready to say. As her phone buzzes, she stiffens, blinking down at the screen.
She mutters, “One sec,” stepping just far enough away that I can’t hear.
My stomach tightens. I watch her, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the way her brows furrow, the way her lips press together in something between worry and resolve.
I shouldn’t care. I do. I force myself to focus on Buddy, scratching behind his ears, but my mind is already racing.
Who is she talking to? And why does it feel like she’s slipping away again?
She turns back, her smile softer, controlled, guarded again. “All good.”
She sits, taking another bite of her ice cream like nothing happened. I nod, slow. But something in me is unsettling.
I can’t keep waiting. Not when I almost lost her once.
***
The night air is crisp, the ocean a steady hum beyond the cliffs. I lean against the porch railing, beer bottle in hand, watching the waves crash below. The lantern above swings lazily, casting a dim glow, flickering like the thoughts racing through my head.
Emma.
I scrub a hand down my jaw, exhaling hard. She’s everywhere. In the scent of lavender still clinging to my hoodie from the car ride, in the way my pulse kicked up when she smeared ice cream on my nose, in the echo of her laughter, light, unguarded, the kind I haven’t heard from her in years. What in blue blazes am I doing?
This was supposed to be nothing. Just three months, a legal technicality, a house we’d both leave behind. But now? Now I’m fixing reading nooks just to see her eyes light up. I’m choosing to spend time with her, looking for excuses to keep her close.
And the worst part? I don’t want to stop. I tilt the bottle to my lips, but it’s empty. Figures.
Just as I push off the railing, the door creaks behind me. Footsteps are soft, familiar. I don’t need to turn to know it’s her. “Couldn’t sleep?” I ask, my voice rougher than I expect.
Emma steps closer, stopping just a few feet away. She’s back in one of those oversized sweatshirts, sleeves covering her hands, hair loose over her shoulders. The sight hits me harder than it should.
“Long day,” she murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Figured some fresh air might help.”
I nod, watching her from the corner of my eye as she steps up beside me, resting her arms on the railing. The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just… charged.
She exhales slowly, staring at the waves. “The clinic spot felt real today,” she says, almost to herself. “Like it’s actually happening.”
It is happening. And she’s making it happen. “You’re gonna do it,” I tell her, meaning every word. “You’ll build that clinic, and it’ll be exactly what this town needs.”
She glances at me, something soft flashing in her eyes. “You really think so?”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Emma, I’ve never seen you fight for something harder. You’re already making it happen.”
Her lips curve, but there’s something behind her expression. Something hesitant. And I hate that she still doubts herself. That she doesn’t see what I see. The wind shifts, and I swear the space between us shrinks.
Too close. Not close enough. I swallow, gripping the railing tighter. The air is thick, heavy with something, but neither of us moves.
After a beat, she sighs. “I should go inside. Big day tomorrow.”
I nod, but when she turns, something in me reacts before I can stop it. “Emma.”
She pauses. I don’t know what I was about to say. Maybe stay . Maybe I miss you . Maybe something I can’t take back.
She turns back slightly, waiting. I exhale, shaking my head. “Goodnight.”
A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face, but she nods. “Goodnight, Bryan.”
And just like that, she’s gone, the door clicking softly behind her.
I stay outside long after she’s gone, staring at the waves, pulse pounding, wonder what is holding me back; wondering if I’m just too afraid of how she’ll react. Or maybe this is nothing and I’m imagining these moments mean something.
No, Bryan. This isn’t nothing. It never was.