Page 6 of The Only Road Back

JACK

I barely slept last night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Beth—her uncertain gaze, the catch of her breath when I kissed her forehead, the way she looked at me like I was the only steady thing in a shifting world.

I told myself I should keep my distance. Let her settle in. Don’t complicate things. But there’s something about her that calls to a part of me I hadn’t realized was missing until she stood on my porch.

Now she’s just down the hall, and my thoughts won’t let me rest.

Morning slips through the blinds. The house is silent except for the groan of the floorboards and the fridge’s steady hum. Six thirty-two. Too early to be turning things over in my mind, but it’s useless to fight.

I need to do something, anything, before I drive myself crazy.

I pull on a clean shirt and jeans and grab my keys. The bakery will be open. If I hurry, I can pick up donuts and be back before Beth wakes.

Maybe it’s silly, donuts for breakfast, like I’m trying to impress her, but I don’t care. After yesterday, she deserves a soft landing.

The scent of cinnamon fills the cab as I drive home, a white bakery bag riding shotgun. Patty didn’t even ask questions, just smiled that knowing small-town grin and handed me the bag. “Tell her welcome,” she said.

Small towns don’t keep secrets.

I stash the donuts on the kitchen counter. Seven fifteen. Still no sound from Beth’s room.

I stand for a moment outside her door, uncertainty prickling at the edge of my resolve. I rap gently.

No answer.

A little louder. “Beth?”

Eventually, there’s a muffled rustle, then the door cracks open. Beth peers out, hair wild, eyes heavy with sleep.

“What time is it?” she asks, voice groggy.

“Just after seven.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Why?”

I offer a lopsided grin. “Got donuts.”

She doesn’t answer right away, just blinks, then straightens. “You got donuts?” she repeats, as if confirming I can’t possibly be serious.

“All kinds,” I say.

She lets out a reluctant laugh and backs into her room. “Five minutes,” she promises.

When she shows up in the kitchen, her hair is pulled back and she’s traded pajamas for a sweater and jeans. I’ve set out coffee and plates, trying not to make it obvious that I care too much about whether she eats.

Beth stops short at the spread. “You made coffee, too?”

“I thought you might want some.” I keep it casual.

She steps closer to inspect the donuts. “What kinds?”

“Every kind they had,” I say. I mean it—whatever her favorite is, I want it here.

It earns me a brief, genuine smile—the day’s first victory.

We sit together at the table. While I nurse my coffee, she uses small, careful bites to demolish a cinnamon twist. The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s charged. Neither of us mentions the kiss from yesterday. I won’t push. She needs space.

I let the quiet linger until it’s time to head for the garage.

We pull around back, and Henry’s already there, propped against the workbench with coffee in hand.

He offers a dry look when Beth steps out beside me. “Didn’t think you’d scare her off quite this fast.”

Beth snorts, sharp and clear. “I’m tougher than I look.”

Henry grins, and I’m grateful for the lightness. Beth surveys the garage—organized chaos, the scent of oil and dust in the air.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asks.

I gesture to her car near the lift. “I’ll get started on it. The part should arrive later, but I can check the rest.”

She nods, but after an hour of me and Henry crawling over her engine, Beth seems restless, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on her thigh.

“Bored?” I ask.

She sighs. “A little bit.”

Henry perks up. “How are you with numbers?”

Beth brightens. “I’m an accountant.”

He exchanges a look with me, opportunity knocking. “Perfect. Our books are a mess.” He gestures to a shoebox of receipts beside the computer.

Beth straightens. “You want me to take a look?”

I shrug, trying for nonchalance. “We definitely won’t say no.”

It lights something in her. “I can do that. I need a distraction, anyway.”

Henry smirks. “You’re hired. Pay’s lousy, but there’s coffee.”

Beth laughs. The sound is easy, a balm after the tension of yesterday.

While she disappears into a spreadsheet abyss, I work on her car but find my mind wandering back to her.

She’s nothing like the women I grew up around.

Most folks in town settle early, live, and die within a few miles of where they landed.

Beth is different—sharper, independent. I catch her muttering at the laptop, eyebrows knit in focused annoyance, and I realize I like her here.

The thought sneaks up on me. I want her to stay. In the house. In the shop. In my orbit.

Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe I’m asking for trouble. But I can’t help it.

By late afternoon, we’re winding down. Beth stands and stretches, rolling her shoulders with a theatrical sigh. “I’ve made a dent in the chaos, but you two are hopeless with receipts.”

Henry grins. “That’s why we hired you.”

Beth shakes her head, fighting a smile.

I wipe grease from my hands. “Your car’s finished,” I say.

She glances up, surprised. “That fast?” She hesitates, then adds, “Would it be okay if I stayed one more night?”

Something warm rolls through me. “I’d be honored.”

Henry claps me on the back. “You two go get dinner. I’ll lock up.”

Beth flushes, caught off guard. “Oh, I…I don’t want to trouble—”

I cut her off. “Come on. Let me buy you a real meal, no strings.”

She searches my face, then nods. “All right.”

We end up at the diner, side by side, in a booth by the window, burgers, fries, the low murmur of locals around us.

Beth relaxes over dinner, finally letting the yesterday’s tension slip from her shoulders.

She glances up with half a smile on her lips. “Do you rescue a lot of stranded women, or am I just lucky?”

“Only the ones worth rescuing,” I say.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t look away.

For the first time since she showed up, I wonder if she’s beginning to believe she could belong here, with me.

God, wouldn’t that be nice?