"Why?" Cord's gaze was intent.
I shrugged, heat creeping up my neck again. "I don't know. I guess I've always been better at recognizing talent in others than believing in my own."
"That's hard to square with the confident guy who walked me through yoga poses at The Ranch." His tone was gentle. "The one who knew exactly when to push and when to back off."
"That's different." I stood to clear our plates, needing the movement. "That's about reading people, understanding what they need. Art is... personal. Putting it out there feels like walking naked down Main Street."
"Says the guy who works at a sex resort."
I laughed. "Fair point. But when I'm working with clients at The Ranch, I'm performing a role. The boundaries are clear. With art..." I trailed off, searching for words. "It's like handing someone a piece of your soul and asking them what they think of it."
Before Cord could respond, lightning flashed. Thunder cracked a second later, seemed to shake the foundation. Then rain started hammering the roof.
Not a gentle spring shower but full Hill Country downpour.
"That moved in fast," Cord said, standing to look out the window.
I joined him, standing close enough that our shoulders touched. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees in the last few minutes. I could feel cooler air seeping through thesingle-pane glass. "They usually pass quick too. Fifteen, twenty minutes of drama, then it's over."
"Kind of like a panic attack." He said it without looking at me, his reflection in the glass showing a wry smile. "Intense as hell, then it clears."
"How are you feeling? Really?"
He was quiet for a moment, watching the rain sheet down. "Better. The physical stuff's mostly gone. No more shaking, no more feeling like my skin doesn't fit. But the mental part..." He paused. "It's like the volume got turned down, you know? The noise in my head. It's still there, but it's not drowning everything else out."
I turned to face him, studying his profile. "What's the noise saying now?"
"That I need to make some decisions." He met my eyes. "About surgery, about my career. About what comes after football if that's really over."
"Any idea what you want those answers to be?"
"Not yet." He reached for my hand. "But I'm starting to think maybe that's okay. Maybe I don't have to have everything figured out right now."
The rain continued, steady and hypnotic. Through the window, I could see the creek starting to rise, brown water churning over rocks that'd been exposed just hours ago.
"You worried about the foundation?" Cord asked, nodding toward my phone.
"A little." I squeezed his hand. "But Sam's solid. If there's a real problem, he'll figure it out. That's what he does, he fixes things while Jake dreams big and I..." I trailed off.
"You make beauty," Cord said. "You help people. You create spaces where they can be themselves."
The words settled into my chest, warm and solid. Nobody had ever put it quite like that.
"And where does The Ranch fit into all this?" Cord asked quietly.
I took a breath. "It's been a good way to make money while planning everything else. Hours are flexible, pay is excellent, and..." I hesitated, then decided on honesty. "I'm good at it. Helping people find what they need, even when they're not sure themselves."
"You are good at it." His voice was soft. "Better than good."
The air between us shifted, charged with acknowledging what'd developed over the past few days. Something that started professional but became undeniably personal.
"Cord—"
"You don't have to explain anything." He set his mug down, turning to face me. "What's happened here... I don't have expectations about what it means after we leave."
But I could see in his eyes that wasn't entirely true. There was a question there. What happens next? Where do we go from here?
Before I could figure out a response, my phone buzzed again. Through the rain-streaked window, I could see the storm starting to break, patches of lighter sky visible between clouds.
