Still, there’s a part of me that’s holding back, that’s afraid to let go. I can’t risk letting someone in again, not after the lasttime. My mind replays moments from my past—how I trusted too easily, how everything crumbled when I wasn’t looking. I can’t go through that again.
Pope moves beside me, his presence grounding me, but also stirring something inside I’m not sure I’m ready to face. He senses it too, the way I pull back just as things start to feel… close. I can see the frustration in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens when I retreat.
He watches me now, his arms crossed as he leans against one of the beams. “You always do that,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.
“Do what?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“Pull away,” he says simply. “Every time we get close, you retreat.”
I swallow hard, not sure how to respond. He’s right, but I’m not ready to explain why. Not yet. “It’s not—” I start, but the words die in my throat.
He shakes his head, his voice softening. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s something vulnerable in them that I wasn’t expecting. “I’m not him, Ruby. Whoever hurt you before… I’m not that guy.”
I flinch at his words, my walls going up even higher. “I’m fine,” I lie, my voice barely above a whisper.
“No, you’re not,” Pope says, his voice low and steady. “And that’s okay.”
His words hit me harder than I expect. There’s something about the way he says it, with no judgment, no pressure, just… understanding. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to let my guard down completely. I want to trust him, but the fear of heartache looms large.
Pope steps closer, and I feel the heat from his body again, the air between us thick with tension. “You don’t have to be fineall the time,” he says quietly, his voice rough but sincere. “If you ever want to talk… I’m here.”
I nod, my throat tight, but I can’t find the words to respond. Instead, I look away, focusing on the half-built walls surrounding us. I don’t want to talk, not about that. Not yet.
We fall into a quiet rhythm after that, the unspoken tension hanging in the air but not quite ready to be addressed. Pope doesn’t push, and I’m grateful for that. Instead, we work side by side, the silence between us comfortable now, not strained like before.
Later that night, as the sky darkens and the stars begin to twinkle overhead, we sit together on a bench near the site. The sounds of the night fill the space around us—the soft rustle of leaves, the distant hum of crickets. It’s peaceful here, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a sense of calm.
Pope leans back, his arms resting on his knees as he stares out at the construction. “You’re different from most people I’ve worked with,” he says, his voice thoughtful.
I raise an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Different good, or different annoying?”
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Both, I think.”
I laugh, the sound light and genuine, and for a moment, everything feels… easy. It’s a far cry from the sharp exchanges we had when we first met, a sign of how far we’ve come.
As the quiet stretches between us, I glance over at him, catching the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes soften when they meet mine. For a moment, I wonder if he feels it too—this pull between us, the attraction that hums beneath the surface of every conversation, every touch.
My heart races, my mind filled with the possibilities of what could be if I let myself trust him. But the fear is still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, whispering that I can’t risk it. Not yet.
When Pope stands to leave, his hand brushes against my arm, the touch sending a shiver down my spine. It’s brief, fleeting, but it leaves me breathless. I don’t move away, don’t flinch, but I can feel the heat of his skin against mine long after his hand is gone.
There’s an unspoken promise in that touch, a promise that this tension between us won’t stay unresolved for much longer.
As I watch Pope walk away, my heart pounds in my chest, my thoughts swirling with the what-ifs and maybes. He’s different, I know that much. But am I ready to take that leap? To let my walls down and risk being hurt again?
I don’t have an answer yet. But something tells me I’ll find it soon.
Chapter Six
Pope
The late afternoon sun bathes the construction site in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the skeletal frame of the library. Everything around me smells like fresh lumber, sawdust, and a little sweat—just the way I like it. It's peaceful here, the rhythm of hammering and cutting steady and predictable. It’s the kind of place where my mind can quiet down, where I can drown out the world. But today, something’s off.
Ruby steps onto the site, her silhouette cutting through the light. She’s quieter than usual, her shoulders hunched, her usual fire dimmed. I can see it immediately—she’s not herself. She barely glances at me as she walks by, clutching that damn notebook like it’s some kind of shield. My hands still on the beam I’m working on, muscles tensing as I try to figure out what’s going on.
Normally, we’ve got a rhythm. She challenges me, I push back. It’s become part of the routine. But today, the air feels heavier, the tension different. I don’t like it.
I call out to her, my voice rougher than intended. “Ruby, what’s going on with you?”
