His lips pressed together like he knew I had him there. “Fair.”
We stood there in the pantry doorway, neither of us moving. The air between us felt like it could crack. I could feel him watching me. Not just the way a guy looked at a girl he’d kissed, though, sure, there was a little bit of that too, but like he was trying to read something I hadn’t even said out loud.
The worst part?
I wasn’t sure I could.
I swallowed hard and turned back to the shelves. “This thing, whatever it is, was never meant to be anything more than a blip.”
“Blip?” he repeated, quietly.
I hated the way the word tasted. Bitter. Dismissive. Unfair.
But if I didn’t start building the wall now, I was afraid I’d crumble the second he left.
“It’s not like you’re staying,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “And I’m not exactly a relocation kind of girl.”
He exhaled, a slow, heavy sound. “I know.”
“And I’ve worked hard for this place,” I added. “For my life. It’s not perfect. But it’s mine. And I can’t... I won’t let myself believe in something that isn’t real.”
“I didn’t mean for it to feel real,” he said softly. “But it does.”
My eyes burned.
Becausesame.
It felt terrifyingly real. Every glance. Every touch. Every quiet moment where his defenses dropped and he looked at me like I mattered.
But real didn’t always mean lasting.
“Ben,” I said, voice tight. “You’re going back. To Florida. To work. To your life. This was never going to be more than a summer story.”
“Is that what you want it to be?” he asked, still standing there, still watching like he wasn’t sure if he should step closer or leave.
And that was the problem.
I didn’t know.
I wanted him to say it didn’t matter and that he’d stay. That this connection we found in truck beds, quiet stairwells, and under starlit trees was worth throwing plans off course.
But that wasn’t fair.
Because I hadn’t said it either.
I turned back to the bin of marshmallows and whispered, “It’s just easier if we keep it that way.”
A long silence stretched between us.
Then he said, “That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop caring.”
I closed my eyes.
That made it worse.
Because if he didn’t care, if this was a fling, I could tuck it into a drawer in my heart, move on, and chalk it up to a perfect summer detour—a beautiful what-if.
But hedidcare.
