Fifi's voice echoed in my head on a loop.Are you married?Followed by the one thing she said without words,I don't trust you.
And why should she?
I hadn’t given her much to hold on to. A few sweet moments, some heat and laughter, a kiss that felt like it opened every part of me I’d buried, and then a door slammed shut.
She saw that door close.
Worse, she felt it.
And maybe what haunted me most was that she hadn’t looked surprised. Not really. Hurt, yes. But like some small, cynical part of her had expected it. Like she'd been here before.
I paced.
The floor creaked beneath my feet, a metronome for my spiraling thoughts. I was good at holding it together. Hell, I was the master of composure. I could make a boardroom lean in with nothing more than a glance and a perfectly timed sentence. I could disarm investors, wrangle timelines, and mediate conflict like a diplomat.
But none of that prepared me for the look on Fifi’s face when she thought I might belong to someone else. None of that taught me what to do when the person who made you feel something real, something vital, looked at you like you were a stranger they regretted trusting.
She thought I was hiding a wife, and I couldn’t even blame her for thinking it.
I hadn’t given her anything real to hold onto. A few muttered work frustrations, a vague reference to my past. No details. No clarity. No truths she could wrap around her heart and trust.
Because I didn’t want her to see what a mess I still was.
I’d told myself it was for her own good and that this was temporary. That feelings would only complicate things. That we’d walk away from this place without leaving anything behind.
But I was wrong.
She was already under my skin and in my head, etched into my every waking thought like a song I couldn’t shake. And now? Now I was terrified she was already gone.
My fingers hovered over my phone.
I could call Dustin. He’d joke. Try to lighten it. Tell me I was being a dumbass and to go get her back before she did something crazy like start dating a forest ranger or just move on because it was only a vacation fling.
But this wasn’t about jokes.
This was about the woman who made me laugh when I didn’t remember how and who made me feel things I thought I’d sealed away after too many years of responsibility and silence.
And if I wanted a chance in hell of keeping that?
I had to tell her everything.
Even if it made her walk away.
Even if it left me exposed.
I left the room before I could talk myself out of it.
The hallway was empty. The house, too quiet. The storm inside me didn’t match the stillness of the place.
I checked the porch. The reading nook. The pantry.
She wasn’t there.
My chest tightened. Panic threatened to rise like it had when I got that call from Florida, the one that reminded me how quickly people and priorities shift.
I stepped outside into the evening air, calling her name once.
Nothing.
