The line goes dead.
I don’t stop walking. The phone is still in my hand, my grip tight around it, my pulse uneven in a way I can’t quite steady. I don’t realize I’m shaking until I try to slow down, until I try to breathe.
Holt’s truck pulls in later. I hear it before I see it. The low rumble of the engine cuts through the quiet, gravel shifting under the tires as he pulls to a stop near the house.
Something in me reacts immediately. I’m not sure if it’s relief or something else.
Holt steps out, closing the door behind him, then looks up, finding me immediately. And in a split second, everything else fades to the edges.
He walks toward me, questions floating behind his eyes.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. But it’s too fast to seem normal.
His gaze instantly sharpens.
“Try that again.”
I exhale slowly, letting my shoulders drop.
“My mom called.”
That’s all it takes for something in his expression shifts. Hardening.
“What did she say?”
“That I’m distracted.”
His jaw tightens.
“That’s not her call.”
“No,” I say quietly. “But it sounds familiar.”
His gaze darkens.
“Nolan.”
Holt steps closer, enough that I feel it before he touches me.
“They don’t get to decide that,” he says.
“They think they do.”
“They don’t.”
“You have a job that pulls you away without warning,” I say, my voice quieter now. “I have one that requires me to stay focused no matter what. Especially if I’m going to make the inn the legacy it needs to be.”
He doesn’t step back.
“That doesn’t mean we stop this.”
“This?” I repeat.
“Yeah.”
I swallow hard, the motion sending a rock to settle in my stomach.
