That hit harder than I expected. I looked away, toward the front windows, where the reflection of the street lights flickered against the glass.
“She’s not the same girl from high school,” I said. “She’s different. Quieter. Still fierce, but like she’s holding parts of herself back.”
Maddox was quiet for a second. “You think it’s because of what happened?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. She hasn’t told me much. I don’t think she’s ready. But whatever it is, it changed her. You can see it in her eyes.”
He took a sip of his beer. “So what are you gonna do?”
I exhaled. “Love her anyway. Love her slowly. Give her space if she needs it, stay close if she lets me. She matters to me, Maddox. Not just in that pretty girl from high school kind of way. In that I-want-her-to-know-she’s-safe kind of way.”
Maddox smiled into his glass. “You sound like a guy in love.”
“Maybe I am,” I said quietly.
And I wasn’t afraid of that anymore.
Blair Cunningham.
My Bee.
She didn’t know I used to call her that in my head, back when we were just kids and I watched her scribble stories in the back corner of the library, a furrow between her brows and a pencil always tucked behind her ear. She always had this light, this spark she didn’t even know she carried. And she’d left, chasing it. I admired the hell out of her for that, even when it gutted me.
But seeing her now, older, stronger, and yet still so clearlycarrying the weight of whatever drove her away, it stirred something inside me I hadn’t felt in years.
I wanted to protect her.
And not just from other people.
From herself, too.
Because I could see the guilt in her eyes. The doubt. Like she thought she didn’t belong here anymore.
She couldn’t be more wrong.
I said goodbye to Maddox and shut the lights off in the bar, walking through the quiet back hallway to the office. I sat down, cracked open the books, and tried to focus on numbers, inventory, and the upcoming weekend schedule, but my mind was still back on her. On the way, her eyes softened when she talked about Madison. The way her smile hit me like sunlight when she let herself laugh.
She’s writing a book.
She didn’t say much about it, but I could tell she was proud, even if she didn’t feel she could show it. Hell, I was proud, and I hadn’t read a single word.
I leaned back in my chair and looked around the office, cluttered with old bar memorabilia and stacked boxes of liquor orders. This bar had been my whole world for a long time. A safe place. A place I rebuilt from the ground up after years of bouncing around, trying to find something solid to stand on.
But tonight, for the first time in a while, I realized how small it all felt compared to her.
Compared to us, if we let that happen.
A buzz broke the silence, my phone lit up on the desk.
Madison:
She’s writing again. And she emailed a publisher!
I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my lips. That was Blair. She was brave as hell, even when she didn’t feel like it. That email? That was her stepping back into herself.
I typed a quick reply.
Me:
