"We were together four years. Theo was two when I finally—" She stops. Starts again. "It wasn't hitting. I want to be clear about that, because I spent a long time telling myself that meant it wasn't bad. It was just — everything went through him. What I wore. Who I talked to. I stopped calling my sister because it was easier than the conversation that came after." A pause. "I stopped knowing what I actually wanted because by the time I figured it out it wasn't worth the argument."
The porch light makes a small orange circle around us. Crickets. The mountains settling into dark.
"How did you know to leave?" I ask.
She thinks about it. "I was standing in the kitchen at two in the morning and something just opened up. I thought if I don't go right now I never will." She looks at her hands. "So I went."
"Good," I say.
She looks at me sideways, like she was expecting something else and doesn't know what to do with one word.
We sit with that for a moment.
"He'll come looking," she says.
"Maybe."
"He doesn't lose things easily."
I look at my hands and then at her. "He won't get near you."
She turns to look at me and I can see that she wants to believe it and doesn't trust the wanting, working through both at the same time.
"You don't know that," she says.
"No. But I'll know when he shows up."
Something shifts in her face. She looks at me for a long moment, really looks, the porch light catching her eyes, and I stay where I am and let her look for as long as she needs to.
Then she closes the distance and kisses me.
Soft and careful, her hand coming up to rest against my jaw like she's steadying herself, and I go still. Everything in me goes still. I don't reach for her. I don't move at all. I just sit there with her mouth on mine and her hand warm against my face and think: this. Right here. This is what I've been sitting on these steps for.
She starts to pull back.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize." Low. Careful.
She's close, her breath against my mouth, her hand still on my jaw. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"That's okay." I mean it. I'd wait all night on these steps if that's what she needed. "Only if you want to. That's all that matters. You want this, I'm here. You don't, I get in my truck and we forget it."
She searches my face. Whatever she's looking for she finds enough of.
She kisses me again, fuller, her fingers curling slightly against my jaw — and I bring one hand up slow and rest it over hers, just covering it, just that, and feel her breath catch against my mouth.
It's the best thing I've felt in years. Maybe longer.
When she finally pulls back she's looking at me, and I feel like the world is swirling around us.
Then she sees Boots.
Boots is in the truck with her nose pressed to the windshield, ears straight up, watching us with the focused attention of someone who has been invested in this outcome for some time.
Hallie stares at her. "Has she been there this whole time?"
"Probably."
