“Before you start,” I said, “I’m not here for a fight.”
“Me neither.” He cleared his throat. “I’m here because I made a mistake.”
I waited.
“I’ve been protecting you in a way that erases you,” he said finally. “That’s the mistake. You get the fruits of my training, the intel, the security checks, even the fun little gadgets you didn’t know existed. But where my training fails is you get none of the deciding. I thought I was doing my job. Turns out my job stopped being a security detail the moment I met you. I thought this was going to be just a job like all the others, with the only difference being instead of a facility or intel, it was a person. I can see how someone would view what I’ve done as lazy courage.”
“Lazy courage,” I repeated.
“I learned to keep people alive by controlling variables, the things others don’t see,” he said. “Then I met you and forgot the equation. You weren’t a variable. You were the reason I didn’t want the job to exist.” He grimaced. “That sounds worse than it is. Penny asked me to watch your back, to keep it secret, and let you live your life. I said yes. Somewhere between that and lemon bars, I found myself falling for you. I see now I held on too tight.”
He stopped, voice raw. “You can’t protect someone you don’t trust, and I’ve always known I can trust you, Milly. I just don’t know how to stop guarding the door even when you’re the one holding the key. This is a clash between learned instinct, training, and you.”
The words hit like rain on dry ground, quiet, certain, and soaking in slowly.
“You don’t have to stop protecting me, Austin,” I said. “You just have to stop hiding things from me. We can do this together, if you’d let me.”
Relief tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not in my training, but I’ll give it a good go. I want to do this beside you, but I can’t let you get hurt.”
“Good,” I said. “Then we’ll start there, and I can’t get hurt with you by my side.”
Ethel appeared with a plate of fries she pretended had escaped from someone else’s order. “Huh. I wonder how these got here,” she said, then walked away.
We ate a few, every once in a while looking up at each other with small grins on our faces. The jukebox shuffled into something about heartland highways. A kid announced he could count to twenty-seven, and half the diner applauded.
Five minutes came and went. I didn’t run.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Here’s my rule. No more quiet decisions that rewrite my day. If you’re concerned, tell me. If it’s bad, tell me. We’ll decide together whether to fight or run.”
“I can do that,” he said after a hesitant pause. I could see the wheels turning, his training fighting the thought.
When we stood, he pulled a small brown-paper package from his jacket.
“What’s that?”
“New hinges for your mudroom door,” he said. “The other ones squeak.”
“It’s about time.” I laughed. “I was wondering when you were going to replace the perfectly fine ones we already had.” I snickered and shook my head. Only Austin would see something as basic as a hinge and see a fix-it sign.
“Sorry it took so long, ma’am.”
Outside, Main Street glittered under thin sunlight. Cassie pretended to browse zinnias from across the road, catching my glance and offering a small thumbs-up before turning back to the flowers.
“Was that your backup?” Austin asked as I signaled a thumbs-up back.
“A girl’s got to have her escape plan, just in case,” I said, and bumped his shoulder.
The drive home stayed quiet. Gravel clicked under the tires as we turned onto the drive. Austin’s hand brushed near mine once, almost itching. That pause did more to me than the touch would have. Like he was asking without words, and trusting me to answer without flinching. My fingers stayed perfectly still and somehow screamed yes anyway, a signal that the air between us was hopeful.
At the ranch, the hills glowed with afternoon light. Wind slipped through the grass, stirring the scent of sage. He parked near the porch.
“You want to supervise?” he asked, holding up the brown paper bag like it was candy.
“I’ve been known to be an excellent supervisor.”
Austin knelt by the mudroom door, unwrapped the parcel, and replaced the hardware like a seasoned handyman. The screwdriver’s rhythm filled the pause between us. Click, turn, pause. Each sound smoothed another edge off the day.
When he tested the hinges, they held strong and silent. “There. Now you can raid the pantry in the dead of night, and I’ll never know.” He winked.
