Last night wasn’t a mistake.
That’s the problem.
I pull my shirt over my head and smooth it down, forcing my breathing to even out while my mind tries to replay every second anyway.
The way he looked at me. The way he didn’t rush anything, didn’t take more than I gave. Didn’t make it feel like I was something temporary in a moment he’d forget by morning. It would’ve been easier if this felt like the kind of thing I could dismiss and move past without thinking twice.
A one night stand maybe. That makes me giggle.
But it doesn’t feel like that.
It feels like something that matters.
And that’s exactly why I can’t let it change anything.
I tie my hair back, tighter than I need to, grounding myself in the motion. I’ve built a life that works. It’s not flashy or complicated. It doesn’t depend on anyone who might decide to leave.
Hadley comes first.
She always will.
Which means I don’t get to make decisions based on how something feels in the middle of the night when everything is quiet and easy and the rest of the world isn’t pressing in.
I glance toward the door, half expecting to hear movement outside, half expecting him to be there waiting, ready to say something that makes this harder than it already is.
He isn’t.
Of course he isn’t, this is my mom's house.
That steady, grounded way he has about him shows up here too, in the space he gives me without asking for anything in return.
He said what he needed to say last night and made his position clear. Now he’s letting me decide.
And that gets under my skin more than if he’d pushed.
I grab my boots and sit on the edge of the bed to pull them on, fingers moving quickly even though there’s no real rush. I justdon’t want to let the weight of it settle any deeper. I just want some coffee and to see my moms face. Her soft and grounding voice.
Last night at the ranch doesn’t change anything.
I repeat it again, quieter this time, like saying it enough will make it stick.
We’re still figuring things out.
He still has to prove he can be consistent.
And I still don’t trust that what feels steady right now won’t shift.
That’s not something I risk. Not with Hadley. Not with everything we’ve built to get here.
I stand and take one last breath to start my day. I hear my mom moving around the kitchen. I smell the coffee going.
I'm in a place that doesn’t get to decide what happens next.
I reach for the door, steady and sure, and pull it open without hesitation.
Because if I don’t go now, I might not be able to later.
That’s the part that throws me off the second I step into the hallway, boots quiet against the worn wood floor, the house already alive in that soft, early-morning way that always used to settle me.
