“You sure you’re okay?” I asked quietly when we rounded the corner.
She smiled without slowing. “Levi.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She stopped walking then. Turned to face me fully. Up close, the exhaustion was unmistakable. Hollows shadowed beneath her eyes, tension tightened at the corners of her mouth, and the faint tremor in her fingers when she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m fine,” she said gently. “I promise.”
I didn’t believe her. Not for a second. Every instinct I had screamed that she was lying—not to hurt me, but to protect herself. She was scared, and she was trying to hide it behindsmiles and sarcasm, and the sight of it tore at me in ways I hadn’t felt in years.
I lowered my voice. “You don’t have to promise me anything. I just—” I stopped, choosing words carefully. “If something’s wrong, I can help. I want to. Let me help you, Becca. Please.”
Her humor slipped, just a crack. Enough for me to see the fear underneath. Then the mask was back.
“Why do you always do this?”
“Do what?”
“Care,” she said, like it was half joke, half accusation. “So damn much.”
I shifted my weight, suddenly aware of how close we were standing, how much space she was trying to keep between us without actually stepping back. I tipped my head down the block. “Walk with me a little further.”
She fell into step beside me without arguing, which told me more than she probably intended. We drifted away from the main drag, past the hardware store and the little insurance office with its perpetually crooked sign, rounding the long block that curved back toward the lot behind Violet’s, where a smoothie truck parked on weekday afternoons. I could already see it idling at the far end, its hand-painted menu board bright against the grey afternoon.
“Hey,” I said softly. “We don’t have to do this standing on the sidewalk.”
She lifted a brow. “Do what?”
“Whatever this is.” I gestured between us. “Circling each other, not talking when we have so much to say. The pretending.”
Her mouth curved, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ve had a lot of practice.”
We reached the smoothie truck, and I stopped, studying the board. “What do you want?”
She blinked, as if she’d only just registered where we’d ended up. “Oh—I’m fine, I don’t need?—”
“Becca.” I looked at her. “What do you want?”
A beat. Something in her shoulders gave just slightly. “Mango,” she said. “If they have it.”
They had it. I ordered two without making anything of it, paid before she could think to object, and handed hers over. She took it with the slightly dazed expression of someone who’d been running on adrenaline long enough that a small act of ordinary kindness had temporarily short-circuited her.
We leaned against the low brick wall at the edge of the lot, the town quiet around us.
“Have lunch with me,” I said. “Or dinner. Or coffee that turns into something longer. I don’t care. Please—” I exhaled. “Sit down with me for an hour. No distractions. No pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”
She studied me, watching me react to her like she was weighing what it would cost to let the mask drop even a little. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said quietly.
“Why?”
She shrugged, but the motion was tight, guarded. “Because talking leads to more talking.”
I smiled despite the ache in my chest. “That’s usually the point.”
Her gaze softened, just for a heartbeat, and it nearly stole my breath. “Levi,” she said, almost a whisper. “I don’t have the bandwidth for this right now.”
“This?” I asked. “Or me?”
