“That's...” I cleared my throat. “That's incredible, Rosie. Congratulations.”
The word felt like swallowing glass. Every instinct screamed to ask her to stay, to tell her what she meant to me, to fight for this thing between us. But watching her face—torn between excitement and guilt—I knew she needed my support, not my desperation.
“Don't congratulate me yet.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I haven't decided anything.”
She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them like she was trying to hold herself together. “I have until the end of the week to give them an answer.”
End of the week.
“What do you think I should do?”
The question hung in the air between us.
I can't choose for her.
I'd watched my parents make decisions for me my whole life, pushing me toward what they thought was best, what made sense on paper. I wouldn't do that to her. Not to Rosie, who'd already spent three years letting someone else decide who she should be.
Her eyes searched my face, desperate and pleading, looking for something I couldn't give her. An answer. Permission. Maybe even a reason to stay that would make the choice easier.
I leaned back against the couch cushions, putting distance between us without moving away. “That's not my call to make.”
“I'm not asking you to make it for me. I'm asking what you think.”
“Those are the same thing.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “No they're not.”
“Rosie.” I kept my voice gentle but firm. “This is your decision. Your life. Your career.”
“I know that.” Frustration crept into her tone. “But you're part of my life now. Your opinion matters to me.”
Everything in me wanted to tell her to stay. Wanted to list every reason why the farm was perfect for her, whywewere perfect together. How she'd transformed in the weeks since taking over from Walt—more confident, more herself. How she lit up when she talked about the goats, about the farmers market, about building something that was hers.
But that would make me just like Aaron. Telling her what she should want instead of letting her figure it out herself.
“My opinion would be biased.”
“Of course it would be biased. That's why I want to hear it.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. What was I supposed to say? That I wanted her to stay so badly it felt like drowning? That the thought of her leaving made my chest feel like it was caving in?
“I can't—” I stopped, running a hand through my hair. “I won't do that to you.”
“Do what?”
“Tell you how to live your life.”
“I'm not asking you to tell me how to live my life.”
“Yes, you are.” The words came out sharp. “Maybe not directly, but?—”
“Cal, I just want to know what you think.”
“Your ex had thoughts about your career, too.”
Rosie's face went pale. “That's not the same thing.”
“Isn't it?” I knew I was fumbling this, saying it all wrong, but I couldn't stop. “He convinced you to give up what you loved. Now you're asking me to weigh in on whether you should take it back.”
