She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Pudding followed us to the door, tail wagging uncertainly like he could sense something was wrong. I grabbed Rosie's jacket from the chair where she'd draped it, held it while she slipped her arms through the sleeves.
My hands lingered on her shoulders for just a moment. She leaned back against me, and I felt her shoulders shake with a silent sob.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
“Don't apologize.” I pressed my forehead against the back of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
She turned in my arms, looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “This is so hard.”
“I know.”
She rose on her toes, kissed me soft and desperate. I kissed her back, memorizing the taste of her, the way she fit against me.
When we broke apart, she rested her forehead against mine.
“I should go.”
“Drive safe.”
She nodded, stepped back. Opened the door.
“Rosie?”
She paused, hand on the doorframe.
“Whatever you decide—it's the right choice. Because it's yours.”
Fresh tears spilled over. She gave me one last look before walking over to her truck.
I watched her taillights disappear down the dirt road, swallowed by darkness. Pudding pressed against my legs, and I picked him up, buried my face in his soft fur.
“Just us again, buddy.”
He licked my chin, tail wagging despite everything.
Inside, the dinner dishes still waited in the sink. Evidence of what felt like the last normal evening we'd have together.
ChapterTwenty-One
Rosalie
The farmhouse felt tooquiet when I walked through the front door. I dropped my keys on the console with a clatter that echoed in the silence.
I'd driven home in a fog, replaying every word of our conversation. Cal's careful neutrality. His refusal to justtellme what he wanted. The way he'd looked at me when I asked if he wanted me to stay—like I'd physically hurt him.
Do you honestly believe there's any part of me that wants to watch you drive away?
I sank into one of the kitchen chairs, still wearing my jacket. My hands were shaking again.
I'd thought telling him about Lauren's offer would help. That sharing the burden would make the decision clearer, lift some of the crushing weight from my shoulders.
Instead, I felt more lost than before.
How was I supposed to choose between the life I was building here and the career I'd dreamed about since college? Between the farm that was finally starting to feel like home and the opportunity that might never come again?
The rational part of my brain kept listing all the reasons Seattle made sense. Steady income. Professional growth. A chance to work on something I was genuinely passionate about.
