30 seconds later.
Tina:Yeah. See you here at 9:30 Friday morning! We are excited to finish this series! Can’t wait for the tour.
Me:Me either. See you then.
I’m lying. Totally lying. I love my readers, they’re what keep me going but I hate the tours. The airports, the hotels, the forced smiles, the questions about my “inspiration.” I’d rather be back in Tennessee. With Cole and Shadow. With Maggie’s teasing and Nancy’s hugs and Luke’s dumb jokes. With the quiet that wasn’t quiet at all, just alive in a way Seattle never is.
I took a picture of Shadow that I’m going to have printed off and put on my desk. I’ve never been attached to an animal like him before. I’ve never had a pet. I always wanted a cat though. They seem cute and cuddly. Independent but affectionate when they choose. Like me, maybe. I scroll through my phone, photos of the ranch, the pool, Shadow’s big dark eyes, Cole’s back turned while he worked the fence, his shoulders broad under his shirt. My thumb hovers over one of him laughing, rare, unguarded. I lock the screen instead and put the phone down on the sink next to me.
The shower feels good, steam loosening the tightness in my chest, but when I step out, the apartment feels even colder. I wrap myself in my old robe, the one that used to feel cozy. Now it just feels thin.
I eat a bowl of cereal standing at the counter, crunch too loud, milk too cold, the spoon clinking against the ceramic bowl. The TV drones in the background, some late-night rerun but I’m not listening. I watch Pride and Prejudice instead, curled on the couch, ball my eyes out at the proposal scene. The romance feels too easy. Too certain. I want to scream at Elizabeth to stop being so stubborn, but I’m the stubborn one here.
I try to go to sleep but all I keep doing is tossing and turning. I’m not used to my house anymore. Downstairs neighbors arguing through the floor. Upstairs footsteps pacing. Sirens in the distance. I need quiet. Crickets and cows mooing. I need—no, I’m not going to say his name. That name is out of my vocabulary from here on out. I look at the time: 12:55 a.m.Oh god. I grab the pillow and scream into it while I’m flat on my back in the bed, muffled, raw, the fabric soaking up tears I didn’t know I still had.
Chapter 35
The Willow Tree
Cole
I spent all night reading her book.
All night. Didn’t even try to sleep. Just sat in the guest house chair—her chair—under the lamp she always used, the one with the crooked shade that cast soft yellow light across the pages. The room still smelled like her, vanilla candle wax, faint lavender from the laundry detergent she used, and that sweet floral perfume she sprayed on her wrists. The scent was fading, but not gone. Not yet. Every time I turned a page, I inhaled deeper, like I could pull her back through the ink.
The words were meant to be us. They were about us. She didn’t even try to hide it.
The cowboy in her story was me, down to the toothpick he chewed when he was thinking too hard, the way he built things instead of saying them, the silence that stretched like barbedwire around his heart. She wrote about the pool. The willow tree swing. The creek where we first kissed. She stayed. She fought for the ranch, for the horses, for him. And he finally said it. Out loud. Under the stars, with her hands in his, he said, “I love you.”
I read that line three times. Then I had to put the pages down because my hands were shaking so bad the paper crinkled. My chest felt cracked open, raw, burning. I could hear her voice in every sentence. The way she teased him. The way she hurt when he went quiet. The way she loved him anyway. I get it now. I truly fucked up.
I’d give anything for her to come back. I’d give anything for her to be here in my arms again, her head on my chest, braid tickling my neck, her breath warm against my collarbone, her laugh filling the quiet spaces I’ve lived in too long. I want to wake up to her humming in the kitchen, barefoot, stealing bites of my toast. I want to walk past the pool at dusk and see her writing there, feet dangling in the water, sunlight catching in her hair. I want to hear her call me Scrooge and roll her eyes and then kiss me like she can’t help it.
She left. She told me she loved me—voice cracking, tears on her cheeks—and I froze. I’m the one who should’ve said it back. She did nothing wrong. I mean, I get why she left. Why she thought she needed to. I pushed her away in silence. With half-kisses and half-promises. With “friends” when we both knew it was a lie. I let her believe she was temporary. That she was replaceable. That she wasn’t the best thing that ever walked onto this ranch.
But God, I miss her. The ache is constant—deep in my chest, like someone hollowed me out and forgot to fill the hole. Every time I pass the guest house, the porch light is off. Every time I walk by the pool, the water is still, no laptop on the lounge chair, no towel draped over the back. Every time I go to the barn,Shadow nickers at the gate like he’s waiting for her, ears pricked, eyes searching. Even the damn horses know she’s gone.
Today I’ve been working hard to just get this ranch put back together after the fire. Maybe even working harder. Just to get her off my mind. But it doesn’t help. The only thing it does help is getting rid of this anger I have at myself. The pain of not seeing her walking around this ranch, her braid swinging, shorts hugging those hips, that smile she gave me like I was worth something. I swing the hammer harder than I need to—nails bending, wood splintering, muscles screaming. Sweat runs into my eyes, mixing with the soot still clinging to everything. The air smells like wet char and pine.
“You okay, man?” Luke asks, holding the board steady while I hammer this siding in. His voice cuts through the rain drumming on the tin roof.
“Yeah, I mean no—not really.”
“Layla?”
“Yeah. Don’t fuck up like me, Luke,” I say, hammering hard, nail sinking crooked, wood groaning. The impact jars up my arm, satisfying in a way nothing else is right now.
“We all mess up, Cole,” he says, steady. “I mean shit, Steph and me—we were friends before all this. We’ve been friends since kids and then the separation, her going off with that douchebag. Me and all the women. Everyone makes mistakes. You can fix it. Maybe she’ll even come back.”
I look at him, really look. He’s young, but he’s so sweet. Marrying Steph at his age, knowing that’s what he wants. No hesitation. No fear. I envy that.
“Yeah… maybe,” I mutter. “Ya know, I was thinking. Maybe you and Steph can have your wedding here. You said she wanted it in the fall, right?”
“She does, yeah.”
“Well then we’ll do it right here on the farm. Have the reception where we throw all the weddings–”
“Dude, she will go crazy!” Luke says, happy, eyes lighting up.
