Page 88 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said easily. “I’m into single moms.”

“Is that your official shelter line?”

“Nope. Just honesty.” He grinned. “You tend to know who you are. I like that.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “Bold strategy. Does it work?”

“You tell me,” he said, unfazed.

Sutton studied him for a beat—easy smile, kind eyes, confident without being loud, the kind of man who remembered names and meant it when he asked how your day was. He was, objectively, the right kind of man. Safe. Charming. Available.

So why didn’t she feel even a flicker of awareness? No zing. No pull. Not even the faint hum of interest.

The realization settled uncomfortably in her chest. It wasn’t him and it was her. It was worse, in the most inconvenient, immovable way, as if her bar for men had already been set somewhere else, and no amount of perfectly acceptable was going to clear it.

“Well,” she said lightly. “Walter’s not dating anyone, so let’s ask him.”

Aiden laughed, easy and genuine, but his eyes stayed on Sutton a beat longer than necessary—like he’d noticed the way her smile had come out a little too smoothly.

He glanced down at Walter. “No offense, buddy, but you’re already emotionally unavailable.”

Walter thumped his tail once.

Aiden looked back at Sutton, tone still light but not careless. “Besides, first dates are overrated,” he added. “Now, walks, snacks, low expectations—that’s usually where the good stuff happens.”

“Low expectations I can do,” she said. “They’re kind of my specialty.” The words slipped out easier than she meant them to, honest in a way she usually avoided. “Walks and snacks sound better than most plans anyway.”

Aiden’s smile tilted, something more thoughtful edging in. “Yeah,” he said. “They leave room for you to just be.”

She nodded, that practiced smile flickering back into place even though nothing underneath it stirred.

“Just being is underrated,” she said lightly, like it was just another observation.

That was when he’d said it—quiet, unassuming, like a truth he’d learned the hard way.

“I’ve learned if you start by pretending to be someone else, you end up dating the lie.”

The words lodged in Sutton’s chest, jagged and unwelcome. Because hadn’t that been her entire life in Bridlewood? One careful edit after another. A softer version of the truth. A story told just convincingly enough that no one asked the questions she didn’t want to answer. She’d built a life on omissions—about Lynlee, about how she’d ended up here, about the parts of herself she’d sanded down to fit.

If Aiden was right, if pretending always came with a cost, then what did that mean for her and Lynlee? For the town she wanted to call home, the routines they’d stitched together, the future she was trying so hard to make safe?

The thought made her stomach twist. Because if the foundation was a lie, sooner or later it would crack. And she didn’t know whether she was more afraid of it breaking or of what might happen if she finally told the truth.

Before Sutton could respond, Lynlee tugged on Aiden’s sleeve. “Do you have snacks for Walter?”

Aiden’s grin widened. “I absolutely do.” He leaned closer and stage-whispered, “But only for dogs who promise not to steal socks.”

Walter farted.

“Deal,” Lynlee said seriously.

Paperwork took five minutes, and Aiden explained the routine, handed over a leash, a bag of treats, and a worn blue blanket. And his number—just in case.

“He likes car rides,” he added. “Window cracked. Country music preferred.”

Sutton laughed. “Of course.”