Page 14 of Broken Cedar

“Just saying,” he says with a shrug. “If you were staying. There’s things to see.”

I look at him for a long moment. Anyone else would hear a man talking about a creek. I hear Colt asking me to stay the only way he knows how. With places. With memories. With something he built using his own two hands because he thought I’d like to see it.

Colt heads back outside, and the screen door swings shut behind him. Silence settles over the room again. Mom reaches for another folder, giving me the kind of privacy only mothers know how to give. Close enough if I want to talk. Far enough if I don’t.

I stare at the papers in front of me without seeing them.

What if I stay?

The words keep circling. A week. It’s only a week. I know how to do that calculation. I’ve been choosing work over everything else for years. The calculation I don’t know how to do…is Colt.

Last night was supposed to fix this. One night. One mistake. One impossible thing we’d finally gotten out of our systems. Instead it’s made everything worse.

Because now I know. What his mouth feels like. What his hands feel like. How easily eight years disappeared the second he touched me.

But what if it didn’t have to be just once? What if it could be just for the week?

The idea arrives so suddenly I almost laugh at myself. Absolutely not. It’s ridiculous. It’s reckless. It’s exactly the kind of decision I spend my professional life telling other people not to make. Sleep with your stepbrother for a week? Outstanding strategy, Hallie.

I almost dismiss it. Almost. Because another voice that’s quieter and harder to ignore asks a different question.

If not now…when?

I’ve spent eight years wondering. Eight years imagining what kissing Colt would feel like. Wondering if leaving had been the right decision. Wondering whether growing up meant giving him up.

Now I know.

And in six days…I’d be gone again. Maybe forever. I would still leave. He would still stay. Nothing would change in the larger scheme of things. But for one week, I could have this—the ranch, the memories, him.

Seven days. Then done. Clean break. No regrets.

The idea is terrible. I don’t know whether it’s courage or stupidity. Maybe they’re the same thing. Either way…I’m already thinking about how to convince Colt.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Mom.

I head upstairs before I can talk myself out of it. The spare bedroom is quiet, the suitcase still half-packed on the floor. I open my laptop again. The email from my boss waits exactly where I left it. My fingers hover over the keyboard.

For years I’ve built a reputation on being dependable. The person who says yes. The person who fixes problems before anyone else realizes they’re problems.

Today I’m about to become someone else.

I type:

I’m so sorry for the late notice. A family situation has come up after Jim’s memorial, and I need a few extra days here with my mother. I won’t be able to make tomorrow’s planning session, but I’m happy to brief Sophie before the meeting and make myself available by phone if needed.

I read it twice. Every instinct I have tells me to delete it. Instead I hit send. The whoosh is almost laughably quiet. Years of habit undone by one click.

A few minutes later, my phone lights up with my boss’s name. I swallow down the rising panic in my throat, and swipe to answer the call.

“Hey, Steven,” I say, hoping my voice sounds normal.

“Hallie. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is fine,” I say automatically.

He’s quiet for almost a full minute. “You’ve never missed a planning meeting.”

“I know,” I say awkwardly, gripping the phone tighter.