The first thing I noticed wasn’t her face.

It was the way the whole coffee shop seemed to lean toward the door like it knew something was about to change, the way the little brass bell above the glass pane gave one clean chime that cut through the Sunday murmur like a warning shot. Outside, the lake near Colorado Springs lay flat and bright, reflecting a sky so blue it looked staged—like one of those postcard shots they sell at the airport gift shop off I-25. Inside, the air smelled like cinnamon and roasted beans and expensive lotion, and I stood there holding a paper cup of black coffee like it was a shield.

I almost didn’t come.

If you asked my friends, they’d tell you I’d rather spend a Sunday afternoon sanding a cedar chair in my workshop than sit across from a stranger and pretend I enjoy small talk. They’d say it like it’s a personality quirk, like it’s cute. They call me the lone wolf. They slap the nickname on me the way guys slap duct tape on a broken tail light—quick, loud, and smugly proud of themselves.

But it’s not a joke to me. Quiet has always felt like oxygen.

Quiet smells like pine sap and fresh-cut wood. Quiet doesn’t ask me to explain why I don’t go out much anymore, why I like the company of a rescue mutt more than the company of most humans, why I built my life on the edge of Colorado Springs where the city lights fade and the trees start and the wind knows my name.

My cabin is small. Wooden. Creaky in winter. Mine. It sits tucked against a hill of pines, just far enough out that you can still get cell service if you stand by the porch rail and tilt the phone like you’re trying to catch a satellite. Most nights, I sit on that porch with a beer and listen to the wind whistle through the needles. No drama. No noise. No people demanding I be someone else for them.

That’s why the text on Friday night felt like a threat.

My phone buzzed while I was wiping sawdust off my forearms. Derek’s name flashed on the screen like a neon sign in a dark bar.

Blind date. Sunday. 3:00 p.m. Lake View Coffee by the Water.

I stared at it long enough for the screen to dim. I could already hear the way Derek would laugh if I said no. He and the others have this habit of treating my single life like a group project. Like if they push hard enough, they can force me into something romantic and then take credit for it. Like my quiet is a problem they can solve and brag about later over beer.

They’ve pulled stunts before. Once, they signed me up for speed dating without telling me. I got stuck with a woman who spent twenty straight minutes talking about her pet iguana like it was her child. I can still hear Derek’s wheezing laugh when I think about it.

So when he texted, Trust us, you’ll thank us later, my jaw tightened.

Fine, I typed back. But if this is another iguana situation, you’re buying rounds for a month.

He answered with a string of laughing emojis and a promise that felt suspiciously vague. And that was that. My friends got their way, like they always do, because they know the part of me that hates being labeled afraid.

Sunday came too fast.

At 2:20 p.m., I was in my workshop behind the cabin, halfway through sanding a cedar chair for a client who wanted “rustic but clean,” which is the kind of phrase that makes you realize people will pay money just to hear themselves talk. Sawdust clung to my arms. The air smelled like sap and wood glue. Harley—my rescue mutt with one ear that never fully stands up—was sprawled out on the concrete floor like he paid rent. When I stood up, he lifted his head, tail thumping once, then dropped it again like he knew I was about to do something dumb.

I checked the time and felt that familiar itch in my chest.

I could bail. Claim my truck wouldn’t start. Say I forgot. Nobody would be shocked. They’d probably even be relieved because then they could keep calling me the lone wolf without having to admit I might actually be fine this way.

But something in me—the stubborn part, the part that hates being cornered—didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.

So I washed my hands until the water ran clear, changed into clean jeans, a flannel shirt, and my scuffed work boots. I didn’t try too hard. Trying too hard is how you lose. Harley followed me to the door, leash eyes on full blast.

Not today, buddy, I told him, scratching his head. Guard the cabin.

He blinked slow, unimpressed, then flopped back down.

The drive to Lake View Coffee took twenty minutes. The closer I got, the more it felt like a setup. I kept expecting Derek’s truck to be parked outside with a camera and some stupid sign that said LONE WOLF CAPTURED or something equally juvenile. But when I pulled into the lot, it was just a normal Sunday afternoon in America—families strolling by the lake, couples sitting on benches, a guy jogging with a golden retriever, a teenager arguing with his mom over a phone case. No prank crew. No ambush.

Lake View Coffee was cozy, all wooden beams and big windows facing the water. The kind of place where people sit for hours with laptops and pretend they’re writing novels. I ordered a black coffee and picked a table near the window, close enough to watch the lake and, if needed, make a clean escape.

3:00 p.m. came.

Then 3:05.

Then 3:10.

I sipped my coffee and stared at my phone like it would explain what was happening. No texts. No updates. Typical. My friends probably thought it was hilarious, letting me sit here alone, waiting like the punchline of their joke.

At 3:15, I decided I was done.

I grabbed my cup, stood up—

—and that’s when the door chimed.

I looked up, ready to see Derek or one of my buddies walk in laughing.

Instead, I saw her.

She stepped inside like she belonged there. Like she wasn’t nervous. Like she wasn’t trying. Her presence didn’t demand attention, but the room still felt quieter around her, as if even the air was listening.

She was older—close to forty, maybe—brown hair pulled into a loose bun, soft strands curling around her neck. She wore a long floral dress that moved gently with every step and a cream-colored cardigan that looked warm enough to sleep in. Nothing flashy. Nothing loud. Just calm, steady, real.

She scanned the room, and when her eyes landed on me, they didn’t slide away.

They stayed.

Then she walked straight toward my table.

My first thought was she had the wrong guy.

My second thought was: if she does, I hope she doesn’t figure it out too fast.

She stopped in front of me, her smile light but warm, like she’d been smiling her whole life and never once used it as a weapon.

Zane, she said.

My heart did this weird skip—like it didn’t recognize the rhythm of being seen.

Yeah, I answered, standing up too quickly. My knee bumped the table. My coffee sloshed near the rim. Great start.

She laughed softly—not mocking, just amused like she’d already decided I was human and that was fine.

Elise, she said, holding out her hand.

Her fingers were warm when I took it. The touch was quick, but it lingered in my skin after she let go.

She sat down across from me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I blinked, still catching up. I looked past her shoulder, half expecting my friends to pop out from behind a plant.

Nobody did.

Elise leaned back, studying me with an expression that was equal parts curious and entertained.

I’m guessing we’re victims of the same joke, she said.

That made me breathe again.

I let out a short laugh and nodded. Yeah. My friend Derek thinks he’s hilarious. Told me I’d thank him later.

Elise’s smile widened like she’d heard the same line, just in a different voice.

My friend Lisa said the same thing. Told me to show up and meet a guy named Zane. She said I needed to get out more.

I shook my head, disbelief mixing with something else I didn’t want to name.

So you thought it was a prank too?

Absolutely, Elise said. But then I figured—worst case, I waste an hour. Best case, I get a good story.

I couldn’t stop looking at her. Not in a creepy way. In a what-is-happening-to-me way. She wasn’t the type my friends usually tried to throw at me—no loud energy, no perfect social media shine, no “look at me” laugh. She was soft and steady and beautiful in a way that didn’t feel like it needed permission.

Elise tilted her head, catching me staring.

Not what you expected? she asked, teasing.

Heat climbed up my neck.

Not even close, I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. I thought my friends would set me up with someone who talks about reptiles.

Elise laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that made you want to hear it again.

No reptiles, she promised. Just coffee and bad decisions.

I surprised myself by smiling back.

We talked like people who didn’t know they’d been starving until someone put food in front of them. I told her the real truth, not the polished version you give on a first date. I told her my friends couldn’t stand seeing me alone because it made them nervous, like my quiet life was some warning sign. I told her I was tired of apps and fake conversations and pretending I cared about someone’s favorite travel destination.

Elise listened like she was taking mental notes—not to judge, but to understand.

That sounds exhausting, she said. No wonder you live in a cabin with a dog.

I laughed, a sharp burst that surprised me.

Harley’s better company than most people, I admitted.

I believe that, she said, warm and honest, like she wasn’t teasing me, just agreeing.

She told me about her friend Lisa, how Lisa had been after her for months to date again. Elise said she’d been married once. It ended years ago. Not dramatic, not messy, just two people who stopped choosing each other. She moved back near Colorado Springs to help her mom—who didn’t need a nurse, but did need someone close. Someone to lift heavy grocery bags and drive her to appointments and sit with her when the house got too quiet.

She said it all like it was normal, like she didn’t want sympathy.

It made me respect her instantly.

Time did something strange as we talked. It didn’t disappear. It just stopped feeling important. The café filled up around us. A couple of college kids took a table behind her and whispered like they were breaking up. A barista called out names. Someone dropped a spoon. But Elise and I stayed in our own pocket of air.

I told her about my work—the freelance carpenter jobs out on the outskirts, decks and fences and furniture repairs. I told her about the small wooden animals I carve when my mind gets too loud. Moose. Bears. Owls. Things I can hold in my hand and feel proud of.

She leaned forward when I talked, like she could picture it.

You make things that last, she said. That’s rare.

It’s just wood, I answered, but my voice came out softer than I meant.

Elise shook her head.

It’s not just wood, Zane. It’s you taking something rough and making it solid.

I didn’t know what to do with that, so I looked out the window at the lake and pretended it didn’t hit me. But my chest felt warmer, like someone had opened a door inside me I didn’t know was locked.

At some point she asked about Harley again, and I showed her a picture on my phone—him on my porch with a stick in his mouth and a look like he was guarding the whole mountain.

Elise laughed and covered her mouth with her hand.

He looks like he judges strangers.

He does.

But he’s got a good heart.

Her eyes softened in a way that tightened my throat.

I like dogs that have been through things, she said quietly.

That line sat between us for a second, heavy in a way neither of us explained. I didn’t push. She didn’t either.

Then she asked the question that caught me off guard.

Why did you really come?

I blinked. What do you mean?

Elise held my gaze like she wasn’t going to let me dodge.

You could’ve bailed, she said. Most guys would, especially if they thought it was a prank. But you came anyway. Why?

I stared at her, trying to find a smooth answer.

There wasn’t one.

So I gave her the honest one.

Because I didn’t want to be the guy who always runs, I said. And because part of me was curious.

Curious about what?

Curious if my life could be different.

Elise didn’t smile right away. She just looked at me like she understood exactly what I meant.

Then she nodded once, slow.

That’s a good reason, she said.

We talked until the sun started shifting, turning the lake into a sheet of gold. When I realized how late it was, I felt that familiar urge to shut things down before they got too real. Leave while it’s still safe. Protect the quiet.

Elise glanced at her watch and let out a small laugh.

We’ve been here a while.

Yeah, I said, voice rough. I didn’t mean to keep you.

You didn’t, she said. I stayed.

That simple sentence hit me harder than it should have.

We walked out together into cooler air. The smell of lake water mixed with pine. Elise’s car was a beat-up Subaru that looked like it had lived a real life. It didn’t match her dress, and for some reason that made me like her more.

She paused by the driver’s door and turned to me.

Thanks for not bolting when I walked in, she said.

Thanks for walking in, I replied.

Her smile softened, and for one charged second I thought she might step closer. Instead, she just nodded like she was saving something.

I had a good time, Zane.

Me too.

And I meant it.

She opened the car door, then looked back at me.

If your friends ask, tell them it wasn’t a joke, she said. Tell them it was coffee.

Then she drove away, her taillights disappearing down the road that wrapped around the lake.

I stood there longer than I should have, hands in my pockets, cold air on my face, feeling stupidly—dangerously—alive.

It took me a full minute to realize something that made my stomach drop.

I still didn’t have her number.

And for the first time in years, I cared enough to feel stupid about it.

Back at my cabin, Harley met me at the door like he’d been waiting for a report. He jumped up, paws on my chest, then trotted in circles like he could smell something different on me.

I sat on the couch, still in my boots, staring at the wall.

I replayed Elise’s voice. Her laugh. The way she said I stayed.

My phone buzzed.

Derek: So, lone wolf. How bad was it?

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering, then typed the only thing that felt true.

It wasn’t a joke.

Derek replied instantly: That’s not an answer. Details.

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t have details.

All I had was a feeling that something had started—and if I wasn’t careful, I’d mess it up before it even had a chance to become real.

Monday and Tuesday stretched out like the kind of highway drive where every mile marker feels personal. I tried to pretend the coffee date hadn’t gotten under my skin, but it had. I’d be in the workshop measuring a plank and suddenly I’d hear her laugh in my head. I’d be throwing a stick for Harley and catch myself wondering what Elise was doing right then. The worst part was I still didn’t have her number.

I thought about asking Derek for it, but the idea made my stomach twist. I didn’t want my friends in the middle of this. If I reached out, it had to be me. Not Derek, not a group chat, not a screenshot of my message with laughing emojis underneath.

So I did nothing, which is kind of my specialty.

I kept sanding wood. I kept my life quiet. I kept telling myself it was just one good conversation and I should move on.

Then, two days later, my phone buzzed while I was wiping sawdust off a table I’d been building for a client.

Unknown number.

For a second I thought it was spam. I almost ignored it.

Something in me made me open it anyway.

Thanks for the unexpected coffee date. If you want to hear another story about a feral cat scratching people, I’m free Thursday evening.

I stared at the screen like it might vanish if I blinked.

My chest did a weird flip—half relief, half panic.

Harley lifted his head like he sensed something shifted.

It was Elise.

I laughed out loud, one sharp sound, and Harley stood up and trotted over like he wanted in on the joke.

I typed back with hands that suddenly felt too big for the phone.

Only if you promise not to bring any cats. Thursday works.

Her reply came fast.

Name the place.

I read that twice. No games. No “let’s see if he chases.” Just there, open and direct.

It made me want to be the same.

Lakefront trail, I typed. 6 p.m. Bring a jacket. Gets cold by the water.

Another quick reply.

Bring Harley. I want to meet the famous dog.

My cheeks hurt from smiling.

Thursday came too fast.

I spent the whole day pretending I wasn’t nervous. I worked on a fence repair job outside town, hammered nails like my life depended on it, checked the time way too often. When I got home, I showered, changed into a clean flannel, and brushed my hair like that was going to change anything.

Harley sat by the door with his leash in his mouth, tail wagging like he knew I was doing something different.

All right, buddy, I told him. Don’t embarrass me.

He sneezed, which felt like an answer.

The lakefront trail was quiet, lined with pines and benches, water reflecting the fading light. A few people walked past with dogs. A couple held hands like they were in no rush to go anywhere.

I spotted Elise sitting on a bench with a thermos in her hands.

Her hair was down this time, curling past her shoulders. She wore a soft gray sweater and jeans—no floral dress, no cardigan, just her, comfortable, real.

When she looked up and saw me, her smile hit me like warmth.

Then Harley decided he was in love.

He tugged the leash and bounded toward her like she was an old friend. Elise laughed and crouched, letting him sniff her hands. She scratched behind his ears and Harley melted like he’d been waiting his whole life for that exact touch.

Wow, she said, still smiling. You are not exaggerating.

He takes after me, I said, trying to sound casual even though my heart was thumping.

Elise lifted an eyebrow.

We’ll see about that.

We started walking, Harley trotting between us like he was proud of himself. The air smelled like pine and lake water. The sky was pale orange near the horizon, the trail crunching under our shoes.

At first we kept it light. Elise told me her mom had been in a weird mood all week, complaining about the neighbors and the TV volume. I told her Harley once stole a whole sandwich off my counter and ate it so fast I didn’t notice until I saw the empty plate.

You live with a thief, Elise said.

Yeah, but he’s cute, so he gets away with it.

She looked at me like she was about to say something, then didn’t. She just smiled and kept walking.

That was the thing with Elise. She didn’t fear silence. She let moments breathe.

We stopped near the water where the trail opened up. The lake glittered with the last of the sun.

Elise held out her thermos.

I brought tea. Peppermint. Helps when the air gets sharp.

I took a sip, surprised by how warm it was, how thoughtful it felt.

Thanks.

You didn’t have to.

I wanted to.

Simple.

We walked again, and somewhere along the way the conversation shifted. It didn’t turn heavy like a sudden storm. It turned real like the sky darkening slowly.

She asked about my cabin, and I told her how I ended up there after dropping out of community college. How I liked the quiet because it didn’t ask questions. How trees never demanded I be charming.

She listened, eyes steady.

I get that, she said, and kept her gaze on the lake. After my divorce, I thought being alone would feel peaceful. And sometimes it does. But other times it feels like a room with no sound in it. Like you’re fine… but you’re also disappearing.

Her words hit me because I knew that room. I’d built it. I lived in it.

I didn’t try to fix it with a joke.

You’re not disappearing, I said. Not to me.

Elise glanced at me and her face softened like she wasn’t used to hearing that either.

After that, we kept meeting. Not every day. Not in some rushed, desperate way. Just enough that it started to feel normal. A dinner at my cabin where I grilled steaks and Elise brought a bottle of red wine that made me feel like I should’ve used real plates instead of mismatched ones. She didn’t care. She laughed when Harley begged for scraps and told me I had a good home, even if the porch boards squeaked.

An evening downtown where we went to an art café and painted tiny canvases. Mine looked like a bad mountain. Hers looked like the lake at sunset. She teased me and I teased her back, and for once I didn’t feel like I was performing. I felt like I was just there.

She started calling me by my full name when she was amused.

Zane, she’d say, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe I was real.

And I started noticing how much I wanted to hear it.

Then the grocery store happened.

It was a Saturday afternoon, the kind with bright sun that makes the parking lot look too honest. We were standing in the bread aisle debating sourdough versus rye. Elise was smiling—actually smiling, like she wasn’t carrying the weight of the world for once.

Then her smile faded.

Her body went still.

Her hand was on my arm and I felt her fingers tighten like she’d grabbed onto something to steady herself.

I followed her gaze.

A man stood near the end of the aisle. Early forties. Clean haircut. Expensive jacket. The kind of guy who looked like he always knew where he was going. He was holding hands with a younger woman—mid-twenties, glossy lips, ponytail, laughing like life was easy.

The man looked up.

His eyes locked on Elise.

The laughter on his face died.

Elise, he said, voice clipped.

She didn’t step back. She didn’t hide. She lifted her chin like she was bracing against a wind she’d faced before.

Mark, she said.

I didn’t need an introduction.

Mark’s eyes flicked to me, then to Elise’s hand still wrapped around my arm.

A slow smirk spread across his mouth like he’d found something funny.

So, he said, dragging the word out, this is your new thing.

The way he said it made my jaw tighten. Like she was a phase. Like I was a joke.

The younger woman beside him looked confused, uncomfortable, her smile fading as she sensed the air change.

Elise didn’t flinch.

This is Zane, she said, calm but sharp. And he’s someone who makes me feel like I’m worth something.

My chest tightened hard at that, like someone had reached inside and gripped my ribs.

Mark’s smirk wobbled. He let out a small laugh like he didn’t want to look affected.

Good for you, he said. Didn’t think you’d go for the rugged type.

He glanced at my flannel like it was an insult.

I took a small step forward—not aggressive, just present.

Elise squeezed my arm once. A quiet message: I can handle this, but I’m glad you’re here.

Mark’s eyes narrowed.

Anyway, he said, already turning away like he wanted the last word without earning it. Hope it works out.

Elise didn’t follow him with her eyes.

She looked at me instead.

Her gaze was steady, but something was shaking underneath it.

You okay? I asked, low.

She nodded, but it wasn’t convincing.

Let’s go, she said.

We left the store with half our groceries and all that tension sitting between us like a third person in the car.

She stared out the window most of the drive, hands folded in her lap, fingers locked tight.

I wanted to talk. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

When we got to my cabin, she didn’t get out right away. She stayed in the passenger seat, staring at the pine trees like they had answers.

Finally she said, He used to make me feel small.

My throat tightened.

He doesn’t get to do that anymore, I said.

Sometimes it still feels like he does, she admitted. Seeing him… it brings it back.

I reached over and took her hand.

Not here, I said. Not with me.

She squeezed my hand so tight it almost hurt.

And I didn’t mind.

That night, after she left, the sky turned dark and the wind picked up outside my cabin like it was warning me of something. I sat on my couch with Harley at my feet when my phone buzzed.

A text from Elise.

Mind if I come over tomorrow night? I don’t want to be alone.

My heart pounded because I could feel it—the line we were about to cross, the way this was about to become something deeper.

I didn’t wait a minute.

Come over, I texted. Door’s open. Harley will act like you live here.

She replied with one word.

Thanks.

And somehow that one word tightened my chest more than a whole paragraph could’ve.

The next day dragged. I tried to work, tried to focus, but my mind kept jumping ahead to the sound of Elise’s Subaru on my gravel driveway. By evening, clouds rolled in over the pines and a cold rain started tapping my roof like a soft warning.

Harley paced by the front door, ears flicking at every sound.

Then I heard it—tires on gravel.

I opened the door before she even knocked.

Elise stood there with an umbrella dripping, hair damp at the ends, cheeks pink from the cold. She wore a green sweater and jeans, simple and familiar, like she belonged in my cabin more than she probably realized.

Her eyes looked tired, but they met mine with quiet relief.

Sorry to drop in like this, she said.

You’re not dropping in, I told her, stepping back. You’re coming in.

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all day.

Harley walked right up, sniffed her boots, then pressed his head into her leg like he’d made a decision. Elise laughed softly, bending to scratch behind his ears.

He’s loyal, she murmured.

He knows good people, I said.

I took her coat and hung it by the door.

The cabin felt warmer with her in it—not because the heater was running, but because the space remembered it could be more than quiet.

I made peppermint tea. We sat on the couch with a blanket over our legs. Rain tapped the windows like fingers.

Harley curled up at her feet, guarding her like he’d been assigned.

For a while we didn’t talk—not awkward, just… safe.

Then Elise stared into her mug and said, It’s not just seeing Mark.

I waited. I didn’t push. I just stayed still.

It’s everything, she said quietly. The marriage. The way I kept shrinking myself to keep the peace. The way I convinced myself that quiet was the same as happiness. After the divorce, I told myself I was done. Done trying. Done hoping.

She glanced at me, eyes glassy but determined.

Then you happened, Zane.

My throat tightened. I didn’t speak too fast. I didn’t rush to fix it. I just turned toward her and stayed.

I haven’t felt safe like this in a long time, she said. Safe enough to want something again. And that scares me.

What scares you? I asked softly. Wanting it… or losing it?

Both, she admitted. I’m older than you. I’ve got a mom who depends on me. I’ve got a past that still tries to pull me backward. I don’t want to be a burden in your life.

Something sharp hit my chest, like the idea offended me.

You’re not a burden, I said. Elise, you’re the first person who’s made my life feel full in a long time.

Her eyes held mine.

And if you wake up one day and realize you want someone younger, she whispered. Someone easier.

I reached out, touched her cheek with my thumb.

You’re not difficult, I said. You’re real. And I don’t want easy. I want you.

Her lips parted like she didn’t expect that answer.

She stared at me like she was deciding if she was allowed to believe it.

Then she set her mug down, hands trembling just a little.

I don’t want to keep doing life alone, she said.

Something in me snapped into certainty, clean and bright.

Neither do I.

I leaned in. Slow. Like I was asking permission with every inch.

Elise met me halfway.

Her lips were warm, soft, tasting faintly of peppermint tea. The kiss wasn’t desperate. It was steady—two people finally letting go of the last bit of fear holding them back.

When we pulled apart, her forehead rested against mine.

Zane, she whispered, unsteady. This feels too good to be real.

It’s real, I said. And I’m not going anywhere.

Her eyes filled, but she didn’t cry. She nodded once like she was letting the words sink into her bones.

She stayed that night.

Not reckless. Not like a movie. She stayed in the way that mattered—talking until the rain slowed and the cabin went quiet again. She told me about her mom dancing in the kitchen to old jazz records on Sunday mornings. I told her about the first table I ever built, how it leans so bad I have to shove a folded napkin under one leg just to make it stand.

Elise laughed so hard she covered her mouth and Harley lifted his head like he was judging both of us.

At some point, Elise fell asleep on the couch with her head on my shoulder, her hand still in mine.

I didn’t move.

I just sat there listening to the rain fade, thinking about how strange life was.

Two weeks ago, I thought I was walking into a prank.

Now I was in my cabin with a woman who made me want to be better and a dog who’d decided she was family.

Morning came clean and cold, the pines dripping from last night’s rain. Sunlight broke through the clouds and made the world look new.

Elise woke up slowly, blinking like she forgot where she was for half a second. Then she looked at me and smiled, small and shy.

Morning, she said.

Morning.

Harley climbed onto the couch between us and shoved his face into her hands like he was demanding attention. Elise laughed, rubbing his ears.

He’s going to be spoiled.

He already is.

We made breakfast—eggs and toast, nothing fancy. Elise stood in my tiny kitchen in her socks, hair messy, humming quietly under her breath. The cabin felt different. Softer. Lived in.

After we ate, she stared out the window at the trees.

I should check on my mom, she said. But… I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, Zane.

It won’t be, I said.

She turned to me, searching my face.

Promise?

I stepped closer, took her hands.

I don’t make promises I can’t keep, I said. But I can tell you this—I want you in my life. Not as a secret. Not as temporary. I want to build something with you. Slow. Steady. Real.

Her eyes went soft.

Okay, she whispered. Slow and steady.

When she left, she didn’t rush. She stood on my porch for a moment, sunlight catching her hair. She kissed me once—quick but sure—then walked to her Subaru.

I watched her drive down the gravel path until the trees swallowed her up.

My phone buzzed a minute later.

Derek: So… was it a joke?

I stared at the message, then looked around my cabin.

The mug Elise used sat in my sink.

Her cardigan still hung by my door because she’d forgotten it.

Harley sat at the window watching the road like he expected her back.

I typed my reply.

No. It wasn’t a joke. It was the best thing you’ve ever done for me.

Then I set my phone down and smiled to myself because the truth was even bigger than that.

My friends thought they were setting me up for a laugh.

But they accidentally set me up for a life I didn’t know I was still allowed to have—and somewhere out there in Colorado Springs, on American roads that all lead back to something, Elise was driving toward her mom’s house with my cardigan on her mind and my name in her mouth like it finally belonged to her.

And I was standing in my doorway, the lone wolf suddenly realizing he didn’t want to howl into the dark anymore—because for the first time in a long time, the quiet didn’t feel like safety.

It felt like a place to bring someone home.

The quiet after she left felt different than the quiet before her.

Before Elise, my cabin’s silence had been a kind of armor—thick, familiar, something I could pull on like a jacket when the world got too loud. After Elise, the silence felt… unfinished. Like a room that had learned how to hold laughter and now didn’t know what to do with the empty space where it used to live.

Harley kept staring out the window like he was waiting for her Subaru to reappear on the gravel drive. Every few minutes he’d let out this low, impatient huff, then look back at me as if to say, Well? Aren’t you going to fix this?

I tried to go back to work. I did what I always do when something starts to feel too big—I reached for routine. I went to the workshop, swept the floor, lined up tools, checked measurements I’d already checked. I sanded the same board twice. The sawdust smelled right, the way it always does, but it didn’t settle my mind the way it usually could.

Because for the first time in a long time, I had something to lose.

That thought sat in the back of my skull like a splinter.

I told myself I wasn’t going to get ahead of it. I told myself it had been a good night, one real night, one honest conversation, one kiss that tasted like peppermint and possibility. I told myself not to build a whole future out of a handful of hours.

But then I’d see her cardigan hanging by the door and my chest would tighten again.

I finally texted her that afternoon, because letting her leave with my heart half-open and my mouth full of things unsaid felt like the kind of mistake I used to make. The kind that turns into regret.

You forgot your cardigan.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

I know. I did that on purpose.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering, a stupid smile creeping up my face like I couldn’t stop it.

So you’re claiming it as collateral?

Maybe, her reply came. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you again.

I leaned back against the kitchen counter and exhaled slowly. Harley watched me like he understood exactly what was happening and approved.

When?

Tonight, Elise wrote. After I check on Mom. If you’re free.

I was always free. The whole point of my life had been that I didn’t have much that demanded me.

Now I had her.

Come by whenever, I typed. Door’s open.

Her response was simple.

Okay.

But the okay felt like a promise.

That day crawled. I tried to keep my hands busy, because when my hands were busy my brain had less space to invent worst-case scenarios. I finished the cedar chair, wiped it down, ran my palm over the smooth seat and tried to feel proud. Usually, that would’ve been enough—something solid, something finished, something I made with my own hands that would outlast whatever mood I was in.

This time, my mind kept skipping back to the grocery store. Mark’s smirk. The way Elise’s fingers tightened on my arm. The quiet after she said he used to make me feel small.

I didn’t like the way it sat in me—this cold protective anger that had nowhere to go. I wasn’t looking for a fight. I didn’t want to play macho, didn’t want to prove anything. But I also wasn’t going to watch someone take a piece out of her again.

Around five, Derek called.

I almost let it go to voicemail, but the truth is, Derek was like a brother—annoying, loud, impossible, but mine.

I answered on the second ring.

“So?” he demanded immediately. “You alive, lone wolf? Or did you get abducted by lake fairies?”

“I’m busy,” I said.

“Oh, you’re busy,” Derek repeated like he’d never heard those words from me in his life. “With what? Carving tiny wooden bears? Talking to your dog?”

I looked down at Harley, who was chewing a stick like it owed him money.

“Both,” I said.

Derek snorted. “Don’t play tough. We need details. Lisa is threatening to show up at my house and break into my fridge if we don’t give her something. How did it go? Was she real? Was she an iguana lady in disguise?”

“She’s real,” I said.

The pause on the line was immediate and suspiciously silent.

“…Wait,” Derek said slowly. “She’s actually real? Like, you enjoyed it?”

I didn’t answer fast enough, and Derek made a sound that was half laugh, half victory noise.

“Oh my God,” he said. “He enjoyed it. I did it. I fixed Zane. Put it on my tombstone.”

“Don’t,” I warned, but my voice didn’t have much bite.

“Okay, okay,” Derek said, lowering his tone like he was pretending to be serious. “What’s her name again? Elise? And you’re seeing her again?”

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to tell him—because I didn’t want the second this became “a thing,” it turned into something my friends could crowd around and touch and joke about until it lost its shape.

But Derek didn’t mean harm. He just didn’t always know how to handle something gentle.

“She’s coming by tonight,” I admitted.

“YES,” Derek shouted loud enough that I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Okay. Okay. I’m going to be respectful. I’m going to be normal.”

“You don’t know how to do that,” I said.

“I’m learning,” he insisted. “Listen—if this is actually happening, you need to make sure you don’t pull your usual vanishing act.”

“I’m not—” I started.

“You are,” Derek cut in. “You do that thing where you get one good thing, then you act like you don’t deserve it, then you disappear into your cabin like Bigfoot. Don’t Bigfoot this.”

I tightened my grip on the phone. “Derek.”

“I’m not judging,” he said quickly. “I’m just saying… don’t run.”

The words hit harder than I expected, because they were the same ones I’d said to Elise. Because I didn’t want to be the guy who always runs. And because my friends had seen that pattern in me, even if I pretended I was just “independent.”

“I’m not running,” I said.

“Good,” Derek replied, quieter now. “Then… I’m happy for you, man. Like, real happy.”

I stared out the window at the pines swaying in the evening wind. I didn’t know how to respond to sincerity from Derek. It always felt like catching him without his armor.

“Yeah,” I said finally. “Me too.”

We hung up, and I stood there for a long moment holding my phone like it was heavier than it should’ve been.

Then the sky shifted again, that Colorado kind of shift where the daylight drains fast and the air turns sharp. I lit the lamp by the couch, fed Harley, and cleaned the kitchen like I was preparing for an inspection.

Around seven, I heard tires on gravel.

My heart did the stupid thing it had been doing around Elise—jumping like it was trying to outrun my ribs.

Harley bolted to the door, tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggled.

I opened the door before she knocked.

Elise stood on the porch in a dark coat, cheeks pink from the cold, hair loose around her shoulders. She looked tired, like the day had asked too much from her. But when she saw me, her face softened.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I replied.

She stepped inside, and the cabin changed again, like it knew how to hold her now.

Harley pressed against her legs like she was already part of the pack. Elise laughed, bending to scratch behind his ears.

“He missed me,” she said.

“He’s dramatic,” I told her, but I couldn’t hide the warmth in my voice.

She shrugged off her coat, hung it on the hook like she’d done it a thousand times, and for one strange second my brain tried to paint a picture of her doing that every night—coming home here, hanging her coat by mine, Harley spinning in circles.

It made my throat tighten.

We sat on the couch again, closer this time without it feeling like a question. I offered tea, and she nodded. She wrapped her hands around the mug like it was a small comfort she was allowed to take.

“How’s your mom?” I asked carefully.

Elise’s eyes dropped to the tea. “She’s… fine,” she said, but “fine” never meant fine.

I didn’t push. I just waited.

Elise exhaled. “She’s scared,” she admitted. “She won’t say it like that, because she hates feeling weak. But she’s getting older, and she feels it.”

My chest tightened. “And you’re carrying that.”

Elise’s mouth pressed into a thin line, like she didn’t want to admit it.

“I moved back because I told myself I wanted to,” she said, voice quiet. “And I did. I love her. But sometimes I feel like my life paused when I came back, and I never hit play again.”

I watched her face as she spoke. The way she tried to keep it calm. The way the sadness lived in her eyes anyway.

“And then you meet some… cabin carpenter,” I said gently.

Elise let out a short laugh. “And then I meet you.”

Silence settled between us, but it wasn’t heavy. It was the kind of silence that felt like a blanket.

Elise glanced at me. “I told her about you,” she said.

My heart did that jump again. “You did?”

“She asked why I was smiling at my phone,” Elise replied, a little embarrassed. “And I told her I’d met someone.”

“What did she say?”

Elise’s eyes softened. “She said, ‘Finally.’ Like she’d been waiting for me to let myself have something.”

I swallowed. “That’s… good.”

Elise nodded once. Then her gaze shifted, sharpening. “But Mark texted me,” she said.

The warmth in my body cooled a few degrees.

“What did he say?”

Elise’s mouth tightened. “Something like… ‘Nice running into you. Hope your new guy can keep up.’” She rolled her eyes, but I could see the way it still got under her skin.

“He wants to stay in your head,” I said.

Elise looked at me, surprised. “Yeah,” she admitted. “He always did.”

I stared at the mug in my hands like it had answers. “Did you respond?”

“No,” Elise said firmly. “I’m not feeding him. I just… I hate that he can still reach me with a sentence.”

“You don’t have to carry that alone,” I said.

Elise’s gaze held mine. “I know,” she said quietly. “That’s why I’m here.”

The words hit me in a way that felt both good and terrifying.

She leaned in first this time, slow and sure. The kiss was different than the night before—less tentative, more honest. Her hands were warm against my face, and when she pulled back, she rested her forehead against mine like she did before.

“Zane,” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want this to be something that only exists in the quiet,” she said.

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

Elise’s eyes searched mine. “I mean… I like your quiet. I love it, actually. But I don’t want to be hidden away in it. I don’t want to feel like I’m sneaking into your life.”

My throat tightened. I understood what she was saying. I understood the fear behind it. Because I had made a life that was easy to slip into and easy to disappear from.

“You won’t be hidden,” I said.

Elise didn’t look convinced. Not yet.

I sat back just enough to look at her fully. “Come to dinner with us,” I said.

“Us?”

“Derek and the guys,” I clarified, and her eyebrows lifted immediately like she wasn’t sure if I was serious. “They’re going to keep pestering me anyway. Might as well let them see you’re real.”

Elise stared at me like she was measuring whether I meant it. “That’s… a big step for you.”

“I know,” I admitted.

“And you’re offering it,” she pressed.

I nodded once, slow. “Because you’re right. I don’t want this to exist only in my quiet. I want it to exist in my life.”

The words came out steadier than I expected. And the second I said them, something in me unclenched—like I’d finally admitted what my body already knew.

Elise’s eyes shone, not with tears, but with something close.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Dinner.”

It should have felt like a simple plan.

But the moment we said it out loud, reality started moving again—like a machine that had been paused and was now grinding forward, bringing all the complications with it.

Because the truth was, Elise wasn’t the only one with a past.

Mine just looked quieter.

Two days later, I met Derek at a burger place on the edge of town—the kind of American spot with neon signs in the window, grease smell baked into the booths, sports highlights on TV even if nobody was watching. It was loud, familiar, safe in a way that made my nerves worse.

Derek was already there with two other guys—Cal and Jonah—both the type who’d known me long enough to see through my silence but not always patient enough to respect it. They spotted me and immediately started grinning like kids who thought they’d pulled off a magic trick.

“Oh, look who it is,” Derek said, sliding out of the booth. “The man of the hour.”

“Don’t,” I muttered, but it was too late.

Cal leaned over the table. “So it’s true? You didn’t scare her off?”

Jonah grinned. “Is she real or is this some elaborate plot to get us to stop bothering you?”

I took a seat and stared at them like they were the reason I’d need therapy in the future.

“She’s real,” I said.

Derek slapped the table like he’d won a bet. “I told you! I told you. Lisa’s instincts are terrifying.”

“Speaking of Lisa,” Jonah said, “she has been texting me nonstop. She wants a full report. She’s acting like she’s running a mission.”

Derek nodded vigorously. “She basically is. Okay, when are we meeting her? Is she coming tonight? Is she watching from across the street like a secret agent?”

I felt my ears heat. “Not tonight.”

“Aww,” Cal said. “Lone wolf wants to keep his mystery woman secret.”

“It’s not that,” I said, but my voice came out sharper than I meant. The truth was, I didn’t want them to chew her up with jokes.

Derek leaned back, studying me. “Okay,” he said, more careful now. “Then when?”

I swallowed, forced myself to say it.

“Friday,” I said. “Dinner. She’s coming.”

The table went silent for half a beat.

Then Derek’s face cracked into a grin so wide it was almost ridiculous.

“FRIDAY,” he repeated. “He said Friday. He is introducing her. Someone get a calendar. Someone call the news.”

“Don’t make it weird,” I warned.

“That ship sailed,” Jonah said, laughing. “It’s weird. It’s beautiful.”

Cal pointed a fry at me. “You better not bail. If you bail, I’m driving out to your cabin and dragging you to civilization myself.”

I stared at them, feeling the familiar urge to retreat.

Then I thought of Elise’s voice: I don’t want to be hidden away in your quiet.

And I realized this wasn’t just about enduring my friends.

It was about choosing her.

“I’m not bailing,” I said.

Derek’s grin softened into something almost gentle. “Good,” he said. “Then we’ll be normal.”

“None of you know how,” I said.

“We’ll try,” he promised. “For you. For her.”

I nodded once, still suspicious, but something in my chest eased. Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could let my life expand instead of keeping it tight and controlled.

Friday came, and my nerves turned my cabin into a cage.

I cleaned everything. I wiped down surfaces that were already clean. I checked the grill, even though we weren’t grilling. I changed my shirt twice, then went back to the first one because the second one felt like I was trying too hard.

Harley watched me pace like I was a malfunctioning robot.

“Stop,” I muttered to myself. “Stop acting like an idiot.”

Harley sneezed again, as if confirming.

Elise arrived around six, her Subaru crunching onto the gravel drive like a sound that now meant something. She stepped out wearing a simple dark sweater and jeans, hair down, cheeks pink from the cold.

She looked at my cabin like she was seeing it with new eyes—like she was deciding if this place could hold more than one person.

“You ready?” she asked softly.

I stared at her. “No,” I admitted.

Elise smiled, warm and steady. “Me neither.”

She reached for my hand.

And I let her.

That small gesture—her fingers in mine—felt like crossing an invisible border. Like stepping out of my private world and into something public. Something that could be witnessed. Something that could be judged.

We drove into town with Harley left behind, which felt wrong now. The whole time, Elise rested her hand on my thigh, not possessive, just present—like a quiet reminder that I wasn’t doing this alone.

When we walked into Derek’s place, the smell of garlic and roasted meat hit us immediately. Derek lived in a normal suburban house—American flags on the porch on certain holidays, a grill he used like he was competing on a cooking show, a loud doorbell that played a tune.

The moment the door opened, Derek’s face lit up.

“Zane!” he shouted. “You made it!”

Then his eyes slid to Elise, and for the first time since I’d known him, Derek looked… nervous.

“Hi,” Elise said before he could recover, offering her hand. “I’m Elise.”

Derek blinked like his brain had to restart. Then he shook her hand, too firm at first, then loosened like he remembered he wasn’t trying to win an arm-wrestling contest.

“Elise,” he repeated, smiling. “I’m Derek. I’m… sorry in advance.”

Elise laughed softly. “I’ve been warned.”

That broke the tension instantly.

Cal and Jonah appeared behind Derek like backup dancers, both trying to look casual and failing.

“Hi,” Cal said, smiling wide. “Welcome. We’re… also sorry in advance.”

Jonah nodded. “Yeah. We’re a lot.”

Elise looked between them and then at me. Her expression was amused, not overwhelmed.

“I can handle a lot,” she said.

Something in me loosened again.

Dinner was loud, messy, and somehow… good.

Derek tried too hard at first, asking Elise questions like he was conducting an interview. Jonah told a story about Zane—about me—falling into a river on a camping trip years ago, leaving out the part where Jonah had pushed me. Cal laughed too hard, spilled his drink, and then apologized like he’d just committed a crime.

Elise took it all in with that steady calm that made people soften around her. She laughed at the right times. She asked questions back. She didn’t cling to me like a shield, and she didn’t let them bulldoze her either. She was exactly who she’d been at the coffee shop—real.

At one point, while Derek was in the kitchen, Jonah leaned over and lowered his voice.

“So,” he said, looking at Elise, “you know he pretends he doesn’t like people, but he’s basically a golden retriever with anxiety.”

Elise’s eyes flicked to me. “I was wondering,” she said, teasing.

I gave Jonah a flat look. “You’re done.”

Jonah held up his hands. “I’m just saying—if you can handle him, you can handle us.”

Elise smiled. “Good.”

Across the table, Derek came back carrying a tray of food, and when he set it down he looked at me over Elise’s shoulder, eyebrows raised like he was asking a question without words.

Is this real?

I met his gaze and nodded once.

Yes.

Derek’s face softened in a way that surprised me. He cleared his throat, then lifted his glass.

“Okay,” he said loudly enough to get everyone’s attention. “I’m going to say something and I’m not going to make it weird.”

Everyone immediately groaned.

Derek ignored them. He looked at Elise. “Thank you,” he said, simpler than I expected. “For coming. For… giving our idiot friend here a chance.”

Elise looked at him, then at me. “He gave me a chance too,” she said. “So I think it’s even.”

Derek blinked, like he wasn’t used to someone being kind without an angle.

Then he grinned. “Okay,” he declared. “She’s officially in. Jonah, don’t ruin it.”

Jonah held up his hands again. “I’m on my best behavior.”

Cal leaned toward me and murmured, “Dude. She’s… great.”

I didn’t answer, because if I did, my voice would’ve give me away.

But my chest felt full.

When we left later, Elise and I walked out into the cold night air. Her breath puffed in front of her like smoke. We climbed into my truck, and for a moment neither of us spoke.

Then Elise exhaled slowly.

“Your friends,” she said, smiling. “They’re intense.”

“They are,” I admitted.

“But they care about you,” she said. “A lot.”

I stared out the windshield at the dark road. “Yeah.”

Elise turned toward me. “And you didn’t disappear,” she said softly.

I looked at her. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

She smiled, and the look in her eyes made my throat tighten again.

“I’m glad,” she whispered.

On the drive back to my cabin, my phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number.

I frowned and opened it.

Hope she knows what she’s getting into.

No name. But I didn’t need one.

My hands tightened on the wheel.

Elise noticed immediately. “What is it?” she asked.

I didn’t want to bring Mark into this moment. I didn’t want to let him stain it. But Elise deserved honesty more than she deserved my protection.

I handed her my phone.

Elise read the message, and the warmth in her face cooled. She stared at the screen for a beat too long, then handed it back.

“He found out,” she said quietly.

“How?” I asked, jaw tight.

Elise exhaled. “Mark always finds out,” she said. “Mutual friends. Social media. He… collects information like it’s fuel.”

I stared at the road, headlights cutting through darkness. “Does he do this often?”

Elise’s voice stayed calm, but I heard the tightness under it. “He did after the divorce. For a while. He’d text little things. Nothing outright threatening. Just… reminders that he still had access to my life.”

My chest felt like it was filling with cold water.

“Why?” I asked.

Elise looked out her window, watching the pine silhouettes pass. “Because if I’m happy without him, it means he wasn’t the center of everything,” she said. “And Mark can’t handle not being the center.”

I swallowed. “Do you want to block him?”

“I already did,” Elise said. “He gets around it.”

I gripped the steering wheel harder. I wasn’t going to play his game. I wasn’t going to respond. But I also wasn’t going to pretend this was nothing.

When we got back to the cabin, Elise stayed quiet as we walked inside. Harley greeted us like we’d been gone a week. Elise knelt to pet him, and her face softened again, but I could still feel the tension in her body.

I took a breath.

“Talk to me,” I said.

Elise sat on the couch, pulling her knees up, wrapping her arms around them like she was trying to make herself smaller. Seeing that—seeing her instinct to shrink—made something in me ache.

“He’s not going to stop just because I’m dating someone,” Elise said.

“I know,” I said.

She looked at me, eyes glossy but stubborn. “And I don’t want you to get dragged into it.”

I moved closer, not crowding, just present. “Too late,” I said quietly. “I’m already in it. Because I’m with you.”

Elise’s throat bobbed. “Zane…”

“I’m not saying I’m going to fight him,” I added, because I could see where her mind was going. “I’m not saying we’re going to turn this into drama. But I am saying… you don’t deal with him alone anymore.”

Elise stared at me like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to accept that.

Then she whispered, “That’s what scares me.”

“What?”

“That you’ll actually mean it,” she said, voice thin. “That you’ll stay. That you’ll make room for me. Because if I let myself believe that, and then something happens…” She swallowed hard. “It will hurt worse than being alone.”

I stared at her, feeling something steady rise in me—not panic, not fear. Just certainty.

“Elise,” I said, and my voice came out low and firm. “You already hurt. You’ve been carrying it. Being alone didn’t protect you. It just made you carry it without anyone seeing.”

Her eyes filled, and this time she didn’t fight it. A tear slipped down her cheek like it had been waiting.

I reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.

“I can’t promise nothing will ever hurt again,” I said. “Life doesn’t work like that. But I can promise I’m not going to play games with you. I’m not going to vanish because it gets complicated.”

Elise squeezed my hand. “And if Mark escalates?”

“Then we handle it the right way,” I said. “Smart. Calm. We don’t feed him. We document. We protect your peace.”

She stared at me, and for the first time since that grocery store, I saw her shoulders drop like she’d been holding them up with muscle and fear.

“Okay,” she whispered.

I pulled her gently against me. She rested her head on my chest, and I felt her breath slow. Outside, the wind moved through the pines. Inside, the cabin felt like it had finally learned what it was built for.

Later, when she fell asleep with Harley curled at her feet, I stayed awake staring at the ceiling.

Because the truth was, Mark’s text wasn’t what scared me most.

What scared me was how easy it was to imagine a future now—and how fast a future becomes something people try to take from you when they can’t stand seeing you have it.

The next morning, Elise woke early and left to check on her mom. She kissed me at the door, quick but real, like she wanted to leave something behind that I could hold onto.

“I’ll text you later,” she promised.

“Drive safe,” I said.

When her Subaru disappeared down the gravel path, I walked back inside and found Harley sitting by the window again, watching the road like he didn’t believe she was really gone.

“Yeah,” I muttered, scratching his head. “Me too.”

I tried to work. I did. But my phone buzzed around noon with a notification from a number I didn’t recognize.

This time, it wasn’t a text.

It was a photo.

My stomach dropped before my brain even processed it.

A picture of Elise and me leaving Derek’s house. Taken from across the street. Grainy but clear enough to see her face.

Under it, one line:

Tell her I said hi.

My hands went cold.

That wasn’t casual. That wasn’t Mark being petty.

That was Mark letting us know he was watching.

I stared at the screen, every instinct in me screaming to drive straight to Elise’s house, to stand between her and anything that could hurt her. But instincts aren’t plans. Panic isn’t protection.

I took a breath and forced my mind into the kind of calm that carpentry taught me—measure first, cut once.

I screenshot the message. I saved it. I didn’t respond.

Then I called Elise.

She answered on the second ring, voice soft. “Hey—”

“Elise,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I need you to listen to me.”

The silence on the other end sharpened. “What happened?”

“He sent me something,” I said. “A photo of us. From last night.”

I heard her inhale like it hurt.

“Zane…” she whispered.

“I’m emailing it to you,” I said. “And I want you to forward it to yourself, save it somewhere. We’re documenting everything.”

Her voice trembled. “He’s never done that before.”

“He has now,” I said. “Are you at your mom’s?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” I said. “Stay there for now. Don’t go anywhere alone tonight. I’ll come by.”

“No,” Elise said quickly, and I recognized the fear—not of me, but of escalation. “If you show up, he’ll—”

“He already is,” I cut in gently. “Elise. I’m not going to do anything reckless. I’m not coming to confront him. I’m coming because you shouldn’t sit with that fear by yourself.”

There was a long pause. Then Elise exhaled shakily.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. Come.”

I hung up and stood in the middle of my cabin, phone still in my hand, Harley watching me like he knew something was wrong.

I crouched and scratched behind his ears. “We’re going for a ride,” I told him.

Harley’s tail thumped once, serious now.

I grabbed my keys, locked the cabin, and drove down the mountain road toward Colorado Springs with the kind of calm that isn’t calm at all—calm that feels like steel.

Because this wasn’t just a romance anymore. This wasn’t just two people stumbling into something good.

This was the moment where good things get tested.

And I knew, deep in my bones, that the man Elise used to shrink for was about to find out the quiet guy from the cabin didn’t run the way Elise’s fear expected him to.

Not because I was looking for a fight.

Because I was finally choosing something—and I wasn’t letting someone else decide how much I was allowed to have.