Unbreak Me (Fate’s Choice #3)

JAN

The change in Day over the next week was noticeable. The man I’d met in the glass booth with the sour expression and hostile gaze had disappeared, replaced by someone different—though still not exactly cheerful.

He turned out to be even more taciturn than I’d initially thought, especially during meals.

Sometimes, he’d sit at the table with his elbow propped up, a cigarette in his other hand, his steel-gray eyes fixed on the rolling hills behind the house, covered with young trees from my nursery. His expression was distant, contemplative.

Often, he’d absently fiddle with a small pendant he always wore around his neck.

Those moments gave me a chance to observe him. His narrow jawline and thin nose, the blue veins under the translucent skin of his temples, the fragile wrists. The longer I stared, the more details I noticed—the delicate curve of his chin, shaped like an upturned triangle, the long tendons in his thin neck, his small ears, and the absolute lack of vivid colors on his cheeks, likely due to his constant smoking. A haze of ashy smoke often surrounded his face, and his lips would purse into a small 'o' as he exhaled.

I found myself wondering what he thought about during those moments, staring into the distance with overcast-gray eyes.

He seemed to be aware that I was observing him, and in a way, he let me—almost like those were strange sessions when he presented himself to me, silently saying, It’s how I am; look, but don’t disturb my musings…

But I finally did.

Once, I worked up the courage to ask him. He flinched then slightly, clearly not expecting such a personal question—maybe almost too intimate.

He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and avoided my gaze. "I’m thinking about the past. I guess I do it too often, but sometimes it just happens. I can’t stop it."

I hesitated, fiddling with his lighter, which lay on the table between us.

"Are they… sad thoughts? Unpleasant ones?"

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, his hand drifting automatically to the pendant around his neck.

"Mostly. Also, moments where I made silly choices. Sometimes they haunt me every day. They’re relentless, and I can’t forgive myself for doing things that now seem so stupid."

I wanted to ask what exactly he meant, but didn’t have the guts to do so. We weren’t that close. Not yet.

Later that evening, as I passed Day’s room, I noticed the door was open. He was tidying his closet and didn’t see me. My gaze drifted to his bed.

Fuzz and Milky were curled up on one side, but the middle of the bed caught my attention. A small nest had been constructed—partly from his belongings, partly from the materials I’d given him, though he chose the most neutral, calm colors.

Nevertheless, I felt a wave of relief. Day had built a nest! It wasn’t large—a one-person nest—and it had high edges, a clear sign of insecurity. Still, it was better than if he hadn’t made one at all. The nest exuded unease—Day was walling himself in, seeking safety. But I chose to see positives in this—that he’d used some of the materials I’d picked out for him.

Suddenly, Day turned and caught me staring at the bed. Silence fell between us. I knew better than to say anything—it would be highly inappropriate.

Clearing my throat, I managed to murmur, "If you need more closet space… just let me know. There’s a spare one in the second guest room."

"No, this one is plenty spacious," he said, holding a few T-shirts. I nodded and quickly backed away.

But one thing stuck with me—he hadn’t used my sweaters in his nest. They were neatly folded on the chair.

I wasn't that surprised; we were still in such early stages of getting to know each other. Leaving my clothes there was a deliberate move on my part. Maybe it could be interpreted as being a bit insolent and too forward, but I had made up my mind to build our future. I wanted him to understand how serious I was about our relationship—that I was open to being a part of his life. That was my signal to him. You are welcomed in my world. Whenever he felt ready, the doors were open.

◆◆◆

The next day, I asked him if he’d like to swim with me in the pond. I noticed that my suggestion somehow affected him in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He hesitated and even blushed a little.

"No, I’m not really in the mood for it yet. Maybe next week?"

Was it about being almost naked next to each other? Suspecting that, I simply nodded, choosing not to push it. My strategy was to give him space, to let him feel comfortable enough to take the initiative when he was ready.

"If you don’t mind, I’d still like to go for a swim," I said. "It’s kind of a habit of mine to use the pond at least once a week, usually more. Since I spent so much money building it, I feel like I have to justify the expense by actually using it." I chuckled and spread my arms helplessly.

He glanced at me—a quick, uncertain look—and then shrugged. "Sure, go ahead and swim."

His mood was hard to read. It felt like I was sensing him on two levels—picking up on his inner emotions, while his face told a different story. It was… confusing.

That afternoon, I left the house in just my swim trunks, with a towel slung over my shoulder. I was pretty confident in my body—working out regularly in my basement gym, and I wasn’t shy about showing off the results. Day was sitting on the terrace when he saw me, and to my surprise, he stood up and walked toward the pond with me. He didn’t say anything, so neither did I.

When we got there, he chose to sit near the shore. I laid my towel on a stone bench and walked into the water without a word. Day sat on another bench, smoking his usual cigarette, but I could feel his eyes on me.

It was a little strange, the way he was watching me so intensely but didn’t want to join in. His behavior felt contradictory, but I wasn’t going to ask him about it.

Max and Buddy followed me at first, splashing in the water, but they quickly retreated to the beach. I swam for almost forty minutes, back and forth along the length of the pond. When I finally climbed out, Day’s gaze followed me the whole time.

At one point, his eyes flicked briefly to my chest and stomach before shifting back up. He stayed silent, just puffing on his cigarette.

I wasn’t as hairy as many alphas—just a light dusting of golden hair on my chest that was barely noticeable from a distance. But for some reason, I had the distinct impression he approved of my body. Of course, that was a ridiculous read of his thoughts—I couldn’t possibly know what he was thinking.

The only odd indication was his heartbeat, which was quite elevated, perhaps more than one would expect from a person relaxing on a bench with a cigarette.

"The water’s warm, but there’s a lot of algae this year. I kept feeling it brush against my feet—it was kind of annoying," I said as I dried off.

Day cleared his throat and muttered, "As a kid, I used to be scared of swimming in ponds with algae. I always thought they were the hands of dead people trying to drag me under."

I laughed. "Yeah, you can’t let your imagination get too carried away with stuff like that. Luckily, this pond is shallow. If I wanted, I could stand and touch the bottom. So, no corpses pulling me under… not too deep anyway." I winked.

Day chuckled softly—a rare sound, but it was nice, almost melodic. Then, for just a second, his eyes flicked back to my stomach, and I noticed a faint pink blush on his cheeks. And his heart, again… pounding quite intensely!

But he didn’t say anything.

It was typical of him—avoiding longer conversations, especially when the mood lightened or there was even a hint of flirtation. He always went quiet. If the topic was more serious, I could sometimes get him to open up, but casual chatter? Not so much.

◆◆◆

I had a small stone grill that I used now and then for cooking pork shoulder and zucchini. The next evening, we sat around it, watching the smoke curl up against the darkening evening sky.

Dogs and cats were with us, Milky next to Day.

I noticed Day hunching his shoulders slightly, like he was feeling the chill, so without saying anything, I went inside and grabbed an extra blanket for him.

His eyes flicked up to meet mine briefly as I wrapped the blanket around his narrow shoulders. I couldn’t help but notice how slight and delicate they were. A strange shiver ran through me.

His hair was tied back in his usual low bun, but a loose strand had escaped at the nape of his neck, brushing my hand as I adjusted the blanket. I wanted to touch it again—but didn’t dare. When I pulled back, I caught a faint hint of pink rising on his cheeks, and of course, the heartbeat picked up.

"Thanks," he murmured. "It was getting a little chilly."

"You’re probably not used to evenings like that," I said, settling back into my seat. "The cold comes in from the fields at night. It takes some time to adapt to it."

"It does," he admitted, pulling the blanket tighter. "But I wouldn’t say it’s unpleasant. It’s… fresh." After a moment of hesitation, he added, "This whole place feels so peaceful and isolated—like nothing can disturb it. It’s the kind of quiet that lets you really unwind mentally. A deeper kind of relaxation."

"That’s one of the perks of living here," I agreed, letting my gaze sweep over the hills, now just faint outlines against the deepening navy sky. "But after two years in this quiet, I’ve started to notice the downside to being so alone."

A silence settled between us. I immediately realized I might’ve touched on something uncomfortable for him, so I leaned forward to check the grill, poking at the potatoes to see if they were done.

Day glanced at me, his fingers drifting to the pendant around his neck. He looked away after a moment, fiddling with the chain absently as he stared into the flames.

"I grew up in the city," he said finally. "But now I see what I missed. This kind of calm—being surrounded by nature." He lowered his gaze to the pack of cigarettes on the table, hesitating for a moment before deciding against it.

Max padded over to him and nudged Day’s hand with his furry head. Day smiled faintly and scratched behind the dog’s ears, his fingers ruffling through the fur.

"I’m glad you like it here, Day," I said, leaning back and watching him. "When I bought this plantation, I thought it was too big. I was sure it’d overwhelm me. So, it makes me happy that someone else can appreciate it, too."

"I do appreciate it, really," he said softly, still staring into the fire. "And… not just the plantation."

His heart was racing nervously as he said it, so I didn't press him on the topic.

Instead, I raised my gaze to the starry sky and let the moment be, feeling hopeful, allowing myself to savor the quiet of the evening—Day’s presence, the warmth of the grill, the glow of the flames, and the peaceful sound of the night settling around us.

◆◆◆

On Friday, the worker who was supposed to help me fertilize the raspberries canceled at the last minute. To my surprise, Day offered to help.

Over the past week, he hadn’t done much heavier physical work on the plantation, aside from helping pack orders and cooking. I didn’t expect him to, but I kinda hoped he would show up more often, even just to accompany me. Most of his time was spent in front of his laptop, though I’d caught him circling the greenhouses once or twice, as if he wanted to help weed the beds, but he seemed too shy to ask.

So, on his sixth day at my place, when he volunteered to help with the fertilizer, it was unexpected—but very welcome.

We spent the afternoon watering the raspberry rows with nettle manure. The conversation stayed practical, but it was a refreshing change from our usual routine. When I asked if he didn’t have work to do, he told me he’d finished a few big projects the night before and had some free time.

At one point, he took off his gloves to wipe his forehead, not realizing he left a smudge of dirt on his temple.

"Uh, you’ve got some dirt here," I muttered, gesturing toward his face.

He quickly wiped at it, but the smudge only spread toward his cheekbone.

"Still there," I said, pointing again. He tried one more time, but now there were two streaks of dirt across his face.

Feeling a little bold, I took off my gloves and stepped closer to help. Normally, I wouldn’t do that, but after our pleasant grill time, I grew hopeful that we were heading in the right direction

When my hand brushed Days’ skin, I felt a strange tingling, and my heart started pounding.

Our eyes met. For a moment, I saw panic in his expression. Quickly, I wiped the smudge away and stepped back, realizing I’d crossed some unspoken boundary.

"Sorry," I muttered, turning away and slipping my gloves back on. "You’re sweaty, and the dirt stuck to you," I added, trying to justify my actions.

"It’s okay," he whispered, but I could tell it wasn’t.

Did I misread him? Did I rush things? He obviously wasn’t ready for that kind of contact. It made me feel a little disappointed—our days had been so smooth and pleasant, and I had allowed myself to hope… perhaps too much? It wasn’t what he wanted right now.

So, I promised myself I wouldn’t rush things again.

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