CHAPTER 23
An Ordinary Tuesday
Kathy — POV
Nothing special happened on that Tuesday.
That was what Kathy realized later.
No grand gestures. No dramatic confessions. No flowers (except the ones already everywhere, because it was a flower shop).
Just a normal day in Hood River.
Brad showed up in the afternoon. Helped carry a delivery without being asked. Sat on the stool while she worked. Didn't try to fill every silence with words.
Ordinary.
But somehow —
it felt like everything.
Kathy was trimming roses when she noticed something.
She wasn't waiting for him to leave anymore.
She wasn't braced for disappointment.
She wasn't watching his face for signs of the man on the news.
She was just... here.
With him.
And it felt normal.
That scared her a little.
"Hey," she said.
Brad looked up. "Hey."
"You're still here."
He glanced around the shop. "Yes."
"That's not a question," she said.
He tilted his head. "Then what is it?"
Kathy set down her scissors.
"It's me noticing," she said quietly. "That I'm not surprised anymore."
Brad didn't say anything.
He just waited.
Kathy leaned against the counter.
"You come here. You help. You don't ask for anything. You don't push. You just... stay."
She paused.
"I didn't think you would."
Brad's voice was soft. "I know."
"And I didn't think I'd let you," she added.
Another pause.
"But you're still here. And I'm not telling you to leave."
Brad nodded slowly.
"That's progress," he said.
Kathy almost smiled.
"Don't push it," she said.
But there was no heat in her voice.
They sat in silence for a while after that.
The afternoon light came through the windows, soft and golden. The street outside was busy — cars, footsteps, voices. Life moving like it always did.
But inside the shop, everything felt slower.
Calmer.
Kathy watched Brad from the corner of her eye.
He wasn't looking at his phone. Wasn't checking the time. Wasn't calculating his next move.
He was just sitting there.
Present.
That was the word.
Present.
Not performing. Not controlling. Not hiding.
Just... Brad.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Anything."
"Do you miss it?"
He knew what she meant.
"Sometimes," he admitted. "Not the control. But the certainty. Knowing what came next."
Kathy nodded. "That makes sense."
"But I don't miss who I was," he added quietly. "Not anymore."
She looked at him.
"Who are you now?"
Brad thought about it.
"Someone who's still learning how to just... be," he said. "Without building something. Without fixing something. Without winning something."
Kathy was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, "That's a good answer."
"It's an honest one," he replied.
She smiled.
Just a little.
But real.
"You know," she said softly, "I think I'm starting to trust this."
Brad looked at her carefully. "This?"
"You," she said. "Here. The way things are now."
He didn't say "I told you so."
Didn't say "I'm glad."
Didn't say anything except:
"That means everything to me."
And for once —
Kathy believed him.
The bell rang. A customer walked in.
Life continued.
Brad stood up to make space.
But before he moved away, his hand brushed against hers on the counter.
Brief.
Accidental.
But neither of them pulled back immediately.
Kathy looked at him.
He looked at her.
Then the customer cleared their throat — a small, polite sound that felt like an earthquake in the quiet.
And the moment passed.
But something had shifted.
Something small.
Something real.
Something that felt like the beginning of something neither of them was ready to name yet.
But both of them could feel.