Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Reese
Something’s wrong.
It’s been three days since the festival, since we made love, since everything changed. And Audra’s been polite, friendly, and completely unreachable.
She’s performing our engagement perfectly—holding my hand in public, discussing wedding details with vendors, charming every guest at dinner.
But the moment we’re alone, she retreats.
No more late-night talks in her suite. No more lingering looks.
Even our goodnight kisses have become brief, almost businesslike.
“You’re brooding,” Taylor observes, finding me on the back porch at dawn, staring at the lake.
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re brooding. It’s very unattractive.” She hands me coffee. “Want to talk about why Audra’s been acting like a robot since Sunday?”
“She’s not—”
“She color-coded the napkin choices, Reese. By three different ranking systems. That’s not normal, even for her.”
I take a sip of coffee to avoid answering, but Taylor’s not done.
“What happened after the festival?”
“Nothing.”
“Try again.”
“Taylor—”
“Reese Ashton, you’re my brother and I love you, but you’re an idiot if you let her slip away again.” She sits beside me. “What happened?”
I cave. “We slept together.”
“Finally! So what’s the problem?”
“She thinks it was a mistake. Or maybe not a mistake, but... complicated. She’s pulling back, trying to maintain boundaries.”
“Because she’s scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of feeling too much. Of this becoming too real.” Taylor studies me. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
She leaves me with that thought, and I spend the morning turning it over in my mind while handling routine lodge maintenance. By lunch, I have a plan.
I find Audra in the garden, laptop open, supposedly working but actually staring into space.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She startles, quickly pulling up a spreadsheet. “Oh, hi. Just reviewing the vendor contracts. Did you know flowers have a 300% markup for weddings?”
“Audra.”
“We should probably use local wildflowers instead. More authentic.”
“Audra.”
“I’ll make a note to—”
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
She finally looks at me, wary. “We have dinner every night.”
“Not in the dining room. Just us. I want to cook for you.”
“Reese—”
“Please. Let me do this.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I see the war in her eyes—want versus fear, reaching versus retreating.
“Okay,” she says finally, quietly.
I spend the afternoon preparing, ignoring Taylor’s knowing smirks as she helps me plan the menu. I set up in the old boathouse, the one we’re planning to renovate next summer—if I still own the lodge next summer. String lights, candles, the good china we usually save for holidays.
When Audra arrives at seven, she stops in the doorway, taking it all in.
“Reese, this is...”
“Too much?”
“Perfect.” Her voice catches. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” I pull out her chair. “You’ve been working so hard on our fake wedding, I thought you deserved a real dinner.”
“Is that what this is? Real?”
The question hangs between us as I pour wine—the good bottle I’ve been saving for years.
“Everything with you feels real to me,” I say carefully.
She looks away, out toward the water. “That’s the problem.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“Because we had an agreement. Boundaries. Rules.”
“We also agreed to take evening walks, and those became my favorite part of the day. We agreed to hold hands in public, and now I look for excuses to touch you even when no one’s watching.”
“Reese—”
“We agreed to pretend, and somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending.”
She’s very still, barely breathing. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I know this started as a business arrangement.
I know we have an end date. I know all the logical reasons why this is complicated.
” I reach across the table, palm up, an invitation.
“But when I wake up, you’re the first person I want to see.
When something funny happens, you’re who I want to tell.
When you smile—really smile, not the polite one you give guests—my entire day gets better. ”
She stares at my outstretched hand but doesn’t take it. “This is just... proximity. The romance of the situation. Playing house.”
“Is it?” I pull my hand back, try not to let the rejection sting. “Then why are you so scared?”
“I’m not scared.”
“You’re terrified. And I think it’s because you feel it too—whatever this is between us.”
She stands abruptly. “I should go.”
“Running away doesn’t make it less real, Audra.”
She freezes at the door. “No. But it makes it hurt less when it ends.”
“What if it didn’t end?”
She turns, and the look on her face breaks my heart—so much longing mixed with fear.
“Everything ends, Reese. Jobs, friendships, relationships. Everything. The trick is knowing when to walk away before it destroys you.”
“That’s not living, Audie. That’s just... existing.”
“Maybe. But it’s safer.”
“Is that really what you want? Safe?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I think she might actually answer honestly. Then her phone buzzes. She glances at it, frowns.
“It’s Bernard. He wants to schedule another check-in. This weekend.”
And just like that, the spell breaks. We’re back to business, to pretense, to the arrangement that’s supposed to be simple but has become anything but.
“I’ll add it to the calendar,” she says, all efficiency now. “We should probably be seen together more this week. Make sure we’re convincing.”
“Right. Convincing.”
She leaves without looking back, and I’m left alone in the boathouse with candles and string lights and a dinner that’s gone cold.
My phone buzzes. A text from Taylor: How’d it go?
I type back: She’s scared of feeling too much.
Her response is immediate: So show her it’s worth the risk.
I stare at the text, then look around the boathouse. All this romantic staging, and what did it accomplish? Nothing. Because Audra doesn’t need grand gestures. She needs to trust that this—us—isn’t just some summer fantasy.
Over the next few days, I try a different approach.
Instead of pushing, I just... be there. I bring her coffee exactly how she likes it.
I sit quietly while she works, not demanding attention but available if she wants it.
I tell her stories about the lodge, about my plans for it, about the life I’m building here.
“Why are you telling me all this?” she asks Thursday evening, after I’ve spent an hour describing my vision for converting the old barn into an event space.
“Because I want you to know that this place, this life—it has room for you in it. If you want it.”
She looks at me with eyes full of something I can’t quite name. “What happens after summer, Reese? When the fake engagement ends?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I know that right now, this doesn’t feel fake to me. Does it feel fake to you?”
She doesn’t answer, just reaches for my hand. We sit in silence, fingers intertwined, watching the sun set over the lake.
“I’m scared,” she finally whispers.
“I know.”
“I’m scared that if I let myself want this—really want it—and then lose it...”
“What if you don’t lose it? What if it’s yours to keep?”
She squeezes my hand. “What if I’m not brave enough to find out?”
I bring her hand to my lips, kiss her knuckles gently. “Then I’ll be brave enough for both of us.”
The next morning, Bernard arrives for his check-in. We perform perfectly—the touches, the looks, the casual intimacy of a couple in love. And the whole time, I’m aware that we’re not really performing at all.
“You two seem very happy,” Bernard observes as he’s leaving.
“We are,” I say, and mean it.
He pauses at his car. “Your aunt would be pleased. She always said the lodge needed love to truly thrive.”
After he’s gone, Audra turns to me. “We’re getting too good at this.”
“Or maybe we’re just getting honest about what this is.”
She touches my face gently. “I wish it were that simple.”
“It could be.”
But she’s already pulling away, already rebuilding those walls. And I’m left wondering how many more times I can watch her retreat before I have to accept that maybe she’s right.
Maybe everything does end.
Maybe the trick really is knowing when to let go.
But as I watch her walk back to her suite, shoulders tense with the weight of feelings she won’t name, I know I’m not ready to let go. Not yet.
Not when I can see in every stolen glance, every involuntary reach for my hand, every smile she tries to suppress, that she’s feeling exactly what I’m feeling.
She just needs to believe it’s real.
And I need to find a way to show her before it’s too late.