6. Prue
CHAPTER SIX
PRUE
I 've never seen a man look so engrossed by a ferry schedule. Fox studies the laminated timetable like it holds the secrets of the universe while I'm trying not to notice how his forearms flex when he grips the railing.
"We've got about four hours before we need to head back," he says, tucking the schedule into his back pocket. The morning sunlight catches in his dark hair, highlighting strands of copper I hadn't noticed before.
Bainbridge Island spreads before us like a postcard, all quaint shops and waterfront charm.
We've spent the last hour wandering through the little downtown area, and our conversation flows easier than expected.
Maybe it's being away from Seattle, away from my sister's knowing glances and the weight of my design deadlines.
Here, I'm just a woman spending time with a man who keeps looking at me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.
"You're quiet," Fox says as we wander down a path that winds along the shoreline. "Second thoughts about spending the day with me?"
"Just enjoying the view." I gesture toward the water, but his eyes don't follow my hand. They stay fixed on my face.
"It is pretty spectacular," he agrees, and the heat in his gaze makes me look away.
We find a bench overlooking the sound, watching boats cut white trails through the blue. Our shoulders almost touch, and I'm hyperaware of the inches between us.
"So," he says after a comfortable silence. "You mentioned your sister's been through a rough breakup. What about you?"
The question hits like a cold wave. "What makes you think I've been through one?"
Fox shrugs. "The way you flinch when I move too fast. How you keep this..." he gestures to the space between us, "careful distance. Like you're waiting for something to go wrong."
"Perceptive," I mutter, annoyed at being so transparent.
"Construction guy, remember? I notice details."
I take a deep breath, surprised to find myself wanting to tell him. "His name was Alan. We were engaged."
Fox doesn't push––he just waits while I gather my thoughts.
"I thought we were happy. Planning the wedding, looking at houses." I laugh, but it comes out brittle. "Turns out he was also planning weekends with his coworker. Six months of my life, planning a future with someone who couldn't even be honest about his present."
"Jesus," Fox breathes. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well. Life lesson learned. Trust your gut, not the person telling you how special you are while texting someone else under the table."
Fox's hand moves toward mine on the bench, then retreats. "Not everyone's like that."
"I know that. Logically." I watch a seagull dive into the water. "But logic doesn't always win against experience."
"Fair enough."
I glance at him, expecting to see pity, but there's only understanding in his eyes.
It makes me brave enough to admit, "The worst part isn't even the cheating.
It's that I didn't see it coming. I used to think I was good at reading people, and now.
.." I shrug. "Now I second-guess everything. Everyone. It's exhausting."
"And safer than falling again," Fox says quietly.
The accuracy of his assessment stings. "Exactly."
His shoulder brushes mine, and this time, I don't pull away. "For what it's worth," he says, "I think being cautious is smart. But being closed off..." He shakes his head. "That just lets assholes like Alan win twice."
I turn to look at him fully, struck by the simplicity of his words. The morning breeze ruffles his hair, and I fight the urge to reach up and smooth it back.
"When did construction guys get so wise?" I ask, trying to lighten the moment.
Fox grins, and something warm unfurls in my chest. "Right around the time interior designers got so guarded."
I laugh, surprised by how good it feels. "Touché."
He stands, offering his hand. "Come on. There's a bakery up the street that's supposed to have incredible cinnamon rolls. And I promise not to read too much into it if you share one with me."
I look at his outstretched hand, feeling the weight of my caution against the pull of possibility. After a moment's hesitation, I take it, letting him pull me to my feet.
"One cinnamon roll," I agree. "But I make no promises about what that means."
His smile is slow and sure. "I wouldn't dare assume."
As we walk toward town, he doesn't let go of my hand, and I find, to my surprise, that I don't want him to. The bakery is cozy and warm, with a line that stretches nearly to the door. The scent of butter and cinnamon wraps around us like a blanket, and my stomach growls embarrassingly loud.
"Hungry?" Fox asks, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Starving," I admit. "I was too nervous this morning to eat much."
His eyebrows lift. "Nervous? About me?"
I roll my eyes to hide the fact that he's exactly right. "Don't let it go to your head. I get nervous before all my... outings."
"Is that what this is? An outing?"
"What would you call it?"
Fox considers this as we shuffle forward in line. "I'd call it the best morning I've had in a long time."
The simple honesty in his voice catches me off guard. I'm used to clever wordplay and men who construct elaborate compliments designed to get them what they want. Fox just says things—real things.
"Me too," I find myself saying. "It's nice to just... be."
We reach the counter and Fox orders one massive cinnamon roll and two coffees. When I reach for my wallet, he shakes his head.
"My treat," he says. "My sister always says never to trust a man who won't buy you pastry."
"Wise woman, your sister."
"Don't tell her that. It'll go straight to her head."
We find a tiny table by the window, our knees bumping underneath. With surgical precision, Fox splits the cinnamon roll, steam rising as he pulls it apart.
"So," I say, taking a bite that nearly makes me moan, "what about you? Any relationship horror stories I should know about?"
Fox's expression shifts, a cloud passing over the sun. "One. College girlfriend. We were together three years."
"What happened?"
He stares into his coffee. "Sarah wanted someone more ambitious. Said she couldn't see a future with a guy who was content being a 'small-town nobody.'" The bitterness in his voice tells me he's quoting her directly.
"That's harsh," I say, feeling a flare of indignation on his behalf.
"Yeah, well. She wasn't wrong about the small-town part. Cedar Bay's not exactly a metropolis."
"But the 'nobody' part?" I shake my head. "That's bullshit."
Fox looks up, surprise flickering across his face. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough," I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "I know you build things with your hands. I know you worry about your friend even when he drives you crazy. I know you listen—really listen—when people talk."
A flush crawls up his neck. "That's just basic decency."
"You'd be surprised how rare that is." I take another bite of the cinnamon roll, gathering courage. "So what happened after the breakup?"
"Spiraled a bit. I lost my swimming scholarship. Dropped out." He shrugs like it's nothing, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. "Joined the Army and did two tours. Came back to Cedar Bay when my dad needed help with some renovations at the bakery."
"That's right. Your parents own a bakery–right?"
A smile tugs at his lips. "Four generations. Carmichael's. Best sourdough in the Pacific Northwest."
"So you're telling me you've been judging this cinnamon roll the whole time?"
"Professionally," he confirms, and that half-smile widens into something genuine. "It's decent. Ours are better."
"Bold claim."
"You'll have to come see for yourself someday."
The invitation hangs between us, weightless but significant—another piece of the future, tentatively offered.
"Maybe I will," I say, and the possibility feels terrifying and exhilarating.
Fox studies me, those gray eyes thoughtful. "Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask. I might not answer."
"Fair enough." He leans forward, elbows on the table. "What are you afraid will happen if you let someone in again?"
The question is so direct it steals my breath. "That's... quite a morning coffee conversation."
"Sorry." He sits back. "Too much?"
"No, it's..." I twist my napkin between my fingers.
"It's a good question. I'm afraid..." The truth rises, unexpected but clear.
"I'm afraid I'll lose myself again. I became so focused on being what Alan wanted that I stopped being me.
And then, when it fell apart, I had to remember who I was without him. "
Fox nods slowly. "And who are you? Without him?"
"Still figuring that out." I meet his eyes. "But I like her more than the woman I was with him."
"I like her too," Fox says quietly, and the simple words land like stones in still water ripples spreading through me.
We finish our coffee in a comfortable silence, watching people pass by the window. When we finally step back outside, the day has warmed, and Fox has a smudge of icing at the corner of his mouth.
Without thinking, I reach up and brush it away with my thumb. He goes still under my touch, Fox's eyes darkening. For a moment, I think he might kiss me, right there on the sidewalk.
Instead, he catches my hand and kisses my palm, so light I almost don't feel it. Almost.
"Thanks," he says, voice rough.
"For what?"
"Trusting me with your story."
Something shifts between us, a door opening just a crack. I don't know if I'm ready to walk through it, but for the first time in a long time, I want to try.
"So," I say, sliding my hand into his, "where to next?"
“Want to head back to your place?”
I smile and nod. “I thought you’d never ask.”