Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Rory
Iwake to the sound of scraping metal on pavement. Plows working Main Street, their rhythmic beeping as they back up somehow seem final. The storm is over. The world is returning to normal.
Except nothing about the last three days has been normal.
Tabitha’s breath is warm against my shoulder, her fingers loosely curled against my ribs. The pale morning light, filtering through the window, spills over us. She looks peaceful. Content. Like a woman who might believe me if I told her I’m falling in love with her.
Or, fell rather. Past tense. I’m already there.
I’ve been fighting it since that first morning in her kitchen. Hell, maybe since the wedding. But lying here now, watching her breathe, it crystallizes into something undeniable.
And in five hours, I have a job interview that could change everything.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it carefully, trying not to disturb her. Sure enough, it’s Hays confirming he’ll pick me up in an hour.
I thumbs up the message and set the phone back on the nightstand, letting my gaze sweep across the ceiling. Head golf pro at Starlight Bay Country Club, a teaching position, some course management. Everything I’ve thought about exploring after caddying, just…now. Not years from now.
I should tell her. Should wake Tabitha and explain I’m not flying down to Texas today. That I’m considering staying. That whatever this thing is between us, it doesn’t have to end.
But what if I tell her, and the job falls through? I haven’t even talked to the GM, for heaven’s sake. I can’t get Tabitha’s hopes up, let alone get my hopes up, then have to walk away anyway. I’d have to tell her it didn’t work out then watch that guarded expression slam back into place.
Or, even worse, what if I tell her I’m considering staying and she doesn’t want me to?
That would cut deep. And it’s not as if she’s indicated she wants more.
At least, not in words. Her actions, though?
Her kisses? The way she introduced me to Aunt Mae, the way she fell asleep against my chest again on the couch last night as if she trusts me completely?
Those say what she hasn’t. At least, I hope they do.
But I can’t risk being wrong. I can’t put my heart out there based on maybes and unspoken possibilities. I need to know the job is right first. Need to be certain I’m not chasing a feeling that’ll fade once reality sets in.
I need to prove to myself, and to her, this is about more than just three days of forced proximity and good sex.
Even if it’s been the best three days of my life.
I heave a sigh and immediately regret it. At my side, Tabitha stirs. Her eyes flutter open, and for one unguarded moment, her smile is pure and happy. Then reality settles back in. I watch it happen, the second her expression shifts, becoming careful.
“Morning,” she murmurs, already withdrawing.
“Morning.” I want to pull her back, keep her close, tell her everything.
Instead, I let her go.
She slips out of bed and grabs her robe. “I’ll make coffee.”
The pour-over setup sits on her counter. She measures beans with the same precision as every other morning, but there’s something different in the way she’s moving today. Stiffer.
She makes two cups, and when she hands me a steaming mug with a snowman on it, her smile is small and sad, and she won’t quite meet my eyes. I grip the mug too tight, the heat biting into my palms.
“I…” I start, desperate to reassure her, but trailing off when I realize I can’t. Not right now.
“You don’t have to explain.” She’s looking into her coffee, not at me. “I get it.”
“Get what?”
“Storm’s over.” She says it as a fact, not a question. “You’re probably dying to get down to that seventy-degree Texas weather. To see Sophie.”
The assumption stings. The easy out she’s giving me.
“Tabitha—”
“Thank you for everything,” she continues, filling the silence I’m leaving. “For being Santa, for the tech setup. If it weren’t for you—”
“It was nothing.”
“I mean it.” She finally looks up, and her eyes are bright, but she’s not the sort of woman to let me see her cry. I haven’t earned that. Not yet. “You didn’t have to do any of that. It was really kind.”
Kind.
The word sits wrong, makes me want to put down my mug and shake her. I wasn’t being kind. I was helping her, supporting her event, and learning what it feels like to be part of a community. Learning what it feels like to fall in love.
But I can’t say that. Not yet. Not until I know for sure this job is real, that staying is possible, that I’m not about to promise something I can’t deliver.
“What we had these past few days…” She trails off and takes a sip of coffee. I watch her throat work as she swallows. “It was really special. I won’t forget it.”
Won’t forget it. Not “don’t want it to end,“ or “wish we had more time.” Just the acknowledgment that it’s already over in her mind.
My frustration builds, hot and sharp. The mug burns my palms, but I don’t let go. “That’s it? We just…what? Shake hands and pretend this didn’t mean anything?”
“It meant something.” Her voice is quiet but firm. “It meant a lot.”
At least, she agrees with me on that.
I breathe a sigh of relief until she continues, “But that doesn’t change reality.”
“What reality?”
She meets my eyes fully now, and I see it, the armor she’s wrapped around herself. Beautiful and guarded, already protecting herself from the hurt she’s sure is coming.
“Your life out there. Mine here. Facts we’ve both known from the start.”
The resignation in her voice cuts deeper than anger would. She’s not fighting me. She’s not even sad, really. She’s just…accepting. As if she knew this was always how it would end. And I don’t blame her.
I could tell her. Should tell her. Right now. Break through that armor and explain about the interview, about Hays picking me up, about how I’m not heading to the airport because I see the possibility of a life here. With her.
But pride kicks in, sharp and defensive. If she’s already writing the ending to our story, why should I put myself out there just to get rejected?
“Right. Reality.” The words comes out harder than I intend.
She flinches slightly but doesn’t argue. Just nods and looks back down at her coffee. The silence stretches, heavy and awful, everything I want to say stuck behind my teeth.
We finish our morning cup of joe in painful silence with only the sound of plows scraping the street below.
I don’t have much to pack. Never do. The life of someone who lives out of hotel rooms fits neatly into one small carry-on. Especially because we travel with enough equipment to cover any scenario.
Tabitha hovers in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, arms wrapped around herself.
The orange hat and snowman gloves are still on her coat rack.
The little wooden peg game sits on the counter.
The blanket we cuddled under rests on the couch.
All evidence of three days that changed everything not scattered through her place like breadcrumbs.
I pause at the door, gripping the shoulder strap of my bag. My chest feels tense, as if I’m leaving behind something vital.
She’s backlit by the morning sun through her window, and she’s so beautiful it makes my ribs ache. Beautiful and guarded and already pulling away, protecting herself the only way she knows how.
“Will you tell Sophie I said goodbye?” Her voice is small.
The question guts me. She’s thinking about my niece. About the life she assumes I’m going back to.
“Tabitha—”
“Have a safe flight.”
I should correct her. Should tell her I’m not going anywhere, not yet. And hopefully, not anytime soon. The words are right there. But so is the fear, raw and sharp, that telling her will make everything worse.
“Take care of yourself,” I say instead.
“You, too.”
We stand there, three feet apart that might as well be a thousand miles. Both waiting for the other to close the distance.
She doesn’t. Neither do I.
I leave, standing in the stairwell for at least thirty seconds, staring at the door she’s closed behind me. Hoping she’ll fling it open. Praying she’ll call me back.
But she doesn’t.