Jasper #3
She searched my face like she was deciding if I was serious, and I let her look, because I had nothing to hide in that particular moment, and she was welcome to all of it. “You don’t have to,” she said. “It’s very on-brand for me. Not necessarily for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t exactly scream cozy group activity.”
“Maybe I’ll surprise you.” A smile pulled at my mouth, and I watched her try not to return it and fail slightly.
“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to come just because I asked.”
“I don’t,” I said. “I wouldn’t say yes if I didn’t mean it.”
She went still for a second, fingers resting against the edge of the bar. I could see her deciding whether to believe me, and I wanted very badly to close whatever distance was making her uncertain. I didn’t.
“I mean it,” I added, quieter. “I want to be there.”
Something moved in her expression—soft and unguarded, there and gone before she could pull it back. I caught it anyway. I was paying so much attention to her that it was hard to miss anything, which was its own problem, one I’d mostly stopped trying to solve.
The tension eased. She nodded. “Okay.”
Paige stepped in just long enough to grab Cara’s empty glass, her gaze flicking between us with a look that said she’d already formed an opinion and was enjoying it. Cara didn’t react, which probably meant she’d noticed and was choosing not to engage.
“So…” she said after a moment. “Are you staying? In town, I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“For how long?”
I glanced at her, then down at the wood grain beneath my hand. “I’m not sure yet.” It wasn’t entirely true anymore, but saying the real answer out loud still sat sideways in my chest, and this wasn’t the moment for it.
She nodded like that made sense, even if it didn’t answer anything. “You haven’t been back that long. And we haven’t really talked…”
It would’ve been easy to leave it there. Keep things light. Keep the distance where it belongs. The responsible version of me knew that.
“I should probably—” she started. “Um, it’s getting late and—”
“Yeah,” I said, even though I didn’t want her to finish that sentence. Even though I would have sat there another hour without difficulty, just listening to her talk about clue envelopes and things she’d rewritten twice.
She slid off the stool, hand brushing the edge of the bar as she steadied herself. For a second, she just stood there, like she wasn’t sure which version of leaving she was supposed to choose.
“Friday,” she said. “Mystery Night.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Her fingers caught in the sleeve of her cardigan, tugging it back up onto her shoulder, and I watched that small automatic gesture and said nothing about it. “If you hate it, you can leave early. I won’t take it personally.”
“I won’t hate it.”
“You don’t know that. There’s a whole group activity component. And puzzles. And—”
“Cara.”
She stopped.
I leaned forward just enough that the space between us felt smaller. “I’m not coming for the puzzles.”
Her breath caught—small, but I saw it. Her eyes searched mine like she was trying to decide if I’d meant to say it that way. I had. I’d meant every word of it, and I was done pretending otherwise.
“I’m coming for the snacks,” I added, letting her off the hook just enough.
Her mouth curved, but it didn’t fully undo the moment, and I was glad. “Right,” she said. “Obviously. The snacks.”
We held each other’s gaze longer than necessary. The noise of the bar moved around us and neither of us acknowledged it. Then she nodded like she’d come to a decision I wasn’t privy to, and something in me wanted badly to ask what it was.
“Drive safe,” I said.
She glanced back over her shoulder as she turned to go. “It’s a two-minute drive.”
“Still,” I said, a faint smile on my mouth.
Then she slipped into the crowd, and the door opened behind her and closed again, and I stayed where I was for a moment longer than made sense, looking at the space she’d left.
Paige reappeared in front of me, hands braced on the counter, expression already halfway to amused. “Well,” she said.
I dragged my gaze back to my beer. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to.”
She smirked. “You’re going on Friday.”
“Yeah.”
“Mm.” She nodded like she’d expected nothing else. “Thought you might.”
I finished my beer, set the glass down, and pushed to my feet. “Don’t close out,” Paige called after me. “It’s on me.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” she said. “Go home, get some rest.”
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. The night air hit cold and sharp as I crossed the lot, gravel crunching under my boots, the noise from the bar dulling the second the door shut behind me.
I slid into the truck and sat there, hands resting on the wheel, not starting the engine.
Her voice lingered. The way she’d said, I won’t take it personally, like she already expected me to change my mind. The way she’d tried to walk something back that I hadn’t asked her to say in the first place.
I’m not coming for the puzzles.
Too much. Or not enough. I didn’t know which.
The engine turned over, headlights cutting across the empty road as I pulled out. Honeybrook Hollow slipped past in familiar pieces—dark windows, porch lights, the faint glow of places closing down for the night.
I should’ve been thinking about work. About my knee. About the message still sitting unanswered on my phone. Instead, I kept thinking about her, and the way the silence between us had felt like something I recognized from a long time ago and hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
I slowed at the turnoff toward the cabin, the river just visible through the trees, catching what little light there was. For a second, I considered driving past it. Keeping the engine running. Not stopping.
Then I turned in anyway.
The tires crunched over gravel, the cabin coming into view—dark, still, waiting. I cut the engine and sat in the quiet, the ticking of it cooling filling the space around me.
I grabbed my keys, stepped out into the cold, and shut the door behind me.
Inside, everything was exactly where I’d left it. Nothing had changed.
But I was starting to want things again, and I had a feeling that wanting Cara was going to be harder to outrun than anything I’d left behind.