Chapter Nineteen – Rowan #2
Not just the way she filled a room or lit up when she talked about music. Not just the way she curled into my side like she’d always belonged there. I miss her smart-ass remarks. Her stupid socks. The way she looked at my horses like they were mythical creatures.
I miss not being alone in this place.
Eventually, I pick up the phone again and open our thread.
One last message.
Me: I miss you, Ivy. More than I know how to handle.
I hit send.
Then I toss the phone into the truck cab and slam the door shut before I can regret it.
The moon is rising over the pasture when I finally drive away, gravel crunching under the tires. The unfinished stage fades in the rearview, but the ache in my chest doesn’t go anywhere.
She hasn’t replied, and I don’t know if or when she will. But I do know one thing. If she does come back… that stage will be ready.
The night passes with no sleep, but with determination, I drive the nail deeper, the rough plank shifting slightly beneath my palm.
It's coming together now—a little slower than I planned, but the bones are there.
The frame of the old stage creaks, stubborn and sun-bleached, but it still holds the promise of something more.
Of her.
I don't look at my phone. Not anymore. It's in the toolbox, screen face down, silent since the last message I sent last night. Just a simple one.
Me:
Miss making your coffee .
And before that? An image of my chest after a long ride, sweat gleaming, saddle strap still hanging low. I don’t know what I was hoping for—maybe a little reaction, a smart comment, a “Nice try, cowboy.” But there’s been nothing.
The silence? It’s louder than the hammer.
A car door slams in the distance. Gravel crunches. I glance up just in time to see Hadley’s familiar pink aesthetic bounce around the corner of the shed. She’s been visiting me incessantly since Ivy left.
Great.
She’s got a coffee cup in one hand and a knowing smirk on her face, which means I’m in trouble.
“Still building something or hiding from your feelings?” she chirps, ducking under the open frame of the half wall like she owns the place.
I grunt, wiping my forearm across my brow. “You bring coffee or sass?”
“Both.” She hands me the cup. “And maybe a little concern.”
“Don’t need concern.” I sip the coffee and try not to groan. She went heavy on the vanilla again. “You put syrup in this?”
“Rowan,” she drawls. “You’ve been out here every day for the last few weeks. You’re covered in sawdust, and you’ve sent three shirtless thirst traps to a girl who’s probably stuck in more filming than she can count. I think we’re past the point of concern.”
“Those were not thirst traps,” I mutter, turning back to the wood.
“Oh, please. That one yesterday? You even flexed.”
I don’t answer.
Hadley hops up onto one of the stacked beams and swings her legs, watching me like she’s waiting for me to crack.
“So,” she says after a beat. “Is this about her?”
I pause, fingers tightening on the tape measure. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She snorts. “Come on. The entire town’s buzzing.
Ivy leaves, and suddenly, you’re out here playing lumberjack slash mystery man.
Mrs. Danner told the post office Ivy ‘snuck off like a woman in love with nowhere to go.’ And Bailey says you’ve been acting like a man who either just fell hard or just got dumped. ”
“Bailey should mind her business.”
“Bailey owns half the town’s gossip, so good luck with that.”
I sigh and lean back against a beam, stretching my arms until my shoulders pop. “It’s not like that.”
“Oh really?” Hadley folds her arms, cocking her head. “Because to me, it looks a hell of a lot like a guy who let something good slip through his fingers and is now building a shrine to his feelings.”
I blink at her. “It’s not a shrine.”
“Is it a stage?”
I freeze.
She raises a brow. “Knew it. You always did get sentimental with wood.”
I shake my head, jaw tightening. “I’m not doing this for her. Not just for her.”
Hadley gives me a long look. “Rowan… don’t bullshit me.”
I take a breath. “I’m doing this because I want her to come back and see something that says… she’s worth it. That I’m worth it. That I’ve finally figured out I don’t have to run from things just because I’m afraid I’ll mess them up.”
She goes quiet, and when I glance her way, her expression has softened.
“That’s new,” she says gently.
I shrug. “Yeah.”
She slides down from the beam and steps beside me, nudging my arm. “You’re doing okay, Ro. You’re not perfect, and you’ve been an idiot—but you’re trying. And for what it’s worth? I think she sees that. Even if she’s not answering your… flex pics.”
I roll my eyes. “They weren’t—never mind.”
She grins. “Just… keep going, okay? Whether she comes back tomorrow or next month, let her find you standing in something you built. Something that matters.”
I nod, throat tight.
Hadley turns to leave, then glances back over her shoulder.
“Oh, and if you do send another shirtless picture? Maybe don’t do it while holding a hammer. You looked like a horny handyman.”
“Go away.”
She laughs all the way to her car. And me? I stare down at the stage frame and think about Ivy’s notebook, still tucked between the cushions of my couch.
I haven’t read past that song. I don’t need to. Because the words she already wrote? They said enough. Now it’s my turn to do the same—with action. With something she’ll see. Even if she never knows why.
The days pass in slow, uneven pieces. Mornings bleed into afternoons marked by sweat, sunburn, and the sharp smell of sawdust. My hands are blistered. My back aches. And still, I work.
Because every bolt I tighten, every board I sand, it’s like laying bricks over the gnawing ache in my chest.
Ivy’s absence is a hollow thing, though she calls when she can.
It’s less and less with each passing day.
It lingers in places I didn’t expect—in the second coffee mug I don’t use, in the ghost of her laugh echoing through the barn, in the blanket she folded and left on the porch swing before she left.
It's not even her blanket, it’s mine, but now it smells like her, and I can’t bring myself to move it.
By Thursday morning, the stage has started to resemble something more than scrap. The platform is mostly complete, elevated just enough to be visible from the hill. The back beams are upright, and with a little more work, I’ll have enough structure for lights or a canvas banner if I get ambitious.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who I’m building it for, though, but the reason may be elusive. My dad ambles down from the back porch with two waters and a raised brow.
“You finally giving in to your theater kid era?” Dad asks as he drops onto a hay bale beside me.
I grunt, wiping my neck. “Funny. I’m just fixing it up. Figured we could use it for the summer camp.”
It’s half a lie.
We could use it for the camp. I’d thought about that. But it’s not the real reason I’ve been throwing myself into the project like a man possessed.
My dad watches me for a moment, face lined with the sun and the weight of years lived hard and honest. Then he takes a long swig of water and says, “You know… when your mama was pregnant with Hadley, I built her a porch swing.”
I blink. “Yeah?”
“Didn’t know a damn thing about woodworking. That swing creaked like hell and leaned to the left, but she sat in it every night for eight months. Because I made it for her.”
I nod slowly.
“You never told Ivy how you felt, did you?” he asks quietly.
I stare at the grain of the wood. “No.”
“Then maybe it’s time to stop waiting for the right moment and just make one.”
I breathe deep. “I worry she might not come back.”
“She might not,” he agrees. “But if she does, don’t let her walk into a quiet house. Let her walk into something that says, ‘You were missed. You mattered. You still do.’”
I don’t answer, but I don’t need to.
The next day, I’m back at it with fresh screws and a new plan.
It’s nearly dusk when Crew finds me crouched behind the stage frame, sketching ideas in the dust with a stick like some desperate caveman architect.
He whistles low. “Damn, Ro. You building a wedding venue or just working out your trauma?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not funny.”
Crew tilts his head. “You really are the emotionally constipated one, huh?”
“Don’t you have sprints to run?”
“I’m on my break.” He studies me for a long second, then sighs. “You could just say it, you know. That you’re in love with her.”
I pause. The stick in my hand breaks in half.
Crew raises a brow. “That’s what I thought.”
“I don’t know what I am,” I admit quietly. “I’ve never felt anything like this. Not with Marissa. Not with anyone.”
“Then maybe it’s real.”
I look up at the stage, at the way the light hits the edge of the frame. “I think it is.”
Crew claps me on the back. “Then finish the damn thing so when she comes back, you’ve got something better than a text full of horse pictures.”
I grunt. “Those were solid horse pictures.”
He laughs, walks off, and I stare after him. Then I go back to work because this isn’t just about Ivy anymore. It’s about me being the man I never thought I could be—for her.
For us.