CHAPTER 22
Starting Again, Honestly
Dual — POV
It didn't feel like a restart.
It felt like something quieter than that.
More fragile.
More careful.
Like both of them were walking on something that could disappear if they rushed it.
But neither of them rushed.
Not anymore.
Kathy noticed the change in her own routine first.
Not dramatic.
Not obvious.
Just... different.
She didn't expect him every day anymore.
And when he did come, she didn't feel that sharp mix of anxiety and hope like before.
It was calmer now.
Still emotional.
But grounded.
Brad would come in, sometimes buy flowers, sometimes just sit outside while she worked.
No pressure.
No performance.
Just presence.
One afternoon, she looked up from arranging lilies and found him watching her again.
She sighed. "You're doing it again."
Brad blinked. "I'm not staring."
"You are," she said.
A pause.
Then she added, "But less intensely than before, so I'll allow it."
That made him exhale a small laugh.
It was quiet.
But real.
Kathy noticed that too.
"You're laughing more," she said.
Brad looked slightly surprised. "Am I?"
"Yeah," she replied. "It's weird."
"Bad weird?"
She shook her head. "Just... new weird."
That felt closer to the truth of everything between them now.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
Just new.
Brad learned something important in the silence between words.
Not everything needed to be controlled.
Not everything needed to be solved.
Especially her.
Especially this.
He stopped trying to predict her reactions.
Stopped preparing answers in advance.
Stopped managing outcomes.
It was uncomfortable at first.
Like stepping out of something solid into something uncertain.
But he stayed in it anyway.
Because she asked him to.
And because he finally understood why that mattered.
One afternoon, he helped carry boxes of flowers again.
Kathy watched him struggle slightly with the weight and raised an eyebrow.
"You know you could hire people for this," she said.
"I know," he replied.
"But you're still here doing it yourself," she added.
Brad nodded. "It feels right."
That made her pause.
"Don't say things like that too confidently," she said.
"Why?"
"Because you used to say things like that when you were controlling everything," she replied.
Brad stopped for a second.
Then nodded slowly.
"I get it," he said.
And he did.
They had rules.
But now they had rhythm too.
A slow, unspoken one.
No lies.
No hidden systems.
No interference.
Just honesty when it mattered.
And space when it didn't.
One evening, they sat outside again.
The sky was turning soft orange over Hood River — a color that seemed to exist only here, only at this hour. The Columbia River caught the light like shattered gold.
Kathy leaned back on the bench. "This is weird," she said.
Brad glanced at her. "What is?"
"Us," she replied.
A pause.
"Not bad weird," she clarified quickly. "Just... unfamiliar weird."
Brad nodded. "I feel it too."
Kathy looked at him. "Do you ever miss your old life?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then said, "I miss control."
She nodded slowly. "That's honest."
A pause.
Then Brad added, "But I don't miss losing you."
That made her look at him more directly.
Not shocked.
Just quiet.
Because that was the difference now.
He didn't say things to get something from her.
He said them because they were true.
Kathy looked away first.
"Slow," she reminded him softly.
Brad nodded. "Slow."
But neither of them moved away.