Chapter 5
ELLA
I hate how much I’m checking my phone. It’s pathetic, honestly.
Every few minutes, I swipe it awake like maybe the screen will magically light up with his name, even though I know it won’t.
Not when it’s already been eight days of nothing.
Eight days since we sat across from him, pitched the development project, and he said he’d “think about it.”
Eight days of him apparently thinking so hard that he can’t return a single call.
My thumb hovers over his contact again. Cole Dawson. Even his name looks stubborn on my screen.
I toss the phone onto the couch beside me and sink back into the cushions, exhaling hard.
I’m trying not to feel… ignored. That’s the irritating part.
If this were any other contractor in the county, I wouldn’t care.
I wouldn’t even notice. But Cole isn’t just any contractor; he’s him, with his maddening jaw, quiet intensity, and the way he looked at me during that meeting like he was trying very hard not to look at me.
So yes. I mind the silence—more than I should.
I’ve replayed every second of that afternoon, every word, every shift in his expression, trying to decode whether we pushed him too hard, whether he actually hates the idea, whether he regrets even listening to us.
Or if maybe… maybe it’s something else. Something personal I’m not supposed to admit I care about.
My phone buzzes. My heart leaps—ridiculous, embarrassing—and crashes when I see the screen.
Ava. Not Cole.
I don’t open it. I just stare at the phone like it betrayed me.
I keep telling myself he’s busy. He has a company to run, a life, and responsibilities. People like Cole don’t sit around waiting to reply. He thinks before he acts. He weighs things. He does the careful, sensible, frustrating grown-up thing.
But still… he could’ve said something. Anything.
A single call. A text. Even a “Working on it” would’ve been enough. But this silence? This avoidance?
It’s making my chest tighten with an emotion that feels too close to disappointment. I tap my fingers against the armrest, restless, irritated at myself for caring this much.
I shouldn’t. But I do. And that’s the problem.
By the time I walk into the ranch house for lunch, I’ve already given myself a whole lecture about not letting Cole’s silence get to me. It’s pointless. It’s unprofessional. It’s… not attractive.
Everyone is already seated, so I slide into my seat, trying to act normal and not look like a woman whose entire morning has been held hostage by a man who won’t pick up her calls.
“Alright,” Jace says, clearing his throat dramatically. “Before we eat, I have an announcement to make.”
“What is it, son?” Dad asks.
Jace nods, expression serious. “I did a little digging on our friend, Cole Dawson. And found out why he hasn’t reached out yet.”
My heart stutters. Please. No. Not now. Not in front of everyone.
Everyone else perks up.
I force myself to breathe.
“And?” Dad asks.
“And it turns out Dawson Construction is half-owned by his ex-wife and ex-best friend,” he informs us.
The room falls silent, and then the whole table turns to me.
Heat crawls up my neck. “What?”
“You knew,” Zane accuses. “You absolutely knew.”
I lift my chin, refusing to flinch. “Yes. I knew.”
“And you didn’t tell us?” Quinn demands.
“Because it doesn’t matter,” I say, steady but firm. “It has nothing to do with his ability to handle the project.”
Beck scoffs. “It sounds messy.”
“Everything is messy if you dig deep enough,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Dad leans forward, folding his hands on the table, studying me with that slow, measured way he has. The kind that makes you feel like he sees everything you’re trying to hide.
“Ella,” he says, voice calm, “we needed the full picture before making a decision.”
I swallow, pulse tapping at my throat. “I’m giving you the full picture,” I say quietly. “Personal complications or not, Cole is still the best man for the job.”
Everyone looks at me like I’m crazy. And me? I keep my gaze level, refusing to let them see how tangled this feels inside me—the worry, the frustration, the stupid hope I can’t shake.
Cole isn’t answering me, which means he might not want the job, and if that’s the case, then it’s all my fault. But that doesn’t change what I know: He’s the one who can do this right.
Dad exhales slowly, like he’s been weighing this from the second Jace opened his mouth. He wipes his hands on a napkin, leans back, and gives a single, decisive nod, the kind that usually means the conversation is about to be over.
“Well,” he says, “if his business is shared, then we need to treat this like any other major project. No favoritism. No assumptions.”
My pulse kicks. This is not going in the direction I want.
Quinn clears her throat, and we draw our attention to her. “Perfect. Because I’ve already contacted three contractors and two construction firms to submit their bids.”
I stare at her. “You… what?!”
She shrugs. “We didn’t hear back from Cole. I took initiative.”
Beck snorts. “That’s Quinn-speak for ‘I got bored and wanted to stir things up.’”
Quinn pointedly ignores him.
Dad nods approvingly. “Good. We’ll hold a bidding war and go with whoever comes out on top. It’s the fairest approach.”
The words bidding war hit me right in the center of my chest.
I grip the edge of the table. “So even if Cole wants the project, he’ll be competing for it?”
“He’ll be competing,” Dad confirms, tone final, “like everyone else.”
Jace leans forward, mouth full of mashed potatoes, and adds, “Honestly, if Cole wins, all the better. But if not? At least he tried.”
I want to snap that “trying” isn’t the issue—being unreachable is—but I bite it back.
Zane’s eyes soften for a moment, only a moment, as he watches me process. “Ella… we can’t wait around forever. We needed to move.”
“I know,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “I get it.”
But inside, a slow panic unfurls. A bidding war means competition. Competition means uncertainty. And uncertainty means Cole could lose the one thing that might help him win Dawson Construction from Calista.
I look down at my plate, appetite gone, heart pounding in quiet, stubborn defiance.
If Cole wants this project, someone has to make sure he wins it. Because he deserves it. And because I’m not ready, not even close, to let this distance between us stay permanent.
The conversation shifts to ranch updates and Ava’s upcoming show, but it all blurs around me. My mind is somewhere else entirely, stuck on one man and the way he’s been slipping further and further out of reach.
I press my napkin into my lap, grounding myself, inhaling slow. Cole Dawson is not perfect. He’s stubborn, guarded, slow to trust, especially now after what Calista and Toby did to him, and he carries more weight on his shoulders than most men twice his age.
But he’s good at what he does, in the ways that matter—the ways people forget to look for.
And he deserves someone in his corner.
I lift my head and look at my family, all of them talking around me, making plans that don’t include him. Plans that will leave him behind if he stays silent one day too long.
Dad says something about reviewing bids next week, and Quinn’s already scheduling site visits.
“I still think he’s the right man for the job,” I say quietly, mostly to myself.
No one hears it, or maybe no one cares to respond.
But it’s fine, because this isn’t about convincing them anymore.
This is about me.
About the way my chest tightens at the thought of him losing something he would fight for, if only he’d let himself.
About the way I can’t stop remembering how distraught he looked at the thought of losing his company to that witch, how focused he was in that meeting, how he looked like he actually wanted to take it… just didn’t know if he should.
About the way I cannot, will not, sit back while he disappears into the silence he uses like armor.
I set my fork down and straighten in my seat. If Cole wants this project, he’s going to have it. And if he’s too weighed down or too damn stubborn to step forward on his own… then I’ll push.
Not for me. Not even for my family, but for him.
Because something in me refuses to accept that this distance is the end of the story.
I step outside into the crisp afternoon air, letting the screen door swing shut behind me.
The ranch hums with its usual rhythm—horses shifting in the paddocks, distant laughter from the stablehands, the breeze rolling over the fields—but it all feels muted, background noise to the storm gathering inside my chest.
I pull out my phone. Cole’s contact stares back at me, mocking in its simplicity. I hit call. The line rings once… twice… three times…
And then it cuts to voicemail. His voice, that low, steady tone that always sounds like he’s two words away from a sigh, fills my ear.
“You’ve reached Cole Dawson. Leave a message.”
I hang up before the beep. I try again. And again.
Each call goes unanswered, straight into that quiet void where nothing exists except the space between us—space he refuses to bridge.
By the fourth attempt, my frustration coils tight in my throat.
He’s avoiding me. He’s not busy or overwhelmed. Just plain avoiding me.
I tuck the phone into my back pocket, march down the steps, and head for my jeep. Gravel crunches under my boots, each step faster than the last.
“Ella?” Tessa calls from the kitchen window. “Where are you going?”
“Out,” I call back, not slowing. “I’ll be home later.”
And before she can ask anything else, I climb into my jeep, slam the door, and start the engine. The sound rumbles through my chest, matching the sudden certainty rising inside me.
Cole Dawson can hide behind silence all he wants. But I’m done waiting.
I shift into gear, turn onto the long dirt road leading out of the ranch, and let the determination settle deep in my bones.
I’m going to find him, and when I do, he’s going to tell me what’s really going on—with the project, with the company, with this thing between us he keeps pretending isn’t there.
One way or another, I’m getting answers.