Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Rosalie
“When you said you wanted to help me unpack, this isn't how I thought it would end.”
I turned my head to look at Cal. He was staring up at the stars, profile outlined in moonlight, completely relaxed in a way I'd never seen before.
“But it's perfect,” I added as I shifted closer, tucking myself against his side. His arm came around me immediately, warm and solid.
We'd unpacked everything together in record time. Cal had hauled crates to the barn while I'd sorted unsold vegetables and flowers in the kitchen. Twenty minutes, and we were done.
Then he'd lingered in the doorway instead of reaching for his keys, and I'd asked him if he'd like to stay a bit longer, and neither of us had needed much convincing after that. I'd grabbed a blanket and a wine bottle while he'd raided the kitchen for whatever looked good.
Now we were stretched out by the creek, the remains of our impromptu picnic scattered around us. Crusty bread. Sharp cheddar. Sliced cucumber and radishes from the garden. A bottle of red wine that was probably too good to be drinking straight from the bottle, but we'd done it anyway.
My stomach was pleasantly full. My heart felt fuller.
Cal's thumb traced lazy circles on my shoulder. Above us, the stars stretched endlessly across the sky.
“What was it like?” Cal's voice was quiet. “Before.”
I tilted my head to look at him. His jaw was tight, like he wasn't sure he should have asked.
“Before what?”
“Before here. Seattle. Your life there. You don't...” He hesitated. “You don't talk about it much.”
I didn't. Not really. Emily and Abby knew the basics, but I'd kept it surface level even with them. Every time someone asked, I'd give them the short version. Fresh start. Needed a change. You know how it is.
But Cal's thumb was still tracing those gentle circles on my shoulder, and his breathing was steady beside me, and something about the darkness made it easier to be honest.
“It got messy.” I picked at the edge of the blanket. “I thought I knew what I wanted. Good job, nice apartment, someone who seemed stable. My dad loved him. Aaron. He was... everything looked right on paper.”
Cal didn't say anything, but his hand stilled on my shoulder. Listening.
“Except it wasn't right. I just didn't see it at first. Or maybe I did and I ignored it.” The words came slower now, like I was excavating something I'd buried deep.
“He had opinions about everything. What I wore, what I ate, how I decorated. Little comments, you know? Nothing big enough to fight about, but enough that I started second-guessing myself.”
My throat tightened. “I stopped trusting myself. Started asking permission for everything without realizing I was doing it. And then I'd feel pathetic for needing that validation, which made me need it even more.”
The stars blurred slightly. I blinked hard.
“I'd plan these elaborate dinners, hoping it would be enough.
Buy tickets to things he mentioned liking.
Wear clothes I thought he'd approve of. And he'd barely notice, or he'd make some comment about how I was trying too hard, and I'd just...” I exhaled slowly.
“I'd shrink a little more. Beg a little harder for scraps of his attention.”
Cal's fingers found mine, lacing together.
“When he ended it, he said I wasn't the girl he fell in love with anymore.” My laugh was bitter. “And he was right. I wasn't. But he never seemed to notice that he was the one who'd made me disappear.”
Cal's hand tightened around mine.
“When Walt called about the farm...” I paused, surprised by the tightness in my chest. “It felt like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for so long. Like someone had pulled me to the surface and I could finally breathe again.”
The words kept coming, unstoppable now.
“I didn't even think about it. Just said yes. Quit my job, packed everything, drove here.” I traced the edge of Cal's thumb with mine. “Everyone thought I was running away. And I was. But it also felt like... running toward something? Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.” His voice was rough. “It does.”
“I came here thinking I'd find myself again. Figure out who I was before Aaron. Before I started shrinking.” I swallowed hard. “But maybe that's not quite right either.”
Cal shifted beside me, waiting.
“Maybe I'm not trying to find the old Rosie.
Maybe I'm just... building a new one? One that trusts herself to make decisions, even when they're hard.
One who doesn't need permission to take up space.” I laughed softly.
“Even if that space currently involves goats escaping their pen and chickens hiding their eggs.”
“And soap disasters.”
“And soap disasters.” I smiled against his shoulder. “But they're my disasters. I'm choosing them. Making mistakes because I'm trying, not because I'm too scared to do anything without approval.”
The creek burbled softly in the darkness. Somewhere by the barn, one of the goats bleated.
“I'm still figuring it out,” I admitted. “Who I am now. What I actually want, not what someone else thinks I should want. But for the first time in years, I feel like I'm allowed to figure it out. Like there's space for me to be messy and imperfect and still be okay.”
Cal's silence stretched. I bit my lip.
“Is that weird?”
“Are you serious right now?” Cal pulled back slightly, and I could see his expression in the moonlight—mock outrage mixed with disbelief. “Did you really just spend five minutes telling me how you're done seeking validation, and then immediately ask me to validate your feelings?”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “I—”
“Rosie.” He shook his head slowly, but his eyes were warm. “That's not how this works.”
“I know, I just—” I groaned and buried my face against his shoulder. “Old habits.”
“I’m impressed, you backslided so quickly.” He was grinning now, that rare full smile that transformed his whole face.
“Shut up.” I swatted his chest, laughing despite myself. “I'm a work in progress.”
“Clearly.” He caught my hand against his sternum, keeping it there. His heartbeat was steady under my palm. “But for the record? No. It's not weird.”
The teasing faded from his expression, replaced by something softer.
“You deserve the space to figure out exactly who you are.”
My chest tightened.
“I just...” Cal's voice went quieter. “I hope there's room in that space. For this. For us.”
I lifted my head to look at him properly. His jaw was tight again, vulnerability written across his features.
“Because I don't know how to go back.” The words came rough, like they cost him something. “To before. To not having you in my life.”
His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing along my cheekbone.
“You're so bright, Rosie. You walk into a room and everything shifts. People smile. The air changes. You make everything better just by being there.” His eyes searched mine. “And I cannot wrap my head around someone wanting to dim that.”
My breath caught.
“It's like...” He shook his head slowly. “Like looking at the sun and deciding it should be less bright. Like telling a wildflower to tone down its colors because they're too bold. It doesn't make sense.”
“Cal—”
“You're chaos and joy and determination all wrapped up together.” His thumb traced my lower lip. “And somehow, impossibly, you looked at me—at me, the guy who keeps everyone at arm's length—and decided I was worth your time.”
Tears pricked my eyes.
“So yeah.” His voice dropped lower. “I really hope there's space for me in whatever you're building. Because I'm already in too deep to pretend otherwise.”
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only stare at him as his words settled into my chest like something warm and permanent.
I kissed him.
His breath hitched against my mouth. Then his hand slid into my hair, cradling the back of my head, and he kissed me back like I was something precious.
Slow. Deliberate. Like we had all the time in the world.
I shifted closer, my hand sliding up his chest to curl around his neck. His other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me against him until there was no space left between us.
When we finally broke apart, breathless and dizzy, Cal rested his forehead against mine.
“Just so we're clear.” I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “There's a lot of space. For you. In whatever I'm building.”
His smile was slow and devastating. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I traced the line of his jaw with my fingertips, marveling at how natural it felt. “More space than I probably should admit after a kiss.”
“Two kisses.”
“Two very good kisses.” I grinned. “But still. I'm supposed to be figuring myself out. Not jumping into something new.”
“We could go slow.” His thumb traced circles on my lower back, sending shivers up my spine. “Take our time.”
“Slow sounds smart.”
“It's responsible.”
“Exactly.” I tilted my head to look at him properly. His hair was mussed from my fingers, his eyes soft in the moonlight. “Except I don't think I can go slow.”
His breath hitched. “No?”
“No.” I bit my lip, feeling heat creep up my neck. “I've spent three years being careful. Second-guessing everything. And now I'm here with you, and it's the first thing that's felt right in forever, and I don't want to be careful about it.”
Cal's eyes darkened. “Rosie—”
“I know that's probably not what you want to hear. We should take our time, be smart, not rush into anything.” The words tumbled out faster now. “But I'm tired of being smart. Smart got me nowhere good.”
“Smart got you here.” His hand cupped my cheek. “To the farm. To this.”
“I guess.” I leaned into his touch. “But still. I don't want slow.”
“What do you want?”
You. The answer was immediate and terrifying and absolutely certain.
“I want…” I traced the collar of his shirt with one finger. “I want to see where this goes and not hold back and just... let it be what it is.”
Cal's smile was slow and soft. He kissed me again, gentle this time. Unhurried. When he pulled back, his thumb traced my cheekbone. “Then let's do that.”
I shifted closer, settling back against his side.
His arm settled around my shoulders, and I curled into him, resting my head in the hollow between his shoulder and chest. The perfect fit.
My hand splayed across his sternum, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the soft cotton of his shirt.
Above us, the stars stretched endlessly. The Milky Way was a pale smudge across the darkness, brighter than I remembered from childhood summers. No city lights to compete. Just infinite sky and constellations I couldn't name.
Cal's chest rose and fell beneath my cheek. Slow, even breaths. The scent of him—clean and earthy, mixed with the faint smell of antiseptic that never quite left his clothes. Familiar now. Comforting.
The creek bubbled softly beside us. A cool breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the sweet smell of grass and wildflowers.
Cal's thumb traced lazy patterns on my shoulder again, and I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the moment. The warmth of his body against mine. The solid weight of his arm around me.
My breathing slowed to match his. In. Out. In. Out.
The darkness behind my eyelids felt soft. Welcoming.
“You falling asleep on me?”
“I'm not.” I tried to shake my head, but it felt like too much effort. “Just resting my eyes.”
His chest rumbled with quiet laughter beneath my cheek. The vibration made me smile.
“Sure.”
I meant to argue. Meant to tell him I was wide awake and perfectly capable of staying up to watch the stars with him. But the words wouldn't form. My thoughts felt fuzzy around the edges, warm and soft like honey spreading through my veins.
Cal's heartbeat was steady beneath my palm. Slow and rhythmic. A lullaby.
I tried to fight it. Tried to stay present in this perfect moment. But my body had other ideas. Three weeks of farm chaos, early mornings, and restless nights caught up with me all at once.
My hand went slack against Cal's chest. My breathing deepened. The world narrowed to just the warmth of him beside me, the steady rhythm of his heart, the soft rise and fall of his breathing.
I drifted.
Time became meaningless. Could have been seconds or minutes or hours. Just darkness and warmth and safety.
Then the world tilted.
I blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the movement. The stars wheeled overhead. The ground disappeared beneath me.
Strong arms cradled me against a warm chest.
“What—” My voice came out thick with sleep.
“Shh.” Cal's voice rumbled through me. “You fell asleep.”
“I'm awake.” I tried to lift my head, but it felt impossibly heavy.
“Sure you are.” His chest vibrated with quiet laughter. “You've been out for twenty minutes.”
The world swayed gently. He was carrying me. Walking toward the farmhouse, each step careful and measured.
His footsteps were steady, even with my weight in his arms. I should protest. Should insist on walking myself. But my limbs felt heavy and boneless, and his arms were so solid around me, and it felt so impossibly good to let someone else handle things for once.
To not have to be strong or capable or managing everything alone.
To just... let go.
The porch steps creaked beneath his boots. The screen door squeaked open. Familiar sounds, muffled by sleep.
“Bedroom's upstairs,” I mumbled against his neck.
“I know.”
Each step jostled me slightly, but his grip stayed firm. Secure. Like he wouldn't drop me even if the house collapsed around us.
My eyes drifted closed again.
Soft sheets beneath me. The mattress dipped as he set me down. Cool air replaced the warmth of his chest.
I made a small sound of protest.
Warm fingers brushed hair back from my forehead. Gentle. Tender.
“Goodnight, Rosie.”
His lips pressed against my temple. Brief and sweet.
I was asleep again before he left the room.