Chapter Twenty-One #2
He wore jeans and a navy T-shirt, hair a little messy from the drive, one hand reaching back into the truck for a bakery coffee tray because of course he had stopped on the road and brought me coffee from the place I liked near campus.
He saw me.
Stopped.
Smiled.
Not big.
Not for the crowd.
For me.
My heart did not panic.
It answered.
Tom leaned closer.
“You going to stand here pretending you don’t want to go to him?”
I gave him a look.
“You are very bold for a man depending on my pie.”
He smiled.
“Go on.”
“I was going anyway.”
“Sure.”
I walked across the lawn.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Okay, maybe slightly fast.
Talia saw and pressed both hands to her chest dramatically.
I ignored her.
Crew met me near the edge of the parking lot, holding out the coffee.
“Light ice,” he said.
I took it.
“You drove two hours and stopped for coffee?”
“Yes.”
“That is either thoughtful or concerning.”
“Both?”
I took a sip.
Perfect.
“Acceptable.”
His smile warmed.
Then faded into something softer.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
For a second, we just stood there.
The veterans center behind me.
His truck behind him.
Two weeks of calls and texts and plans and road miles between us, not as distance, but as evidence.
He had come back.
Again.
I stepped into him and hugged him.
Not carefully.
Not sort of.
A real hug.
His arms came around me instantly, then gently, like he still remembered asking.
I closed my eyes against his chest.
He smelled like soap, road air, and coffee.
Home was a dangerous word.
It came anyway.
I did not say it.
Not yet.
But I let myself feel it.
Crew’s voice lowered near my hair.
“Good?”
I nodded against him.
“Good.”
Behind us, Frankie whispered loudly, “Respectfully observing.”
Sutton whispered, “Observe less.”
I laughed into Crew’s shirt.
He did too.
Then I pulled back, but not far.
His hands stayed lightly at my waist until I stepped away.
I did not step away.
His eyes searched mine.
“What?”
I shook my head.
“Nothing.”
“That was not a nothing face.”
“Unfortunately, I have several faces.”
His smile spread.
“There she is.”
The phrase hit.
There she is.
Not the girl from before.
Not the viral ex.
Not the town’s story.
Me.
Now.
I swallowed.
“Come see the roof.”
“Yes, chef.”
The roof completion ceremony lasted twenty minutes.
A miracle.
Mayor Halford said community effort. He said donors. He said Sergeant Donnelly. He said Webb & Whisk. He said Spitfires. He did not say couple. He did not say viral. He did not say hearts.
At the end, he looked up from his note card and said, “And to everyone who reminded us that showing up is not a one-day act, thank you.”
That was not on the card.
I knew because I had approved the card.
My spine went rigid.
But the line was good.
Tom looked at the mayor with approval.
Mrs. Paxton covered her mouth.
Crew stood beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched.
I let them.
The crowd applauded.
The roof was fixed.
The center was safe.
And no one made us the point.
That might have been the most romantic thing Honeybrook had ever done.
Afterward, people ate cookies, drank lemonade, admired gutters like middle-aged poets, and told Tom how good the roof looked.
Tom accepted every compliment like he had installed it personally.
Crew and I ended up near the side of the building where the shade stretched long over the grass. The repaired roofline glowed in the evening sun.
He handed me a cookie.
“Protein?” I asked.
“No.”
“Growth.”
“I also have a sandwich in the truck.”
“Better.”
His mouth curved.
Then he looked toward the lawn.
“Coach confirmed the next block.”
My stomach tightened.
Here it was.
Another road.
Another test.
I looked at him.
“And?”
“I’m on campus Monday through Thursday for the next three weeks. Fridays open after noon unless games or meetings shift. I can come back most weekends. Not all. But most.”
He turned to me.
“I’ll tell you as soon as I know changes. And I want you to visit campus when you’re ready. Not to prove anything. Just because it’s part of my life, and I want you to see it without it being the place that took me away.”
Oh.
That was a good answer.
Terrible.
But good.
I looked down at the grass.
“I hated that place for a long time.”
“I know.”
“I might still hate it a little.”
“That’s allowed.”
“I might judge your apartment.”
“It deserves judgment.”
“I might bring Talia.”
“I’ll warn the team.”
“I might not be ready right away.”
“I know.”
“Stop being so good at this.”
His smile was soft.
“I’m trying to be good for you.”
My eyes burned.
I hated the timing.
I had eyeliner on.
Minimal, but still.
“Crew.”
“Yeah?”
I looked at him.
The words were there.
Not because of the roof.
Not because of the town.
Not because he had driven back with coffee.
Because he had kept showing up with truth in small, repeatable ways until my fear had less evidence than my hope.
Because he had told me when he was scared.
Because he had come back before asking me to believe in always.
Because he loved me and had let me take my time.
“I’m close,” I said.
His face softened.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
I stepped closer.
“That was me warning you.”
His eyes held mine.
His voice dropped.
“Okay.”
“Right okay.”
“Right okay.”
I took a breath.
The lawn noise moved around us.
Laughter.
Cookies.
Chairs.
Mrs. Paxton crying about gutters.
Frankie being told no.
Tom telling someone the roof was “a good roof.”
Honeybrook, ridiculous and learning.
I looked at Crew Donnelly.
The boy who left.
The man who came back.
The captain who learned to stop carrying silence like service.
The problem.
The proof.
The road.
“I love you,” I said.