Chapter 7
Miles
As we drive, the soft rhythm of “Another Day in Paradise” by Phil Collins hums through the speakers filling the quiet space between us. The headlights cut through the empty road of Bluebell Hollow, casting gentle shadows over the trees.
I glance over at Vivian. Her head leans gently against the window, the soft glow of moonlight tracing the delicate slope of her cheek.
There’s a quiet kind of beauty in the way she looks right now—unaware, a little tired, completely herself.
Her lips full and slightly parted. Her cheeks are faintly flushed, and those big doe-like eyes move slowly as she watches the world slip by in shadows.
There’s something about her like this unguarded, serene, that hits me square in the chest.
She’s beautiful.
I’ve been with beautiful women before, confident, loud, magnetic, kind of like her friend Mindy, but Vivian’s beauty is quieter.
It sneaks up on you. It’s in the way she laughs like she’s trying not to, the way she pretends not to notice when someone’s looking at her, the way she dances like her body remembers even if her breath can’t keep up.
I look back at the road. “You okay?” I ask gently, keeping my eyes forward.
She shifts slightly, her voice soft. “Yeah…just tired. And thinking.”
“About?”
She hesitates, then gives a small shrug. “Everything. Nothing. You know how it is.”
I nod. “Yeah. I do.”
A silence settles again.
I want to ask her more, about what Greg said about her, about why she always seems like she’s trying not to let anyone in.
But I shouldn’t. It’s not my place.
Instead, I reach over and gently turn the volume down just a bit. Then I see her looking over at me.
She’s looking at the beer stain on my shirt.
There’s a faint smile playing on her lips. “You know…” she starts, her voice light. “You have terrible timing.”
I raise a brow, smirking. “Me?”
She nods, eyes glinting with something playful. “Yeah. You chose the middle of the dance floor to lean in all low and smooth with ‘Didn’t know you could dance like that.’ Which, by the way, was either a compliment or a pick-up line.”
“Both,” I admit with a shrug.
She scoffs. “Figures. And then you were just…there, right in my way, holding a beer like a walking hazard.”
“I was trying to be nice!” I laugh, turning my head to look at her.
She looks away as soon as I do.
“You were in my personal space and got soaked for it,” she says, shaking her head. “Honestly, that’s karma.”
“You bumped into me,” I argue, pointing at her. “You spun around like you were still in a rodeo routine. I didn’t stand a chance.”
She grins. “Maybe next time don’t sneak up on a woman mid-two-step with that smolder.”
I glance over. “Smolder?”
“You know what you’re doing with that voice and look,” she says, nudging her shoulder against the window dramatically.
“You still dried my shirt,” I point out. “Very helpful of you.”
She looks at me and smiles softly. “Yeah, even though it wasn’t my fault. I still helped.”
There’s a silence, and then we both laugh, and the truck fills with the kind of easy, warm energy I never expected to have with her.
But then, like it always does with Viv, that lightness softens into something quieter.
She turns back to the window, watching the stars again.
Then she says it so quietly I almost miss it. “I didn’t run out of the club because I was tired or felt sick.”
I glance at her, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
Her voice is soft now tight. “It was you.”
The words hit the air like a quiet truth she didn’t mean to say out loud.
She lets out a breath, eyes still on the window.
“You were there, being all…well, you. Making me laugh, looking at me like I wasn’t some broken thing, and then I was out on the dance floor, moving like I used to…and for a second, it felt good. Too good.”
I don’t speak. I know there’s more, but why would she think she’s broken?
“And that’s when it hit me,” she whispers. “The last time I danced like that…” She struggles to get the words out. “It was with him.”
Her head dips just slightly, the weight of memory pressing down.
She pauses. Swallows. “It reminded me of my late husband…everything reminds me of him,” she says quietly.
She was married. She must be going through a divorce; explains why she is so closed off but then she says something I’m not expecting.
“He died almost two years ago.”
I freeze. I feel goose bumps all over my arms, but remain still focusing on the road. My hands stay on the wheel, but my grip tightens, and everything else inside me stills.
Then I remember the necklace she’s wearing; the same one I noticed the day I met her.
It was his.
“What happened?” I ask, hoping I’m not pushing her.
She fidgets with her necklace, the one with the ring. Must be her wedding ring.
“Car accident, there was severe storm warnings, and he lost control on a bridge,” she responds.
I glance over, and there it is, the shimmer of tears in her eyes, catching the moonlight like glass. Her expression doesn’t crumble, but something about it feels…hollow. Like she’s gotten used to carrying the weight of that grief every day.
She had a husband.
She lost her husband.
“I’m so sorry, Vivian,” I say, my voice low, tight. Because I mean it. More than I can explain.
Something aches deep in my chest. For her. For the strength it must’ve taken just to show up tonight and let herself feel again.
“And then tonight, I was back there, just for a second. The music, the lights, the heat. My heart forgot he was gone. And the second it remembered, I felt like the worst kind of person.”
I can feel it, the ache behind her words, the guilt trying to claw its way out.
“Viv…” I start, but she shakes her head, stopping me from speaking.
“I know it’s been almost two years. I know that some people think that’s long enough to move on or start over or whatever…
but grief doesn’t work like that. I can be fine one moment and then out of nowhere, I feel like I’m cheating on him or just being a horrible person because I’m happy for a second and then it hits me that he’s not even here anymore… ”
Tears.
More tears.
She finally looks at me then, her eyes glassy but fierce. “So, yeah…I ran.”
There’s a lump in my throat I wasn’t expecting.
I park the truck on the side of the road and switch off the engine.
“Vivian,” I say, turning toward her fully. “You weren’t unfaithful or did anything wrong. You remembered. You loved him—and still love him. That kind of love doesn’t vanish just because time passes. But feeling something tonight? Laughing? Dancing? That doesn’t mean you’re forgetting him.”
Her lips part slightly, like she wants to argue, but nothing comes out.
“You carry him with you,” I say gently. “That’s not betrayal. That’s being human.”
She blinks and a tear slips down her cheek. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away. She just looks at me with this open, wounded expression, like no one’s ever said that to her before.
I reach over, brushing my knuckles along hers again, soft, steady.
She nods, slow and quiet. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “And I’m sorry for the other night when I froze at the bar—not your fault you didn’t know.”
“No need to apologize, but honestly thank you for opening up to me,” I respond, and then I turn the key, switch on the engine, and pull back onto the road.
I keep my eyes on the road, trying to focus, but I catch her in my peripheral, watching me—that soft, faint smile playing on her lips.
I don’t look over. I know if I do, she’ll glance away, break the moment.
So I let her look, let her smile, and quietly enjoy it like a secret I get to keep just a little longer.
* * *
Pulling into her driveway twenty minutes later, the soft glow of her porch light spills across the gravel. Her house is warm-looking, cozy, the kind of place that feels lived in.
Safe.
I cut the engine and a stillness settles between us.
Just the chirping of crickets, the low hum of the radio, and the gentle rhythm of her breathing.
She breaks the silence.
“Thank you for driving me home,” she says, her voice soft, smile just visible in the dim light.
I turn my head against the seat, meeting her gaze.
“And thank you for drying my shirt, Bambi,” I reply, teasing, but softer than usual.
She laughs, shaking her head like she’s already given up trying to fight the nickname.
I like hearing her laugh.
“You’re really not letting that go, are you?”
“Not a chance.” I grin, leaning back a little. Then quieter, I add, “I won’t forget it.”
She opens the door, hesitates for a second, then glances back at me.
“Well then, I’d better get inside.” She smiles again, this time a little softer. “Thanks again, Miles. Drive safe.”
I nod, watching her step out and gently shut the door behind her.
She walks to her front door, and before slipping inside, turns to look back at me through the porch light’s glow.
I watch her. She watches me.
And when she finally closes the door, I stay sitting there, still, silent.
My car smells like her now.
Sweet almond and caramel.
I sit there for a few moments longer, thinking about tonight.
Thinking about her.
Then that moment stops when I receive a message off Greg.
Greg: Did Viv get home fine?
Miles: Yeah, she’s back home safe and sound don’t worry, didn’t try anything on her either.
Greg: Good, keep it that way. Thanks again Sanchez, I’ll see you tomorrow at the ranch.
Miles: See you man. enjoy your night with Mindy.
Greg: Thanks, definitely will brother.
* * *
My alarm blares beside me, loud, obnoxious, and way too damn chipper for 9 a.m.
I groan and smack the snooze button, but I don’t drift back off.
I just lie there, one arm thrown over my face, listening to the quiet hum of the ranch waking up beyond the window.
Normally, I’d already be out there, boots on, hands calloused from the reins, sweat on my back before most people even think about coffee. But today…today I let myself slow down.
Because the first thing on my mind isn’t the lack of sleep or darkness that seeps into my dreams.
It’s her.
Vivian.
That soft little smile before she climbed out of my truck. The way she looked at me like I was something steady in a storm she didn’t ask for. The quiet thank you. The way her eyes shimmered in the low light, all emotion, and honesty and a little bit of exhaustion.
Hell.
I drag a hand over my face and stare at the ceiling, sunlight pushing through the blinds, striping across my bare chest. Still warm from sleep, but the second I think about her…I’m wide awake.
I finally haul myself up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I stretch, back cracking, and start my usual routine, brush my teeth, quick shower, throw on a clean tee and a baseball cap. My jeans are stiff from drying on the line yesterday, but they’ll soften out as the day goes on.
Coffee comes next.
I move through the motions, grind, brew, pour, but my head’s still wrapped around last night. The ride. The conversation. Her voice when she talked about Trevor. The tears she tried to hide and the strength it must’ve taken to share that with someone she barely knew.
I lean against the counter and take a sip of coffee just as my phone buzzes.
Unknown: Hey, thanks again for last night, I appreciate it ??
My brow arches, a slow smile pulling at my lips.
Vivian?
Miles: Vivian? How did you get my number hahah, no problem btw.
I hit send and click Add Number to Contacts before typing in her name.
My phone vibrates again.
Bambi: Asked Greg…because for a guy that barely knows me, you offered me a ride, well, were basically forced to and then put up with my breakdown… kind of embarrassed about it. I wanted to make sure you knew how much I appreciate that.
Breakdown? Nah.
That was bravery in motion.
Miles: There was no way I was going to let you go alone. And honestly, you don’t need to be embarrassed. We can forget the ride ever happened if that makes you feel better.
Though, let’s be honest, I won’t.
She’s still typing, little dots bouncing on the screen, and something in my chest tightens. Waiting on her reply feels heavier than it should.
Bambi: As much as I want to forget how I got around you, I needed that. I needed last night to happen. So yeah, thank you for that. I’ll see you around, Miles.
Fuck.
Miles: Anytime, Bambi. I’m just glad you feel that way. And honestly, never feel embarrassed about talking about your feelings. See you, Vivian.
I lock my phone and set it on the counter for a second just to breathe. Then I pocket it and finish the last sip of coffee, still warm and bitter.
Before I make it to the door, it buzzes again.
Greg: I’ll get there in about twenty minutes. Had to open today, finishing up inventory. Had a long ass night too.
Miles: No problem, will get started on the horses. I bet you did ;)
Greg: Thanks man. See you in a bit.
I slide my phone into my back pocket and head out. The air’s crisp, morning dew still clinging to the grass. The scent of horses and fresh hay drifts across the breeze.