“Stop it,” I groan. “It wasn't like that.”
“Then what was it like?” Her voice softens. “Come on, Mia. Talk to me. What's really going on there?”
I stare at the ceiling, struggling to put into words the tangle of feelings I've been avoiding. “I don't know, Brè. He's... not what I expected. Neither is this place. I came here furious about being in the wrong Portree, desperate to leave, and now...”
“Now you're not so desperate?” she supplies.
“Something like that,” I admit. “His family is amazing – loud and inappropriate and so full of love. They've been through real tragedy, losing his younger brother, but they've found a way to keep living, to keep him present in their lives without letting grief consume them.”
“Unlike your dad,” Brè says gently.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “And Grant... he understands things about me that I've never told anyone. He sees me, Brè. Not the swimmer, not the writer, just... me.”
“And that terrifies you,” she states rather than asks.
“Completely.” I laugh, but it comes out shaky. “I'm supposed to be leaving with Olympic training starting in a few weeks. A career that requires me to be constantly moving. I can't... I don't know how to...”
“Stay,” Brè finishes for me. “You don't know how to stay.” She supplies.
My throat tightens. “Right.”
“And how does Grant feel about all this?”
“He hasn't pushed,” I say, recalling the gentle pressure of his hand in mine. “But I think... I think he wants me to consider not running this time.”
Brè is quiet for a moment. “Would that be so terrible? Finding someone worth sticking around for?”
“Says the woman who just broke things off with Jeremy because he mentioned meeting his parents,” I counter, grateful to shift the focus.
Brè groans. “That's different. Jeremy was getting too serious too fast.”
“Was he? Or were you just scared of the same thing I am – that maybe there's something real there worth exploring?”
“When did you become the relationship guru?” she asks, but I can hear the thoughtfulness in her voice. “You think I should call him, don't you?”
“I think,” I say slowly, surprising myself with my own words, “that sometimes running away is easier than finding out what might happen if you stay.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Well, well,” Brè finally says. “Texas has changed you, Bonney.”
“No,” I reply, standing up and looking out the window to where Grant waits on the porch, his profile outlined against the night sky.
“Not Texas. But maybe someone in it has.”
Chapter 20
Grant
The morning sun filters through the bedroom window like it’s trying to be gentle. Soft golden light cuts across the floor, catching on the dust in the air, warming the old wood. I’ve been awake for an hour now, lying flat on my back, one arm flung over my eyes like it’ll block out the thoughts crowding in behind them, replaying last night's dinner in my mind. Bringing Mia home, watching her with my family.
I can still hear her laugh—ringing through my parents’ kitchen last night as she tried to follow one of Dad’s “homemade margaritas” and nearly choked on the salt rim. I can still see her eyes, wet with tears from laughing so hard, flicking to mine across the table. I remember the way my chest clenched like a lasso had been thrown straight around my ribs.
She fit. Too well. Like she’d always been meant to sit at our table —it all felt so natural, like she belonged there. Like she belonged with me.
And that scares the absolute shit outta me.
I roll out of bed, groaning as my shoulder pops and throbs. The quiet in the house is thick, but then I hear it—soft footsteps pacing, back and forth. Like something’s too big to sit still.
