Ava shook her head, brushing strands of hair from her face. She couldn’t ignore the truth any longer; she was in love with him. The realization had settled into her heart the morning after their first night together, bright and impossible not to feel. Since then, his face haunted every quiet moment, every time she glanced at Ellie’s tiny fingers grasping her own, she could almost see Deacon’s hand intertwined with hers.
“How do you fall in love with someone you spent one night with?” she whispered into the hush of the room, as if hoping the answer might float down from the ceiling.
She had wanted to tell him she wanted to see him again, but she knew how busy he was with this case. Now she trembled, wondering if he believed their relationship could ever survive.
If it couldn’t, she didn’t know what either of them would do. The thought of moving didn’t unnerve her nearly as much as the idea of sharing a home with him while still living in uncertainty.
Fingers brushing the plastic remote, she scrolled through muted images on the TV, soap-opera lips moving in silent arguments, a cooking show’s bright studio kitchen. Then her phone buzzed, and she jumped. Deacon’s name glowed on the screen, and a frown creased her brow.
She pressed the answer button. “Deacon? I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
His voice came across the line, low and she could hear his exhaustion. “I’d like to drop by tomorrow. Is that alright?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, brushing a hand over Ellie’s soft blanket draped across the couch beside her.
“Okay. I’ll let you know when I get to town.”
“Alright.”
“See you soon.” He hung up.
The next day, she was almost sick to her stomach. She wanted to see him. To see if they could make this work, but the thought lingered about what would happen if they couldn’t. The hush of the room felt heavier now, filled with unspoken hopes and the promise of difficult conversations to come. He had sent her a message telling her he was on his way.
She rose quietly and moved through the living room, fluffing pillows and stacking magazines with careful precision. She dusted the mantel, smoothed the rumpled throw over the sofa, then paused to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Satisfied that everything looked as it should, she sank onto the edge of the couch, her fingers twisting the hem of her T-shirt as her heart hammered in her ribs.
Moments later, the low growl of a pickup engine rolled across the yard. Butterflies erupted in her stomach, each wingbeat sending a fresh jolt of nerves through her chest. She pressed a trembling hand against her belly, trying to still the frantic pulse racing beneath her skin. Then she heard heavy boots thud on the porch and rapid knocks on the front door.
Drawing in a steady breath, Ava stood and padded to the door. She unlatched it and swung it open, and nearly moaned. Deacon stood framed in the doorway, late afternoon sun glinting off thebrim of his hat. The shadow across his eyes only made his jawline sharper. His red T-shirt hugged every ridge of muscle across his broad shoulders and chest, and her gaze dropped to the worn denim of his jeans, tracing the firm lines of his hips, then the fly. She blinked, heart thundering, then forced herself to step back and widen the doorway.
“Come in,” she managed, voice softer than she intended.
Deacon removed his hat and brushed his boots against the welcome mat, then stepped into her home. He hung his Stetson on a hook by the door and turned to her, the scent of leather and sunbaked cotton lingering in the air between them.
“Is Ellie asleep?” he asked, voice low.
“She’s curled up in her crib, for another half hour, at least.” Ava tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Good. Then we have time to talk.”
“Of course,” she said, gesturing toward the sofa. “Please, sit. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”
“Just water, thanks.”
“Coming right up.” She slipped past him into the kitchen, where the afternoon light slanted through the windows. She pulled a tall glass from the cabinet, filled it with ice, and poured cool water over the cubes until they clinked. Cradling the glass in her hand, she returned to find him standing by the couch, shoulders squared and watching her with a cautious tilt to his head.
Handing him the glass, she watched as he lifted it and took one long pull, the water sliding down his throat. He set the glass on the coffee table and met her gaze. “Please, sit.”
Ava sank onto the sofa, smoothing her shirt. Deacon settled as well, though he left a small gap between them, an unspoken distance she wasn’t used to.
“Deacon,” she began, her voice gentle but determined, “I know moving in with you makes sense for both of us, but—”
He rose a single brow. “But what?”
“What does it mean? Are we simply roommates, or are we… more?”
Deacon leaned back, arms resting on the cushions. “That’s up to you.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s up to both of us. When we move in, I need to know where we stand, your social life will suffer if you want to date someone and Ellie and I are living there.”
