Page 21 of Max Bannon

Max

Iknocked lightly on her door, two soft raps with my knuckles.

“Tessa?” I waited. “Tacos are ready.”

There was a pause, long enough I almost turned away, then her voice came through the door—cheerful, too cheerful.

“I’ll be right there!”

She came out a minute later, fresh-faced, hair down, lips tugged into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was wearing one of her bright shirts again—this one with tiny smiling planets orbiting the world.

But something about her was different.

Quieter. Guarded.

She sat at the table, thanked me for dinner, complimented the seasoning like she was reading off a script. I played along, responding with a half-smile and a joke or two. But it felt like we were both standing on opposite ends of a cliff, pretending we couldn’t see the drop between us.

She didn’t ask about my day.

And I didn’t ask about hers.

Halfway through dinner, I cleared my throat and said it.

“Your cabin’s ready tomorrow.”

She paused with her taco halfway to her mouth.

“Oh,” she said. Just that. No smile this time. She nodded. “Okay. Thanks for letting me stay here this long.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine for a heartbeat, then dropped back to her plate. “No, it’s good. I should get settled in my own place.”

I wanted to say something else—anythingelse. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t ready for her to go. That I wasn’t sure what this was between us, but it was something, and it scared the hell out of me because I’d already lost someone I loved once.

But I didn’t say it.

Because if I opened that door and she walked through it, I didn’t know if I could handle her walking away again someday.

And I didn’t know if it would be worse to risk loving her—or worse to regret never trying.

So I kept quiet.

Tacos. Weather. Light conversation.

And the whole time, her smile stayed in place like she’d practiced it in the mirror.

When dinner was done, she stood, thanked me again, and said, “I think I’m going to turn in early.”

“Long day?”

“Yeah,” she said, still not meeting my eyes. “I’m just tired.”

But I knew she wasn’t.

And I hated myself a little for letting her walk away without saying what I needed to say.

I heardher before I saw her.

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