Page 102 of Fixing to Be Mine

We spend the better half of the morning mounting face plates for the outlets and doing final touch-ups on the walls. It doesn’t resemble the same house.

By the time I make it to the kitchen for lunch, Colt’s already pulled the lids off the leftovers and warmed them. The house smells like fresh tortillas, fajita chicken, and cilantro.

He’s tucked napkins under two paper plates on the worn table we’ve sat at a handful of times. A fan hums lazily in the corner, stirring the humid air as soft afternoon light spills through the windows. He glances up when I walk in, eyessweeping from my hair to the bare skin beneath the hem of my tank top.

“You can make anything look good,” he says.

“Even you,” I tell him.

“Damn, ain’t that right?” His mouth curves into a lazy grin as he pats the spot beside him. “Come eat before I lose my manners and hand-feed you.”

I drop to the seat in front of him with a soft sigh and fold a leg beneath me. “Smells amazing.”

“You do too,” he says.

There’s heat behind his voice. His words warm my skin like I’ve stepped into sunlight.

I don’t realize I’m staring until Colt nudges my leg with his knee.

“You okay?” he asks.

I shrug. “Sorry, was thinking.”

“About?” he asks.

“The future,” I explain. “And how I suck at this.”

His eyes crinkle as he scoops up another bite. “You mean the philosophical future or tomorrow? And you suck at what?”

“Tomorrow. Forever. I suck at this. At being … well, not to put titles on this, but I don’t think I’m girlfriend material.” I take a bite of a taco and avoid his gaze, not ready to see how he’s taking this.

“You’re not,” he confirms. “Your wife material.”

“Always stealing my breath,” I mutter. “I’m used to the idea that everything is temporary. That if I get comfortable, something or someone will come along to kick the legs out from under me. I’m waiting for the floor to drop out below me.”

Colt’s quiet for a beat, fork hovering in the air like he’s weighing my words against something heavier. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he finally says. “You deserve stability and safety. I’ll give that to you.”

His voice isn’t a promise. It’s a conviction, like he already decided I’m worth the risk.

“I want that. I want you,” I confess, “but I never get what I want. That’s the pattern. Want something too much, and life takes it away.”

“That’s bullshit,” Colt says. “I won’t accept that.”

A drop of sour cream clings to his lip, and he swipes it away. I wonder what it’d be like if this all really belonged to us—the afternoons, the tacos, the silence, and the future. I’ve never been allowed to want these things. Donovan used to treat me like I was a winning trophy. Colt cherishes me like I’m his future.

Right now, I’m thankful I didn’t sayI do.

While we eat, I allow myself to admire his messy hair under his baseball cap and bright blue eyes. He’s too handsome and tempting.

There’s something about the way he sits—shoulders relaxed, forearm resting on the table—that makes me feel like I could have this. Colt makes me want to sayfuck itto all my responsibilities and stay here with him forever. That’s a fantasy though. And fantasies have expiration dates, even if they feel like home when you’re in the middle of one.

My plate’s almost empty now. Colt’s still chewing like this is any other day.

My chest tightens with every beat that ticks us closer to goodbye. I know he feels that strange stretch in the air that’s followed by the hush of our time winding down because I can’t escape it.

Today, his shoulders aren’t quite as relaxed, and we both know we’re nearing the end of this.

“I keep waiting for this to feel fake,” I say suddenly, before I can second-guess myself.

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