Page 50 of Steeped In Problems

“It is,” she insisted, voice gentle. “You are.”

He looked at her, really looked, and she saw the exhaustion and the shame and all the things he’d never say out loud. He picked up the check and looked at it, shaking his head, almost as if he didn’t believe it was real.

“I was so scared. I thought it was going to lose this place and you.”

Her heart stuttered. “You’re not going to.”

He laughed, bitter. “Mark was right. I’m just playing house. I’m not cut out for this.”

Kristy reached out and covered his hand with hers. “Mark was wrong. You’re exactly what this town needs.”

“Just the town?” he asked with an arch of his eyebrow.

She inhaled sharply, realizing she needed to tell him how she felt. “No, not just the town. Me too. I care about you, Blaze. About this place. About all of it.”

He turned his hand, gripping hers like a lifeline. Finally, he spoke, voice raw. “I care about you, too. I have for a while, but I was too afraid to admit it.”

He stared at her, and something shifted. A muscle unclenched, a storm moved on. He stood, slow and stiff, and came around the counter. Kristy braced herself for a speech or a lecture or maybe just a “thanks for trying,” but he did none of those.

He pulled her in, arms tight, face buried in her shoulder. She felt his breath, shaky and warm, and she wrapped her own arms around his back, holding on as hard as she could.

They stood there, locked together until the ache in her chest was replaced by something steadier. Hope. Or maybe just the knowledge that she wasn’t alone, not anymore.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were damp, but his smile was real.

“We’re going to make it,” she told him.

He nodded, and his hand brushed her cheek, a touch so tender it made her breath catch. “Yeah. We are,” his voice a whisper this time.

The moment stretched between them, charged and silent, except for the quiet hum of the refrigerator somewhere behind. Then, without another word, Tanner leaned in closer. His eyes were intense, but not with the usual hardness she’d grown accustomed to; there was something soft, vulnerable even.

Kristy’s heart raced as she realized what was happening. This was the moment—the one she hadn’t even let herself imagine because it seemed too far out of reach.

His lips met hers in the most gentle of ways. The kiss was slow, exploring, as if he was memorizing the feel of her mouth against his. It wasn’t rushed or desperate; it was deliberate, meaningful—the kind of kiss that spoke of deep-seated feelings held back for far too long.

A warmth spread through Kristy, lighting up places inside her she hadn’t known were dark. She responded instinctively, her arms coming up to circle his neck, pulling him closer. The world narrowed down to the two of them, to the sweet pressure of his lips on hers, to the solid reality of his presence against her.

When they finally parted, it was only by inches. Tanner rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, breathing uneven. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he confessed, his voice rough with emotion.

Kristy could only nod, her own voice lost somewhere between her rapidly beating heart and the lump in her throat.She felt dizzy with relief and happiness—a potent mix that made everything seem brighter, more hopeful.

“Ditto,” she managed to say at last.

Tanner opened his eyes then, and the look he gave her was so full of open affection it took her breath away all over again. He smiled slightly, the corner of his mouth tilting up in that rare smile that made him look years younger.

They stood there for several more moments, simply holding each other in the quiet. They didn’t need to say anything. The future was still a question mark, but for now, at least at this moment, they’d found all they needed in each other.

Epilogue

Tanner had faced down wildfires and mountain lions, and a man who’d taken five hostages into a snowbound cabin, but nothing rattled him like standing in the back room of his own coffee shop, clutching a single sheet of yellow legal pad paper, and sweating through his one good dress shirt.

He could hear the crowd through the thin wall, every cough and shuffle, and, every now and then, the high peel of Kristy’s laughter. She always found a way to laugh, to make everyone else feel like the world wasn’t ending, even if hers had nearly done so a dozen times. He glanced down at the page. His handwriting looked like a drunk doctor’s prescription: messy, forceful, but no denying who’d written it.

He tried reading through his notes again, but the words didn’t sound right. Too formal. Too practiced. He wanted to say something that would stick, not just to Kristy, but to the whole crowd—make it impossible for anyone to miss what she’d meant to this place, to him. But whenever he imagined actually saying it, his brain shut down, and his throat dried up.

He ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the stubble he’d meant to shave. He’d even tried to slick his hair, but it rebelled,spiking up at the crown like always. The new shirt—courtesy of Rhonda, who’d left it in the manager’s office with a note, “Wear this or else”—was a dark blue button-down, sleeves rolled once, untucked over a pair of new black slacks. He looked like a guy who’d tried, but not so hard that anyone would mock him for it.

His hands were shaking. Just a little, but enough. He balled the legal pad page, then smoothed it, then balled it again.

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