Page 16 of Bolt To Me
They stood together as Thomas slid behind the wheel, the car purring to life with a soft growl before rolling back down the gravel drive. The sun caught the silver just right, throwing off a flash before it disappeared beyond the line of oaks.
Somewhere behind the barn, there was a slow clap followed by a long, low whistle. She didn’t need to look to know it was Old Man Deacon, making sure half of Willow Creek would hear about this by sundown.
As far as Carli was concerned, the town could talk.
Fracture Lines
The bouquet was still there a few days later. Not in a vase, not somewhere dignified, just jammed into the old blue cooler beside the guesthouse door like a joke that had outlived its punchline. The lilies had gone soft at the edges, their once-bright trumpets curling inward, petals sagging as though they knew they didn’t belong. Carli noticed them every time she came or went, and each time she thought about tossing them in the burn barrel. But she didn’t. Maybe because part of her liked having the proof, the physical evidence that she’d made her choice.
Unfortunately, Cory noticed them too. Every damn time he walked past the guesthouse porch. The sight punched a faint, stupid ache into his ribs. It wasn’t that he thought she still cared about the man who’d brought them. Hell, he’d watched her toss them into that cooler with a look that could have curdled milk. But flowers linger and scents cling. He hated the way they were a reminder of someone who had once been given the spot Corywasn’t even sure he deserved. And maybe, deep down, he hated that a part of him thought, That guy probably still thinks he’s the better bet.
The problem was that Cory had been different since that morning. Not in a way Carli could point to cleanly. He still stopped by, still teased her, still leaned on the doorframe like he owned the place, which he did. But there was a gap now, some tiny sliver of space that hadn’t been there before. It showed up in the pauses between jokes, in the way he sometimes looked past her instead of at her.
The first time she really felt it, they were on the porch swing at sunset. The light had taken on a syrupy, gold hue, stretching shadows across the grass. She leaned into him automatically, breathing in that mix of sun-warmed skin and motor oil, expecting him to fold her against his side like he always did. But his arm stayed across the back of the swing, his fingers tapping a slow, distracted rhythm. He was looking out toward the pasture, not at her. She told herself she was imagining it. But later, when he walked her to the door and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek instead of her mouth, she knew she wasn’t.
For Cory, it wasn’t about not wanting to pull her close. God, he wanted to. But the image of Thomas standing on her porch, flowers in hand, pressed shirt, acting like the world owed him her time, wouldn’t quit playing in his head. Thomas represented the kind of future Cory wasn’t sure he could give her. Cory was grit under the fingernails, grease stains that didn’t wash out, a history of good intentions that burned out halfway through. He’d been around enough to know women got tired of that kind of man. Eventually. It was a little thing. But little things add up.
Over the next few days, they kept circling each other in that strange in-between space that was not quite together, yetnot quite apart. At the feed store, he brushed his hand against hers when they reached for the same sack of chicken grain, but didn’t meet her eyes. At dinner in town with friends, he made everyone laugh, but when she touched his knee under the table, he shifted just enough that her hand slid off.
And the worst part? Carli understood. She sensed it and understood what was happening. Cory wished she didn’t. Wished she would get mad at him, force him to defend himself. Because then maybe he could explain or at least try. But she didn’t. She just kept smiling that half-smile like she was waiting for him to decide if he was in or out. And he didn’t know if he had the courage to say he was scared of failing her before they even got started.
The kitchen confrontation wasn’t planned. She’d gone to the main house to return a jar of peach preserves she’d borrowed. Barefoot, quiet, she padded across the cool tile and there he was, standing at the counter with both hands braced against it, head down. He didn’t hear her at first.
He’d been staring at the granite for a good ten minutes, rolling the same thought over and over: What happens if I screw this up? He’d done it before. With other women, it had been easier. He would walk away, turn the charm off, and find someone who wanted something lighter, simpler. But Carli… she got under his skin. Made him think about mornings that bled into afternoons, about someone standing next to him when life got ugly. And that scared him in ways he couldn’t name.
“Hey,” she said softly.
His head came up fast, eyes briefly unfocused before he smiled. But it wasn’t his usual smile. It was smaller and polite. “Hey, yourself.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, reaching for a glass from the cabinet like he needed the motion. “Just a long day.”
She tilted her head. “You’ve been weird since Thomas showed up.”
He huffed a breath, not quite a laugh. “I’m not weird.”
“You’re weird.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Maybe a little weird.”
“Uh-huh.” She crossed her arms, leaning against the island. “You want to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to keep guessing?”
He looked down at the glass in his hands. “I just… I know what people think about me, Carli. And a lot of the time, they’re right. I’m not exactly the… steady choice.”
“You mean, you’re not Thomas Whitmore the third, Esquire.”
“Exactly,” he said, without humor. “You deserve somebody who won’t… run out of gas halfway through.” What he didn’t say was I’ve run out of gas more times than I can count. And I hate the idea of you being the one to watch me do it again.
She stared at him. “Maybe you should let me decide what I deserve.”
He met her gaze for a heartbeat, then looked away. “I’m just saying… I’m not sure I’m the person you’d want to build something with. I don’t want you to figure that out when it’s too late.”
Her chest felt tight. “You’re doing a great job of making sure I figure that out now.”
Neither of them moved. The air between them felt thick, full of words they weren’t saying.
That night, she lay awake in the guesthouse, staring at the faint glow of the porch light through the blinds. She kept turning over his words, wondering if she was supposed to be grateful for his honesty or furious at his cowardice. The truth was, she had her own fears. She’d barely gotten her life back after dismantling the future she’d built with Thomas. She wasn’t ready to hand itover to someone else, no matter how much they made her laugh or how easily they fit into her days.
