Page 60 of Once Upon A Second Chance
We stand there for a minute, not talking.
Then I say, “You slept over again.”
His brow lifts. “Is this a complaint?”
“Mmm, a lighthearted reprimand. You’re already at two this week. Remember the rules?”
He groans, dropping his head dramatically against the counter. “You’re seriously counting sleepovers?”
“Someone has to enforce the law,” I tease, nudging his hip with mine. “We said no more than two a week.”
He lifts his head, smiling faintly. “I thought the ‘no more than two sleepovers’ rule was to avoid dependency, not to ruin my life.”
“Both things can be true.”
He chuckles softly, the sound frayed around the edges. “You know I’d follow every rule in that contract if it meant keeping this thing working.”
I meet his eyes. “I know.”
But even as we trade jokes, there’s something heavier between us. The truth neither of us saysaloud: the rules were supposed to keep things light, safe, manageable.
But nothing about this week feels safe.
Not with Rebecca circling like a vulture. Not with Travis skulking in shadows. Not with the town dissecting every glance we give each other.
Still, he reaches out—pinky brushing mine—and I let him.
Because despite everything, we’re still here.
Still trying.
Still holding the line.
Even if the storm hasn’t passed yet.
It’s dark outside and almost 9:00 when the knock comes.
I freeze.
Bijou’s ears perk up, and she lets out a low growl—her ‘I don’t like this’ sound thatusually means a delivery truck or a squirrel has dared to exist near the porch.
But my stomach twists anyway.
Travis has been silent since the porch incident, and that silence is louder than anything. Every knock, every crunch of gravel outside, every creak of a step—my brain jumps to the worst.
I hover by the door, keys clutched in one hand like they’re some kind of magic talisman. I tiptoe just close enough to peek through the peephole.
Relief crashes over me so fast my knees nearly give out.
It’s Richard.
I swing the door open before I think twice. “You’re not a rule-follower, are you?”
He lifts a brow. “I’m sorry?”
“That’s three sleepovers this week,” I say, leaning against the frame, one hand still on my chest as my heartbeat tries to slow down. “Clearly breaking protocol.”
His smile is crooked and tired. “What if I told you I just came by to check on you and not sneak my way into your bed again?”
