Brinley didn't expect it to be the small things that got to her.
Not the way Jaxson stayed a step behind her when they walked into the diner.
Not the way he let Brandon take the booth seat beside her without comment.
Not even the way he barely spoke unless spoken to.
It was the restraint.
Jaxson listened more than he talked. When she spoke, his eyes stayed on her—not intense, not demanding—just present. Like every word mattered because he knew how easily he could lose the right to hear them.
That scared her more than his distance ever had.
"You're quiet," she finally said, stirring her coffee.
He shrugged lightly. "Didn't want to crowd you."
She looked up at him. "You know silence can feel like distance too, right?"
He met her gaze, something vulnerable flashing across his face. "I know. I just… don't want to say the wrong thing."
Brandon snorted. "That ship sailed, man."
Jaxson didn't bristle. "Yeah. I know."
That, too, unsettled her.
After breakfast, Brandon peeled off with a muttered excuse about errands. Brinley knew better. He was giving them space—but not trust. Not yet.
The walk back to the truck felt heavier.
"So," Brinley said, stopping beside it. "What happens now?"
Jaxson leaned against the hood, careful to keep space between them. "Whatever you let happen."
She exhaled slowly. "I don't want grand gestures. I don't want promises you're not sure you can keep."
"I won't give you either," he said. "Not unless I'm certain."
Her heart kicked painfully against her ribs. "You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Say the right thing."
His mouth curved faintly, but there was sadness behind it. "Doesn't mean I always do the right thing."
She looked away. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Silence settled again, thicker this time.
"I was scared," he said quietly. "Not of loving you. Of what loving you would cost."
Her throat tightened. "And what would it cost?"
"Everything I've been hiding behind," he admitted. "My excuses. My comfort. The lie that I wasn't ready for something real."
She turned back to him then. "And are you?"
His jaw tightened. "I don't know. But I know I don't want to run anymore."
That wasn't a promise.
And somehow, that made it feel more honest.
She stepped closer—not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel his warmth. "I'm not giving you my heart again unless I know it's safe."
"I wouldn't ask for it," he said. "I'd rather earn it."
Her chest ached.
She nodded once. "Okay."
Just that.
Okay.
They stood there, the space between them fragile but no longer empty.
When she finally climbed into the truck, Jaxson walked around to the driver's side, pausing before getting in. "Thank you," he said softly.
"For what?"
"For not shutting the door."
She met his eyes. "Don't make me regret it."
"I won't," he said—and this time, there was no hesitation. No fear in his voice.
Only resolve.
And as the truck pulled onto the road, Brinley realized something quietly terrifying.
She wasn't falling for him again.
She already had.
And this time… he knew it.