Jaxson didn't knock.
He never did anymore, not since she'd asked for space, not since he'd learned that showing up didn't mean crossing lines. He stayed by the truck instead, leaning against the door, hands tucked into his jacket like he was bracing himself against more than the cold.
Brinley noticed him through the window before she meant to.
That was the thing that unsettled her most lately,vnot his presence, but how familiar it already felt again. Like her heart had memorized him despite her best efforts to forget.
She stepped outside, pulling her coat tighter.
"You didn't have to wait," she said.
"I know," he answered. "I wanted to."
No apology. No excuse. Just the truth.
They drove in a silence that wasn't heavy, just careful. Jaxson kept both hands on the wheel, eyes forward, like he was afraid one wrong glance might say too much. Brinley watched him anyway, the way he slowed at every stop sign she hated, the way he turned the heater toward her side without asking.
"You fixed the porch light," she said suddenly.
He nodded. "You mentioned it flickered."
"I didn't ask you to."
"I know."
That word again. Not defensive. Not pleading. Just steady.
When he pulled up to her place, he didn't linger. Didn't reach for her hand. Didn't ask what this meant or where it was going. He simply cut the engine and waited, like time itself wasn't something he needed to rush anymore.
"Thank you," she said, and meant more than the ride.
Jaxson met her eyes then, really met them, and for a moment, everything unspoken hovered between them. Love. Fear. Regret. Hope.
"I'll see you," he said softly. Not when. Not if. Just see you.
Brinley stepped out of the truck, heart racing, chest tight with something dangerously close to trust. As she walked toward her door, she realized the truth she hadn't been ready to face yet.
He wasn't asking her to come back.
He was staying long enough to be chosen.