Brinley noticed the change the next morning.
It wasn't dramatic. Nothing had shifted overnight. No messages waiting on her phone, no unexpected knock at the door. Just a quiet awareness settling in her chest as she poured her coffee and stared out the kitchen window.
She wasn't bracing anymore.
That realization startled her enough that she set the mug down slowly, like the truth might spill if she moved too fast.
Jaxson hadn't crossed a line. Hadn't asked for reassurance. Hadn't tried to rewrite the past. He'd simply stayed consistent, steady in a way that didn't demand anything from her.
And somehow, that made the space between them feel smaller… even as he respected it.
She caught herself glancing at her phone twice before she left the house. No message. No reason there should be one.
This is good, she told herself. This is what you asked for.
Still, the quiet followed her all the way to the shop.
By midmorning, Brandon stopped by.
He leaned against the counter like he owned the place, protective instinct still present, but softer now. Observant. Calculating in the way only a brother could be.
"You okay?" he asked.
Brinley shrugged. "Yeah. Just tired."
Brandon studied her a beat longer than necessary. "You sure?"
She met his gaze. Didn't deflect. Didn't snap. "I am."
That seemed to ease something in him.
"He's been around," Brandon said carefully.
She nodded. "I know."
"And?"
"And he's doing what I asked."
Brandon exhaled slowly. "That's… new."
A faint smile tugged at her mouth before she could stop it. "Yeah. It is."
Brandon didn't push. Didn't warn. Just nodded and changed the subject, and Brinley realized that even that felt like progress.
Later that afternoon, she found the note.
It was taped to the inside of the shop's back door, the handwriting unmistakably Jaxson's, clean, slightly slanted, careful.
I noticed the lock sticks when it's cold. I didn't fix it. Just wanted you to know in case it gives you trouble. ,
He hadn't touched it.
That fact mattered more than she expected.
Her fingers traced the edge of the paper, chest tightening in a way that wasn't painful, but vulnerable. He'd seen something that affected her safety. He could've fixed it easily. Instead, he'd left the choice with her.
Respect, not control.
Trust, not assumption.
That night, she texted him.
Brinley: Thanks for the note.
The reply came a few minutes later.
Jaxson: Of course.
No follow-up. No opening he expected her to walk through.
She stared at the screen longer than necessary, then typed again.
Brinley: Do you want coffee tomorrow?
The pause this time stretched longer. Long enough that she wondered if she'd crossed her own line.
Then:
Jaxson: Yeah. I'd like that. Just coffee.
She smiled despite herself.
Across town, Jaxson read the message twice.
He didn't let himself celebrate. Didn't pace the room or imagine what it might mean. He sat still, grounding his excitement beneath restraint, reminding himself that this wasn't a finish line.
It was a step she offered.
And that meant he had to keep earning it.
The next morning, he arrived five minutes early, and waited in the truck.
When she stepped outside, coat pulled tight against the cold, she paused when she saw him. Not surprised. Not tense.
Just… aware.
He got out only after she did, giving her space even now.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning."
They walked into the café together, not touching, not avoiding each other either. Something quiet and careful stretched between them, fragile, but real.
This wasn't forgiveness.
It wasn't love reclaimed.
But it was something neither of them had expected to find so soon after everything broke.
Hope, handled gently.