Jaxson didn't text when he pulled up outside Brinley's place.
That had become part of the rhythm, no announcements, no pressure. Just presence. The low rumble of his truck outside felt different than it used to. Less like something she had to brace for. More like something steady she could choose to walk toward.
Brinley stood at the window for a long moment, coffee mug warming her hands, watching him sit there with both hands on the steering wheel like he was giving himself rules. She noticed things now, the way he waited, the way he didn't assume.
She grabbed her jacket and stepped outside.
He got out immediately, but he didn't close the distance. He just smiled. Small. Careful.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning."
No heavy air. No apologies hanging unsaid. Just that thin, almost-fragile space where trust could either grow or shatter.
"You need a ride?" he asked, already knowing the answer could be no.
"I do," she said, surprising both of them a little.
The drive was quiet, but it wasn't awkward. The kind of silence that let thoughts breathe. Jaxson didn't fill it with nervous chatter. He let the road do the talking.
When they stopped at the light near her work, he finally spoke. "I fixed that loose step on your porch last night."
She turned to him. "You were there?"
"Brandon was. I just… noticed it when I dropped something off earlier. Didn't want you tripping."
He said it like it wasn't a big deal. Like he hadn't replayed every second of being near her house in his head afterward.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He nodded once, accepting it without fishing for more.
That was the thing that kept undoing her, he wasn't asking to be rewarded anymore.
When he dropped her off, he didn't follow her out of the truck. Didn't ask about later. Didn't linger like he was owed something for showing up right.
She paused with her hand on the door. "Jaxson?"
"Yeah?"
"I notice," she said. "The way you're doing this."
His jaw tightened, not defensively, but like he was holding something steady inside himself. "I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm just… here."
She searched his face. The familiar pull was still there, but it was different now, less sharp, more patient.
"I know," she said. "That's why it matters."
She got out before he could respond.
Jaxson sat there long after she disappeared inside, chest tight, heart loud. Not because he felt rejected, but because for the first time, hope didn't feel reckless. It felt earned, inch by inch.
And inside, Brinley leaned against the door, hand over her heart, realizing something quietly terrifying.
Consistency was harder to resist than grand gestures.
And he was winning her back without ever asking her to come closer.