Morning came soft, like it wasn't sure she was ready for it.
Brinley stood at her kitchen window, mug warming her hands, watching frost melt off the edge of the railing. The sink, her sink, sat behind her, silent. No drip. No reminder. She hadn't asked him to fix it. He'd just remembered she mentioned it, offhand, like it didn't matter.
It did.
She hated that it did.
Consistency was dangerous. It crept in without asking permission.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Nitika's name lit the screen.
You alive?
Brinley smiled faintly and typed back. Barely functioning. Coffee is doing most of the work.
Good. Brandon's in a mood. Which means he cares. Which means he's trying not to hover.
That earned a quiet laugh. Brandon had been circling carefully lately, present, protective, but not pressing. Jaxson's influence, whether Brandon would admit it or not.
She didn't reply right away. Instead, she stared at the phone, half-expecting another name to appear.
It didn't.
And somehow, that steadiness, the lack of expectation, settled her more than any text could have.
Jaxson spent the morning at the shop, hands busy, mind not. He'd learned the hard way that restraint took more effort than action. Every instinct in him wanted to check in, to ask how she was feeling after yesterday, to make sure she hadn't taken his quiet as distance.
But he'd promised himself, and her, that showing up didn't mean crowding the space.
So he worked. Fixed a stubborn alternator. Helped a regular load groceries into her trunk. Let time pass without reaching for it.
Around noon, Brandon showed up.
He didn't say much at first. Just leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp but not hostile.
"You're different," Brandon said finally.
Jaxson wiped his hands on a rag. "I'm trying to be."
Brandon studied him a beat longer, then nodded once. "Good. Don't make me regret easing up."
Jaxson met his gaze, steady. "I won't."
That was it. No threats. No speeches. Just a quiet understanding that trust wasn't given, it was observed.
Brinley ran into Jaxson later without planning to.
The grocery store aisle felt too narrow when she turned the corner and nearly collided with him. He stepped back immediately, hands lifting slightly, instinctively giving her room.
"Hey," he said. Not hopeful. Not heavy. Just… there.
"Hey." Her voice didn't shake. That felt like a win.
They stood for a moment, both aware of how different this felt, no urgency, no pressure to define anything.
"I won't keep you," he said gently. "Just wanted to say hi."
She nodded, surprised by the flicker of disappointment she had to swallow. "The sink's holding," she added, almost against her will.
A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Good."
He didn't linger on it. Didn't use it as leverage or proof. Just accepted it and stepped aside so she could pass.
As she walked away, her chest tightened, not with fear this time, but with something fragile and unfamiliar.
Hope, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
That night, Brinley sat on her couch, journal open but untouched. The words wouldn't come the way they used to. Everything felt quieter now, less dramatic, more real.
She realized something then, something she hadn't let herself consider before.
Jaxson wasn't trying to win her back.
He was letting her choose.
And that choice, heavy and terrifying as it was, felt more honest than anything she'd had before.
Outside, the streetlight hummed. Inside, the sink stayed silent.
Somewhere across town, Jaxson sat alone in his apartment, the fixed sink still holding, no drip, no proof he'd been there.
And for the first time in a long while, that felt like exactly the point.