The shift came so quietly Brinley almost missed it.
It wasn't something Jaxson said. It wasn't even something he did differently. It was the absence of correction, the way he let her handle a miscommunication with a wedding party without stepping in, even when he clearly knew the answer.
She caught his eye afterward.
Not a look of relief.
Not pride.
Just acknowledgment.
That unsettled her more than if he'd tried to help.
At Fast Track, the days had begun to stack neatly on top of one another. Wedding prep meetings in the mornings. Studio sessions mid-day. Quick hallway conversations that meant more than they should because nothing personal was ever said aloud.
Brinley was learning the weight of that kind of trust.
In the late afternoon, a bride grew anxious over a seating chart error, voices rising just enough to draw attention. Brinley stepped forward, calm and clear, redirecting without defensiveness. When it was over, the bride exhaled and smiled, tension diffused.
Jaxson had stayed back.
But when Brinley returned to the scheduling board, she found the corrected layout already updated, her handwriting mirrored perfectly in the system.
She frowned.
Not because he'd overstepped,
but because he hadn't.
He'd waited until she was done.
Waited until it was appropriate.
Waited until it helped instead of replaced.
That night, Brandon called while she was halfway through dinner.
"You're quieter lately," he said.
"Am I?"
"Not shut down. Just… thinking."
She smiled faintly. "I'm learning what consistency feels like."
There was a pause. Then Brandon said, "That's not nothing."
The next morning brought rain and a full parking lot. Brinley hurried inside, shaking droplets from her jacket. Jaxson held the door without comment, stepping back so she passed first.
Their shoulders didn't touch.
But she felt it anyway.
Later, Nitika slid a folder across Brinley's desk. "You don't lean on him," she observed. "But you don't block him either."
Brinley flipped through the pages. "I don't want to owe anyone my progress."
"That's fair," Nitika said. "Just don't confuse support with debt."
That stayed with her.
In the afternoon, Brinley made a choice.
A small one.
She asked Jaxson to double-check a sound cue timeline before finalizing it.
Not because she needed him to.
Because she trusted him to.
He didn't hide his surprise. He didn't overstep. He reviewed it, made one minor suggestion, and handed it back.
"All yours," he said.
She nodded. "Thanks."
That was it.
But when she walked away, her chest felt lighter.
In the parking lot that evening, the rain had stopped. Brinley stood beside her car and glanced toward Jaxson's truck. He was there, leaning against it, phone in hand, clearly giving her space.
She took a breath.
"Hey," she called softly.
He looked up immediately. Alert. Careful.
"Thanks for earlier," she said. "I appreciated it."
Something shifted in his expression, not relief, not triumph. Gratitude. The quiet kind.
"Anytime," he replied. "Just tell me when."
She nodded once, then got into her car before the moment could stretch too far.
As she drove away, Brinley realized what scared her most.
Not trusting him.
But deciding when she was ready to stop deciding at all.