Page 169 of At First Spark
“It doesn’t change anything,” he cuts in gently. “This was coming either way.”
The certainty in his tone tells me he believes that. I don’t know if I do, but I don’t argue.
The silence that follows stretches between us, but it doesn’t feel strained. It feels… full. Like there’s too much in it to fit into words right now.
Rook shifts at our feet, pressing closer, his body still keyed up in a way that mirrors my own. I reach down absently,running my fingers through his fur, grounding myself in his simple, steady presence.
“We need to talk about what happens next,” I say finally.
Holt’s expression shifts slightly, something more guarded settling into place.
“Okay.”
I take a breath, then let it out slowly. This is the part I’ve been avoiding.
“I can’t keep pretending this isn’t affecting everything,” I say. “The inn. My work. My—” I hesitate, then force myself to finish. “My life.”
He doesn’t interrupt. He just watches me, waiting.
“That doesn’t mean I’m leaving,” I add quickly.
Something in his shoulders eases at that, just a fraction.
“But it does mean I need to figure out how to stay without losing everything I came here for.”
Holt leans back slightly, considering my truth, his gaze steady in a way that makes it impossible to look away.
“You’re not going to lose it,” he says.
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” he admits. “But I know you.”
The part I don’t fully trust yet.
“I didn’t come here to be part of something like this,” I say, gesturing loosely between us, the house, and the chaos of everything that’s unfolded. “I came here to build something of my own.”
“And you are.”
His answer comes without hesitation.
“Not like this.”
“Maybe not how you planned,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t make it wrong.”
I shake my head slightly. “It makes it complicated.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It does.”
The honesty in that settles something again. I look at him for a long second, taking in the exhaustion in his face, the steadiness underneath it, the way he’s been holding everything together even when it’s clearly costing him more than he lets on.
And something shifts.
“I’m not leaving,” I say again, quieter this time.
“I know.”
His voice is just as quiet, but confident.
