October 12, Saturday

THE SOFT knock on the kitchen door startled me from my morning coffee reverie. I opened it to find Sawyer, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Morning," he said, his voice gruff.

"Good morning," I said, unable to stop the smile that spread over my face. "You're getting started early today. Want some coffee?"

"I'm good," he said. "Actually, I was wondering if... you would show me Rose's workshop."

I blinked, surprised by the request. "Oh. Sure, of course."

We made our way through the house in silence, the old floorboards creaking beneath our feet. As we approached the hidden door to Rose's sanctuary, I felt a strange mix of excitement and trepidation. This space had become my refuge, a place where I felt connected to the house's former occupant. Sharing it with Sawyer felt oddly intimate.

I pushed open the door, and the familiar scent of wood polish and sawdust enveloped us. Sawyer stepped inside, his eyes widening as he took in the room. Tools hung neatly on pegboards, half-finished projects dotted various workbenches, and stacks of vintage furniture waited patiently for restoration.

"It's just as she left it," Sawyer murmured, running his hand along the edge of a workbench.

"Not quite," I admitted. "I've been... working on some things."

Sawyer's gaze snapped to mine. "You have?"

I nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Just small projects. That rocking chair, for instance." I gestured to the chair I'd been sanding and refinishing. "And I started stripping the paint off that old dresser."

Sawyer moved to the rocking chair, his fingers tracing the smooth, newly sanded arm. "Why?"

I shrugged, struggling to put my feelings into words. "It makes me feel closer to her, somehow. Like I'm carrying on her work, you know?"

Sawyer nodded, a look of understanding passing over his face. "Rose always did have a talent for bringing old things back to life."

There was something in his tone, a warmth and familiarity that made my chest tighten with an emotion I couldn't quite name. Jealousy? Longing?

"You obviously knew her very well," I ventured.

Sawyer's hand stilled on the chair. "I thought I did," he said quietly.

I stepped closer, drawn by the vulnerability in his voice. "Sawyer, what aren't you telling me about Rose?"

He turned to face me, and I was struck by the intensity in his eyes. "Josephine, I—"

Whatever he was about to say was lost as his gaze dropped to my lips. The air between us seemed to crackle with electricity. Before I could think better of it, I closed the distance between us.

Our lips met, and for a moment, the world fell away. Sawyer's arms encircled me, pulling me close, and I melted into his embrace. He tasted of coffee and something distinctly him, a flavor I wanted to memorize.

But just as quickly as it began, it was over. Sawyer pulled back, his eyes wide with what looked like panic.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse. "I can't... we can't..."

"Sawyer, wait—" I reached for him, but he was already backing away.

"This was a mistake," he muttered. "I shouldn't have come."

And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him with a finality that left me reeling.

I stood there in Rose's workshop, my lips still tingling from our kiss, feeling more confused than ever. What had just happened? One moment Sawyer was opening up to me, and the next he was running away.

My gaze fell on the rocking chair, its half-restored state suddenly feeling like a metaphor for my relationship with Sawyer—a work in progress, beautiful but incomplete, with so much left unfinished.

Had Rose felt the same way about Sawyer?

I sank into the smooth wood of the chair. The workshop, which had felt so comforting just moments ago, now seemed to close in around me, filled with the ghosts of unspoken secrets and unfulfilled potential.