Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Meadow

I head to the gallery, excitement bubbling in my chest over the progress I plan to make today. With a couple of hours before I'm supposed to meet Raffa for coffee, I decide to get some painting done. Time flies, but I keep an eye on the clock, not wanting to be late. With about fifteen minutes to spare, I clean out the brushes, tidying up quickly.

I make it to the coffee shop a few minutes early and spot Raffa sitting at a table, two coffees in hand, and a scowl on his face. Great. Is this his default morning look? He's even broodier than usual.

"Good morning," I say brightly, hoping to coax a smile out of him.

"Morning," he grunts, handing me one of the coffees without looking up.

We walk in silence toward the festival grounds, the weight of his mood making the air feel heavier. I glance at him, wondering what's got him in this funk, and whether I'll be able to snap him out of it.

"Hey, are you okay?" I ask softly, trying to sound gentle.

"Yeah, sure. I'm just peachy. Couldn't be any better," he snaps, sarcasm practically dripping off the words.

My eyes narrow at his tone, my patience fraying. I don't know what's crawled up his ass, but he doesn't have to act like this when I'm just trying to be decent. Is this how he treats his family and friends? Why the hell do they put up with it?

"You don't have to be such an asshole, you know," I shoot back, keeping my voice steady. "I can tell something's bothering you, and I was just trying to show some concern. If you don't want to talk about it, just say that."

For a second, I see a flash of regret cross his face. By the time we reach our station, he mumbles, "Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind, that's all."

We walk in silence for a while. I don't push him, but the tension sits between us, heavy and unspoken. After a while, I decide to try again, something inside me urging me not to give up on this. Even though part of me wants to stay quiet, the other part of me knows that sometimes, people just need a nudge.

"So, are you going to tell me what's got your boxers in a bunch this morning?" I tease, hoping a little humor might soften him up.

A lopsided grin tugs at his mouth, but it's fleeting. I can see the war going on inside him, the internal struggle over whether to open up to me or not. I hope he does, but I won't blame him if he doesn't. I get it. Opening up isn't easy—hell, I'm still learning how to do it myself.

After Bryce the Ass—okay, I need to focus on just one nickname, but his name is too perfect for rhyming. Bastard, ass, Bryce the . . . okay I should stop, the point is that after thinking he was the love of my life only to find out how wrong I was . . . It shattered me. My entire world crumbled when I found out about his betrayal, and it's taken everything in me to even begin piecing myself back together. I'm still not sure I'm all the way there. Probably I am, but now I'm at that point where I use him as an excuse not to fall in love again. Losing someone you love hurts a lot and I'm not one who likes to take pain.

Some days I'm fine. Then, there are those days—the ones where I barely hold it together, the ones when I think about him, and all the things I thought we had. And then there are the days when he tries to reach out, and it sends me spiraling all over again. Thankfully, it's been quiet lately. I can only hope it stays that way.

Raffa clears his throat, pulling me back to the present. "I'm worried about the future. About the firm," he says, his voice low and heavy. "Thinking about my job just adds to my stress, and I know it's messing with my health. I had a mild heart attack, and I'm scared shitless that if I don't do something, I'll have a much bigger one. But . . . I don't know what's going to happen when I go back to Boston. How am I supposed to handle everything?"

I stay quiet, letting him talk, sensing this is something he needs to get off his chest.

"I know I have to work through this with my therapist," he continues, sounding strained, "and I'm trying, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like . . . I'm just going to die alone."

His words hit me harder than I expected. There's a raw vulnerability in what he's saying, and it makes my heart ache. He's scared—scared of the future, scared of what his health might do, scared of being alone. And I get it. God, do I get it. Because in a lot of ways, I'm scared of the same things.

I want to reach out, to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything's going to be okay, but I hold back. We don't know each other well enough for that, and I don't want to make things weird. Actually weirder than I made them the day I told him he can have sex. It took time, weeks to recover from that.

Still, something about him pulls at me. There's an attraction I can't ignore, no matter how much I try to push it away. It's been there since the first day I saw him, simmering under the surface, and every day it gets harder to deny.

"I'm sorry you're going through all this, Raffa," I say softly. "It's good you came here for a break, even if you're getting roped into festival duties. You'll get more rest here than in the city, it sounds like." I glance around, taking in the quiet, peaceful vibe of the town as we walk together. There's something comforting about Kentbury, the way life moves slower, more gently. "I know it seems like I'm always busy with a million things, but living here taught me there's more to life than just work. No one carries the weight alone here. Kentbury's like a family—everyone looks out for each other."

"I can see that," he says, his voice softening a little. "Every time I walk around town, it feels . . . different. Nice, even. I'm trying not to get too attached because I know I'm not staying. I'll have to go back to the city eventually."

We fall into an easy rhythm as we walk, the small talk fading into a comfortable silence. Harris Orchard stretches out in front of us, its wide-open fields and rows of trees quietly welcoming. It's all connected to the town's history—Bishop Harris own this land, and his family goes back generations here. It feels like everything in Kentbury ties together somehow.

I steal a glance at Raffa. I can tell something's on his mind, something he's trying to sort out. Maybe it's this place—it offers a kind of calm he's probably not used to. Or maybe it's the fact that he knows this isn't permanent. That he'll have to leave eventually, and he's not sure how to deal with it.