Asher didn’t smile.

Didn’t crack a joke.

Didn’t even shift his weight the way he usually did when the silence stretched too long for comfort.

He just stood there, hands still shoved deep in his jacket pockets, watching her the way you look at something wild you’re afraid to startle.

The kind of thing you didn’t chase.
The kind of thing you let come to you—if it ever decided to.

When she said it—Maybe you do—he felt the words catch low in his chest, heavy in a way he didn’t expect.

Not like pressure.

Not like a warning.

More like… a chance.

He blew out a slow breath through his nose, tilting his head a little, studying her with that same steady, unhurried way he had since the moment she dared him not to run.

“I know enough,” he said, voice low and even.

No bravado.
No performance.

Just simple truth.

He shifted slightly, boots creaking against the old floorboards, but he didn’t move closer. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t risk crowding the space she hadn’t invited him into yet.

Instead, he let his words do the work—quiet, weightless, easy.

“Enough to know you don’t hand that trust out cheap.”

A faint twitch tugged at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk.
Something quieter.
Something closer to real.

“And enough to know I’m not stupid enough to waste it.”

He said it light, like it didn’t cost him anything.

But it did.

Because if she stayed—
if she stayed—
it wouldn’t be because he chased her.

It would be because she chose to.

And God help him, that mattered more than anything else ever had.

He shifted again, easy, casual, nodding toward the door with a lazy tilt of his head.

“Come on, menace,” he said, letting a dry, teasing note slip into his voice like a thread of normalcy between all the heavy things unsaid. “Let’s get out of here before that lady behind the counter calls the cops.”

Another half-beat.

Another space wide open.

He bumped her elbow lightly with his own—just once, barely enough to feel—and started for the door without waiting.

No pressure.
No promises.

Just the choice.

Hers to make.

Always.

Josie didn’t move right away.

She stood there, weight sunk stubborn into her boots, arms crossed loosely like she could shield herself from the weird heat that crawled up her spine.

She watched him.

Watched the way he said it—Enough to know I’m not stupid enough to waste it—without even trying to dress it up.

No show.
No smile meant to pin her down.
No expectation tightening the space between them.

Just… that quiet, steady patience.

Like he was serious.
Like he actually meant to let her come to her own damn conclusions without forcing them out of her.

And it scared the shit out of her.

Josie rubbed a hand against the back of her neck, feeling the grit of old calluses drag across her skin.
Still didn’t move.

Because this?
This wasn't supposed to happen here.
In some overpriced little mountain store.
In a town she never planned to stay in long enough to remember the street names.

Her gaze flicked automatically to the front counter.

The cashier was still watching.
Not him.

Her.

Like if anyone was going to make trouble, it’d be the girl in the scuffed work boots and the frayed denim and the wild, reckless kind of silence that made people uneasy.

Not golden boy Asher Cole.

And wasn’t that the story everywhere she went?

Her jaw tightened slightly, that old anger prickling under her skin like a second heartbeat.
But she swallowed it down.
Let it burn itself out.

Because Asher wasn’t the problem.
Not this time.

Her fingers twitched against her thigh as her brain tossed her backward—days ago, to when she’d first worked on that big, clean Escalade he’d dropped off at the shop.
She remembered the keychain swinging from the ignition.

Harvard.

It hadn’t been hard to figure out.
Wasn’t like people in towns like Evergreen didn’t gossip like it was their second job.

He wasn’t staying either.

She should’ve remembered that sooner.

Should’ve let it make this easier.

But standing here, heart crawling against her ribs, watching him wait without pushing—
She didn't want it to be easy.

Not anymore.

She exhaled sharply through her nose and shoved off the shelf, boots thudding against the tired floorboards as she picked up her pace to catch him.

One step.
Two.

Then—before she could talk herself out of it—she swung her elbow out, catching him in the ribs with a light bump.

Nothing hard.

Just a hit that said I see you.

And because she wasn’t the kind of girl who let anyone win easy, she didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Just passed him with a smirk curling at the edge of her mouth, not bothering to look back.

Victory was victory.
Even by half a step.

He caught up easily, long strides closing the gap, and when they reached the door, he was the one to grab the handle and swing it open—like it wasn’t even a question. Like holding the door for her wasn’t some statement about who she was or who he was, just… manners.

Josie snorted under her breath as she brushed past him, tossing a glance over her shoulder.

“Look at that,” she drawled, dry and dangerous in the best way, “beauty and brains. You’re really setting the bar high for Harvard, Cole.”

She didn’t wait for a comeback.

Didn’t need one.

Because she already had the last word tucked neatly between her teeth—and for once, it didn’t taste like blood or regret.

It tasted like something almost electric.

Almost dangerous.

Almost good.

Josie shoved her hands into her pockets and strode down the sidewalk without a backward glance.
Her car—her baby—was parked crooked against the curb: a beat-up, stubbornly alive '74 Dodge Challenger, matte black with a few battle scars worn proud.

She yanked open the heavy door, tossed her bag into the passenger seat, and swung in like she’d done it a thousand times.

Which she had.

She cranked the engine.
The low growl of it rumbled through the street, thick and defiant and alive.

Josie shot a glance back toward the shop—caught him still standing there, one hand braced against the doorframe, watching her like she was something he hadn’t quite figured out yet but sure as hell wanted to.

She winked once—quick, sharp, unapologetic—
then peeled off down the street with a roar of engine and a flick of taillights.

Leaving him—and maybe a piece of herself—still standing there in the dust.