SLOANE

“Ms. Hart” the front desk attendant starts shouting loudly towards me the moment I step from the elevator- I try to picture anyone else in this building as Ms. Hart and not me, not the full fledged professional that was reduced to dust up there. “Ms. Hart” she continues, following me and making a scene- restaurant goers stop consuming their salads and drinks like I’m a criminal at this point- watching and waiting.

I spin on my heels and turn and face the young girl- looking at her she’s maybe sixteen. Blonde, young, the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in real life- and she looks scared “Yes?” I say to her breathlessly trying to make it look like I just didn’t see or hear a hotel employee. “Ms. Hart,” she says again, so worried “I didn’t want to upset you But Mr. Whitmere wanted me to remind you that you are a special VIP guest and your quarters are located on floor eleven with the rest of the special guests and family.” As she relays the end of her message she tugs at her blonde braid hanging over one shoulder “I’m really sorry about this ma’am” she stumbles- “I know you seem really ready to leave- but I really need this job. My family depends on it. Please don’t let Mr. Whitmere or his colleagues find out I sleep on the job” she said with her eyes downcast, still fidgeting with her hair. “Fine.” I say briskly but not without the fakest elegant smile I can obtain- I read her nametag briefly. “Maya” I say sweetly- “I forgot in the haste of wrapping up my meeting, that I was not to stay in the rental I was provided by my company for the next foreseeable future. Please forgive me” I concluded with a smile. What a nightmare. Maya breathed out a sigh of relief and took me by the arm- “of course Ms. Hart, business meetings are tough- let me whisk you up to your room and then I’ll arrange for that forgotten luggage that must be at that location” she said with the largest smile I’ve ever seen as she trugs me back to that damned elevator.

“Ma’am thank you so much” Maya says as the elevator closes- “you don’t know how much I need this job, thank you again” she says with a genuine smile. Not surprised I think in my head. This family loves power. They crave owning people smaller than them. As the elevator opens back to the floor I just left- I really take it in this time without Rhett clouding my brain. It’s much different than the lobby. The colors are rich and warm. They feel like home. Not stark, contrasting colors dripped in elegance, like the lobby that conveys status and wealth and all things perfect and powerful- here it’s like an actual home. Rich wood and jewel tones surround me. Curated arts- for pleasure, not status. Maya says “all the paintings in this wing were custom painted for Mr Whitmere by his late sister in law, Candice Whitmere. Unfortunately she passed away, but all of these beautiful paintings exist because of her.” Wow. I think to myself. I know family means more to the Whitmeres than anything, so did she. Green plants in various pots, small trinkets on shelves and tables that resemble real life. Maya's voice plays in my head but all I hear are snippets as I take in the beauty around me “special guests, important guests, friends of the family” I’m definitely none of these I smirk. Then she continues “to the west are all the family offices and suites. To the east is Mr. Whitmere's office and his private rooms. Mr. Whitmere’s rooms all use one key card. He requested you have one upon check-in to your room.” She states as I follow her- “ah, ha we have arrived at your room Ms Hart.” She says with a smile. I’m wary looking at the door. A placard to the right of the door reads The Magnolia Room. It has a fully adorned magnolia carved door, covered with raindrops as far as I can see- and conveniently located right across from Rhett’s office I was in earlier. I smile- “Thank you Maya for your hospitality” as I reluctantly take the key card to my room. And his.

I swipe my card, throw my briefcase and purse into the room without even glancing around or turning on the lights and head straight back towards the elevator. The lobby bar is easy to find. It’s located straight across from the lobby bar. It doesn’t mirror the marble front desk- instead it’s dark walnut like the trim in the lobby. Crystal lighted shelves line the wall behind it displaying every kind of liquor you could imagine. The bar is lined with green velvet stools, that are littered with people.

I slide into a stool and give the bartender a nod. Then I hear it sliding through the air, soft but it feels like it’s stabbing me with a knife.

“That’s her.”

“Rhett’s girl.”

“After what her father did…”

“Bold coming back.”

“Guess she thinks money erases everything.”

I don’t order anything. I slide from the velvet seat. Headed to the elevator and me are my thoughts.

I have to go find him, even if it is a mistake.

RHETT

The hotel is quiet in the way only expensive places get after midnight. It’s often my solitude. Nothing but me, my thoughts and my whiskey.

There’s no noise. No chaos. Just soft lighting, polished floors, and the hum of something always running beneath the surface- love, loss, money, power, and expectation.

I pour two fingers of my most expensive whiskey and lean against the bar in my office, staring out at the dark stretch of countryside beyond the windows. To some this would be the most beautiful place on earth. Stars as far as the eyes can see- green grass and landscape even further. But to me it’s a prison. A place I’ve made for two people but only one of us is here. Until tonight.

I know she’s still here. I feel it. I had tried to make sure of it. I even convinced the poor blonde girl at the front desk to make sure she remained- no matter what. A handsome bonus included. She seemed frightened- but determined at that challenge and wanted to make me happy. Who wouldn’t want to? I own the place.

I’ve known since Sloane walked out of my office earlier- well when I dismissed her; and my chest didn’t stop tightening like I’d done something wrong just by letting her leave again. I should have forced her to stay. I should have begged if that’s what it took. I should have made the meeting last- for God's sakes. I’m paying her firm over seven figures at minimum for this remodel. Im lost in my thoughts about her- swirling my whiskey in the thick crystal Glass, when The knock comes soft. I almost think I imagined it- but here it comes again

Soft. Measured. Like she’s giving me a chance to say no. “Come in Sloane ,” I said huskily.

Sloane steps inside cautiously, she’s barefoot now. Her hair is looser, makeup gone, she looks like she stepped out of the shower then just dressed ready to see me- her silk dress traded for something softer- a cashmere sweater, black leggings better than any designer dress could look on her body. She looks less armored like this. More dangerous. More calculating.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says timidly, looking at me through her lashes. I nod once. Understanding. “Whiskey?” She hesitates, a look on her face of turmoil “Neat.” She replies.

I turn to my bar and grab another crystal glass before filling it. When exactly did Sloane move from fuzzy navel wine coolers? When did she become a woman, who asks for whiskey? When the drink is acceptable I turn and head towards her and clear the space between us to hand her the glass. Our fingers brush. Our touch is Electric. Immediate. Unforgiving. She takes a sip and winces. I smile despite myself. “You never liked it,” I say. She hesitates for a momenta “I liked the idea of liking it. It’s for people like us - it’s status. You don’t see billionaires like you drinking vodka sodas- it’s all things powerful. Expensive whisky and scotch. Brandy too. And of course every fine wine.” She says quickly. Nervously. I then watch her swallow, her throat moving slowly, deliberately, and have to look away before memory knocks me flat. I retreat to the bar- my safe place.

She moves closer, leaning against the bar straight across from me. “This beautiful place,” she says quietly. “You built all of this. It’s marvelous- I’m speechless.” She says as she sips her whiskey.

“Yeah.” I affirm.

“I always knew you would.” She sighs, holding the cup to her perfect lips. There’s something fragile in that- admiration edged with regret. “I built it because I didn’t know what else to do with the anger,” I say. Her gaze lifts to mine. I feel like she really sees me in this moment. Her Green eyes soften and glisten in the shadows “I never meant to hurt you, Rhett.”

“I know,” I say, even though that truth took years to settle. A decade even- and is it settled? Because it feels fresh. “It doesn’t mean it didn’t.” I reply.

Silence stretches between us, thick and charged. The room feels like it will implode at any second. Sloane sets her glass down on the marble bar top, hands folding together like she’s steadying herself.

“Why does it still feel like this?” she asks, looking straight through me . “Like no time passed at all Rhett?” I step closer before I can stop myself. Close enough that her breath warms my chest and my neck. “Because some things don’t fade,” I growl. “They wait.” Her eyes flick to my mouth.

Then back to my eyes. “If we cross this line,” she whispers, “there’s no pretending afterward.” “I’m done pretending,” I say.

Her breath stutters. Mine does too. For a moment- just one singular moment I think she’s going to close the distance. She’s going to give us both our last ten years back.

Instead, she presses her palm flat against my chest. Right over my heart. Her hand is firm; pushing ever so slightly. The contact is simple.

It’s devastating.

“I came here for a business deal, Rhett.” She says softly, “but aside from that, if.. even if I stay this time… even if I’m a crazy person and want to come back, I need to know I’m not doing it alone.” I cover her hand with mine, holding it there, feeling the truth in my bones. “You never were.” I replied more sure than anything I’ve ever felt. She exhales, long and shaky, and steps back; breaking the moment, but not the connection.

“Goodnight, Rhett.”

“Goodnight, Sloane.”

She turns and leaves my office, and the room feels emptier than it did before she walked in. But for the first time in ten years.. I don’t feel hopeless.

I feel like something has finally started.

SLOANE

The storm comes in fast, like it always does here.

One minute the sky is heavy and bruised, then the moon and stars shining through regardless.

And in the next, the rain is slamming against the hotel windows like it has something to say. Thunder rolls low and close, rattling the glass and my nerves right along with it.

I stand on the balcony outside my room, arms wrapped around myself, watching the town blur beneath the downpour. Thank God Rhett and whoever built this place remembered Oklahoma is full of side winding rain. I remind myself- I should’ve gone to bed.

I should’ve taken the moment in Rhett’s office for what it was- closure of some sort. adjacent to any feelings, an actual business deal, dangerous, unfinished- and walked away.

Instead, my hand still tingles where his hand covered mine. I’m longing for something I can never have again while watching a raging storm. But then, a knock sounds behind me. I freeze.

It’s late. Past midnight. And there is only one person in this building who would knock like that- once. firm, calculated, restrained, like he’s holding himself back with his knuckles. I don’t move right away. I can’t dare look like I was here waiting. The knock comes again, more persistently this time. I sigh and move inside the penthouse. I open the door.

Rhett stands there in a dark Henley, sleeves pushed up, blue jeans covered in rain splatter, his hair damp like he didn’t bother with an umbrella when he went outside. Rain clings to him, the scent of wet earth and whiskey following him into the room. He stands in the entry way- as the door clicks shut behind him. I hurry into the beautiful marble bathroom and grab a fluffy white towel for him. Before turning back I check my appearance quickly. Perfect, I look like a mess. I internally groan and rush back.

As I hand him the towel our fingers brush. There it is again, that electric charge. I rip my hand back and put my arms at my side. “This is a bad idea,” I say immediately. “I know,” he replies. Dabbing at his shirt and pants with the towel before drying his hair. I try to look away, but I just can’t make myself. “Sloane, I needed to see you.” Thunder cracks overhead, sharp and close. I jump at the tension of him being here and the loud sounds. “I guess it doesn’t storm in California like this?” He smirks. “Nothing is like Oklahoma.” I reply.

Neither of us speaks for a moment after that. We just stare at each other, calculating. The massive room feels smaller with him in it- charged, it’s almost humming like it’s alive. Like it remembers what we used to be even if we pretend we don’t.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he starts. “Me neither.” I reply. “I went for a walk down to the pond, to clear my head- but before I could make it the storm rolled in.. drawing me back to you.” His eyes lock into mind like there’s a magnet in them. A force anchoring me to him where I can’t move. There it is, again. I know we both feel it- The truth mixed with the past, hanging between us, bare and aching.

“I kept thinking about what you asked me,” he says softly. His deep voice is lower than normal- “About staying. About not doing it alone.”

Rhett takes a step closer to where I’m standing. Then another. He stops just short of touching me, like he’s afraid one wrong move will shatter something fragile. “I didn’t come here to push,” he says. “I came here to be honest. About you, about me, about us.”

My throat tightens. Tears prick the back of my eyes. I refuse to cry. Not here, not now. “Then be honest. Rhett” His jaw flexes as he reaches for me, but drops his hands down and continues “I loved you when we were kids,” he says. “I loved you when you left. And I loved you every damn year you were gone. I tried to build something strong enough to bury that, but it never worked.”

My eyes burn. The tears threaten to fall no matter what I do. “I thought leaving would save us,” I whisper softly. “Save you especially Rhett. I thought if I stayed, I’d drown- and take you with me.”

He lifts his hand again, hesitates, then cups my cheek. Slowly. Warm. Solid. Real. “I would’ve drowned with you, any day Sloane Hart.” he says quietly. “If it meant you didn’t go alone. If you had trusted me more- hell loved me more, confided in me more, I could have helped you.”

The words break something open in me. The tears are uncontrollable now. I move forward, throwing myself into him- my hands fisting in his shirt, pressing my forehead to his chest as the storm rages outside the hotel, and inside my ribs. I’m wracked with sobs- the front of his shirt wet with my tears initially.

“I was so scared,” I say. “Of wanting too much. Of needing you.” I swallow, “my life, my responsibilities- those weren’t yours to bear.” I conclude- “I had to figure it out. Figure me out. Make something of myself.”

His arms come around me then- slow and sure, devastating. He holds me like he’s been waiting a decade to do it right. He tightens his grip around me. “You can need me,” he murmurs into my hair. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

I tilt my face up to look at him. Our mouths are now inches apart. His breath fans across my lips, and the tension is unbearable now. No longer is he a distant memory I can’t shake. But he’s here in the flesh. Holding me. Conforming to me. His eyes are begging to kiss me- and I don’t want him not to.

“Rhett…” I whisper. Eyes still spilling tears- my voice hoarse from crying. He closes his eyes, just for a second. When he opens them, they’re dark with feeling. Like a storm is raging in them.

“Tell me to stop.” He whispers. His eyes searching mine. I don’t.

The kiss is soft at first tender, reverent, it’s like he’s afraid to rush something sacred. His lips linger on mine like he’s trying to remember everything about them- every kiss we’ve ever had feels back in this moment. He presses forward a bit harder and I can feel his tongue reach out and touch the seam of my lips. He pulls back just enough to make my breath catch before returning his lips to mine; deepening the kiss. Our tongues clash wildly this time- needing each other.

My hands slide up his chest to his shoulders. God, he feels great. Better than nineteen year old Rhett did to nineteen year old me. His arms and shoulders are massive and strong- those of a man who works his ass off. His grip tightens at my waist, pulling me closer to him. He presses our bodies together, I can feel the length of him in his damp clothes. His grip moves to my hips. It’s raw, it’s possessive without being overwhelming. It can’t be overwhelming when it feels so perfect.

The thunder booms again, loud enough to shake the walls. Loud enough to make me flinch. At that moment Rhett breaks the kiss. He rests his forehead against mine, breathing heavily. He spends a moment trying to steady his breath before he speaks.

“If we keep going,” he says, voice rough, “this changes everything.” I fixate my eyes on him “I know,” I whisper back as I press the length of my body back into him.

He kisses my brow. My temple. My cheek. The corner of my mouth- he even moves down to my neck. He kisses me everywhere but where I want him most, like he’s proving a point. Then he steps back. Just one step.

“We’re not finishing this tonight,” he says. His eyes telling me a different story, but his face is firm. “Because when I take you back into my bed, it won’t be temporary. And I won’t survive losing you again.” My heart pounds, torn between frustration and something dangerously close to hope.

“Goodnight, Sloane,” he says as he turns to walk away from me.

“Goodnight, Rhett. ” I manage.

He leaves, the door closing softly behind him with a click as both storms begin to fade- the one in this room and the one outside. I head to the bed in the center of the room, warily. I sink onto the edge of the bed, lips still tingling and swollen from kisses, my heart wide open. I finger the intricate pattern on the fluffy silk duvet cover. It’s a beautiful burgundy color- and stitched all the way around, magnolias. I know from every detail in every part of this hotel- Rhett has waited ten years for me, and me alone.

As I drift off on top of the beautiful bed- barely able to keep my eyes open with exhaustion from the day of travel, the turmoil of being here with him. Kissing him. To realizing I may have ruined everything forever. I think to myself- this is either the moment before everything breaks. Or, if I can trust myself and face my fears, maybe just maybe, it finally comes back together. The world fades away as I fall asleep.

But in my dreams- My father used to make grilled cheese at midnight like it was a ritual.

Not because we were hungry- but because he liked pretending the world slowed down when everyone else went to sleep.

He’s standing at the stove in his bare feet, humming softly to some old country song, flipping sandwiches in the cast iron pan. The house smells like butter and bread and the kind of safety you don’t realize is temporary until it’s gone.

“You’re still up,” he says without turning around.

“So are you.”

He smiles at that. The corner-of-his-mouth kind. The one he only uses when he’s tired.

I sit at the counter, legs swinging, watching him like I always have. He’s still wearing his suit from work, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up.

“You’ve been quiet all night,” I say.

He pauses- just a fraction of a second. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

“Long day,” he replies.

I study him. He looks thinner. Tighter. Like something is wound too far inside him.

“You know,” I say slowly, “Rhett asked me to go to the lake tomorrow.”

He finally turns around.

And his face softens in a way that makes my chest ache.

“That boy still follows you like you hung the moon.”

“He’s… different lately,” I admit. “More serious.”

My father slides the grilled cheese onto a plate and brings it to me, cutting it diagonally like he always does.

“People get serious when they start planning futures,” he says.

I hesitate.

“Is that… a good thing?”

He leans against the counter across from me.

His eyes hold mine.

“Only if you’re brave enough to let someone see the parts of you that can break.”

I frown. “That doesn’t sound comforting.”

He smiles sadly.

“It’s the only kind of love that lasts.”

There’s something in his voice. Something unsteady.

“Dad?” I whisper.

He reaches out and squeezes my hand.

“I want you to have more than I did,” he says. “More freedom. More truth. More choices.”

I laugh lightly. “You make it sound like you’re giving me a speech.”

He looks at me for a long time.

Longer than usual.

“Sloane… if anything ever gets messy around here- ”

“Nothing’s messy,” I interrupt quickly. “You’re the most honest person I know.”

His hand tightens around mine.

And for just a moment- just one- his eyes look afraid.

Then he smiles again.

The same smile I’ve trusted my whole life.

“You’re right,” he says. “I just worry about you.”

I lean forward and hug him.

And he holds me like he’s memorizing the shape of my back.

The next morning, police cars fill our driveway.

SLOANE

By morning, everyone knows. They don’t know what happened. They just know something did.

That’s how towns like this work. They don’t need facts- just proximity and history and the way people look at you a second too long.

I feel it the moment I step off of the private elevator walking towards the hotel café.

“Good morning Ms. Hart.” Maya the hotel clerk from last night calls cheerily- does she live here? I think to myself as I give a polite wave and smile back.

As I enter the Cobblestone cafè, I notice it all. The pause in conversation. The flicker of curiosity. The barista’s smile that’s a little too knowing. What I noticed further was every detail that I had in a dream as a kid- one a poor girl from the wrong side of this town, with a criminal father and a mother that ran away could have never accomplished.

I look at the dining area with its cozy booths. On the perimeter- Smaller ones lead to large circular ones in each corner flanking the room. The center of the room is filled with wooden tables and chairs of all sizes. Every table setting has beautiful flowers and candles lit. The room is painted a light tan color with bookshelves occupying most of the area on each of the walls.

Off to the right side of the room is the coffee counter, one that is covered in cobblestone- it looks straight out of a fantasy movie. The sleek, expensive, and industrial coffee machines are a stark difference between the soft warm stones with the wood detail all around. The pastry cases are beautiful- made of mahogany and filled with any pastry you could imagine. Flaky croissants, every flavor of Muffin imaginable, fruit danishes, biscuits, fresh baked breads, donuts, pies and tarts and even cakes and cupcakes. Behind the check out counter you can see the serving window into a sleek, gourmet kitchen. Where plates piled high with bacon, eggs, omelettes and pancakes are being grabbed by servers and whisked to the tables.

I approach the counter and begin thinking of what to order. “Good morning,” the young woman working says brightly. “Mr. Whitmere was in early today.” Of course he was. I think as I scan the chalkboard menu of today’s specials

“Was he?” I reply lightly, even though my stomach tightens. “Mmhmm. Storm had him up half the night.”

I nod, pretending to be more interested in the pastry case instead of the implication hanging between us. “I’ll take an iced coffee- with brown sugar, oat milk and cream. I will also have one of the carrot cake muffins to go, please” I smile as a reply- I’m not getting into a discussion with a barista on why everyone in town already thinks I kept Rhett up all night.

“Thank you, Ms. Hart” she replies sweetly “coming right up” I grab my billfold to pull out my credit card and panic flashes in her eyes- “oh no Ms. Hart, Mr. Whitmere has said anything you want is on him, not to let you purchase anything on the grounds.” I pause for a second before I reply “of course he did, it must have slipped my mind after traveling yesterday that my firm negotiated that in my contract, as long as I’m here for the expansion.” And not because I’m sleeping with your boss after night one. She smiles sweetly at me. “Of course ma’am. I’ll get to work on that” she says as she rushes away from the counter. Why not add to the rumors Rhett? I think as I cross the dining hall to a place that I had seen earlier but wanted to take in, in person. A large fireplace was on the wall across the room from the kitchen and pastry counter. In front of it, a rich rug with green wingback chairs. On either side of the fireplace in alcoves- more books. Board games to be shared by families after Sunday breakfast. And on the wooden mantle- a little gold frame with a drawing of that exact fireplace, by fourteen year old me. I hold my breath until I feel someone tap at my shoulder. “Ms. Hart-“ a young male server smiles “your to go order. Please enjoy” I take it with a smile and turn to leave the cafè. I need fresh air.

By the time I carry my coffee and huge carrot cake muffin across the lobby and outside, down the path through the front lawn- back into town my phone is already buzzing.

Unknown Number:

Welcome back to town, Sloane.

I stare at the screen, pulse ticking up. Now who the hell is this?

Another message follows.

Saw you at the hotel last night. Hope you’re staying a while.

I lock the phone and toss it into my bag, whoever this is- I’m not dealing with it today. I need to find somewhere quiet and secluded. But, suddenly aware of every set of eyes on me as I cross the square. I should have worn a wig. And where are those damn sunglasses?

This is what I forgot. Not the buildings.

Not the memories. I forgot the way a small town never lets you be just you. It never lets you move on.

I make it through the hotel parking lot, and halfway down the block before I hear his deep voice.

“Sloane.”

I stop dead in my tracks.

Rhett is standing outside the hardware store, charcoal grey suit pants, and a black shirt this time- with black cowboy boots, not the brown ones from yesterday. His sleeves are rolled up, phone pressed to his ear mid conversation. He ends the call quickly, dropping his phone into his pocket. His gaze sweeping over me- eyeing my fitted black dress and sensible pumps, not stilettos today. He’s checking me, assessing me. like he’s making sure I’m still here. That I didn’t get right in my car and flee Oklahoma last night.. again.

“I was going to find you,” he says. “I figured,” I reply. “Your town found me first.” He pauses before speaking- “this is your town too, Sloane”

His mouth tightens.

“People talk. I’m sorry”

“They always did.” I reply- “But unlike you, my family doesn’t own this town. My family is definitely not who the county is named after. I'm nobody, I’m only somebody when it comes to my history with you.”

We stand there, the space between us suddenly public, exposed. Last night feels dangerously close and impossibly far away all at once.

“I shouldn’t have come to your room,” he says quietly. The words sting more than they should have. Does he regret it already? Does he want this or to just bury the past? His expression is unreadable, and when I think about it I feel like he doesn’t want this- want us back. But that thought is fleeting really when clearly I slept in a fantasy land, modeled after and fueled by teenage lust last night.

“I came to your office first, remember?” “I know you did.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “But now they’re watching. And when they watch, they assume.”

“And when they assume,” I say, “they judge.”

His eyes meet mine, sharp with frustration. “They don’t get to decide this.” His voice is rougher as he continues. “They already think they have, you should have seen your whole restaurant staff this morning.” I reply quietly. I turned my eyes to l both of our black shoes on the sidewalk. “That’s the problem here. One thing like a visit- between business partners, I might add. Whether it’s in a hotel room or an office- Then a free breakfast this morning. We are practically engaged.”

A pretty brunette woman walks by and waves at him. He nods back automatically, but his attention never leaves me.

“I’m not ashamed of you, of us. Of our past- even your family” he says. “That’s not what I’m afraid of.” I lift my head to meet his gaze as I step closer, lowering my voice.

“I’m afraid that this- us turns into something the town consumes. That before we even decide what we are, we’re already a story they’re telling without us.”

His expression softens. He looks like it hurts when he processes that statement. “You think I don’t know that?” he says. “I’ve lived here my whole life. You lived here your whole life until you ran away- I know what they do to things that matter to other people.”

“Then why didn’t you think about that last night?” I ask. The question lands harder than I meant it to. His jaw locks. He stares at me, brown eyes unwavering. “Because I was thinking about you,” he says simply. “And I’m not good at halfway when it comes to you. Never was.”

Silence stretches. People pass by. The world keeps moving. I take a deep breath before I start again.

“We need boundaries, Rhett.” I say. “At least for now.” His eyes darken- not with anger, but with disappointment and hurt he doesn’t bother hiding. “Strictly a professional relationship only?” he asks his question which sounds more like a statement to me. “Publicly,” I add to his statement- slash question. “Privately… we slow down.” He studies me for a long moment, like he’s trying to decide if slowing down is safer- or if it’s more dangerous. “Fine,” he says finally. “But don’t confuse distance with disinterest.” “I won’t,” I promise, giving him the best smile I could. He nods once, looks me over again then steps back, putting space between us like it costs him something. “I’ve gotta go Sloane- emergency repair at the hotel I need to complete before the board sees you at eleven.” “I wouldn’t miss it.” I reply. As he turns and walks away, I feel it again- that pull, that gravity that makes me want to follow him.

I step into Velour and Vine instead of chasing him. This was always a favorite place of mine in Whitmere county. It’s owned by Rhett’s mother- Elizabeth Whitmere. Once, when I was about 14 she told me that she built the store for herself to avoid her corporate family. No boardrooms, no investors, no meetings, no drama. I would often stop by after the downfall of my family, it was a safe space. When I step in, the bell rings above the door alerting everyone I was there. There’s a girl wrapping purchases in tissue paper at the counter- my favorite spot in the boutique. It’s a long, natural wood counter with vines running through the entire front, all illuminated by a LED sign of the logo.

Women are scattered about looking at items from clothing, to scented candles and bath products, to home decor, and made in Oklahoma turquoise jewelry. There are a few ladies in the corner arranged at tables that house the refreshment area sipping from dainty white teacups with green vines, others sipping mimosas from tall champagne glasses. “Thats her,” a tall blonde woman sitting with a shorter blonde woman whispers, and not under her breath. “The one from the scandal. I hear she’s already saying with Rhett.” They both smile “of course she is, where else would she land?”

My throat tightens as I turn around and head for the door. I’ll catch Elizabeth later.

The town may think it knows our story. They may think they know why I’m back here, why I even agreed to this job. But what scares me most? They might be right about one thing. Some loves were never meant to be quiet. Some people were never meant to be separated.