CHAPTER 62: HATTIE
The morning light crept in slow and soft, spilling across the floorboards and catching on the edge of the blanket tangled around us. For a few seconds, I didn’t move. I just lay there, listening to the quiet rhythm of Preston’s breathing beside me. It felt unreal—like I’d stepped into someone else’s life.
The air still smelled faintly of rain and coffee and him. My heart was steady now, but every time I looked at him, that calm threatened to break. He stirred, eyes blinking open, blue and clear even in the dim light. “Morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “Morning,” I whispered back. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, full of everything that had happened and everything that couldn’t be undone. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You okay?” I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if it was true. “Yeah. You?” He smiled faintly. “Better than I’ve been in a long time.” I wanted to believe him. I wanted to hold onto that warmth, that quiet certainty that had filled the night. But reality was already creeping back in, sharp and cold around the edges.
“What time’s your flight?” I asked. He sighed, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. “Couple of hours. I should probably get going soon.” The words hit harder than I expected. I sat up, pulling the blanket around me, watching as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and started gathering his things. His shirt lay crumpled on the floor, his jacket draped over the chair. He moved quietly, careful, like he didn’t want to break whatever fragile peace still lingered between us. When he turned back to me, his expression softened. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “I know this… complicates things.” I looked down at my hands. “Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He crossed the room, kneeling in front of me. “I don’t regret it, Hattie. Not one second.” My throat tightened. “You’ll go back to Chicago, and I’ll stay here. And then what?” He hesitated. “Then we figure it out.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You make it sound so simple.” “It’s not,” he said. “But I don’t want this to be the end.” I met his eyes, and for a moment, I let myself believe him. I let myself imagine what it would be like if things were different—if there weren’t so many lines between us, so many people who could get hurt. He stood, pulling on his jacket, and I followed him to the door. The morning air was cool, the sky pale and washed out. His truck sat at the end of the drive, dusted with dew. He turned to me, his hand brushing mine. “I’ll call you when I land.” “Okay,” I said softly. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“Take care of yourself, Hattie.” “You too.” He lingered for a second, like he wanted to say more, then stepped back and walked toward the truck. I watched him go, the gravel crunching under his boots, the sound fading as he climbed in and started the engine. When he drove away, the silence that followed was deafening. I stood there for a long time, arms wrapped around myself, watching the dust settle on the road. The house behind me felt too big, too quiet. Inside, the coffee pot gurgled to life, the smell filling the kitchen.
I poured a cup and sat at the table, staring out the window. Last night felt like a dream—one I wasn’t sure I should’ve had. I thought about Maisie, about the baby, about the way she’d smiled at me just days ago, trusting me completely. The guilt twisted in my chest, sharp and deep. But beneath it, there was something else. Something I couldn’t quite name. Hope. Fear. Longing. I took a sip of coffee, the warmth grounding me. He’d be gone soon, back to his life in Chicago. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe distance would make it easier to breathe again. But as I sat there, the morning sun creeping higher, I knew one thing for certain. Whatever had started between us wasn’t finished. Not yet.
The day after Preston left felt hollow. The house was too quiet, the air too still. I tried to fill the silence with noise—music, the TV, the hum of the washing machine—but nothing worked. Every sound just reminded me of the one I was missing. I kept checking my phone, even though I told myself I wouldn’t. Every buzz made my heart jump, every silence stretched too long.
By noon, I gave up pretending to work. My camera sat untouched on the counter, the memory card still full from the last shoot. I poured another cup of coffee and sat by the window, staring out at the empty driveway. He’d said he’d call when he landed. He hadn’t. I told myself it didn’t matter. That it was better this way. That what happened between us was a moment—one night that didn’t have to mean anything. But it did. It meant everything. When my phone finally buzzed, I nearly dropped it.
Preston: Landed. Been thinking about you
I stared at the message, my chest tightening. I typed back before I could stop myself.
I didn’t think you’d text
Preston: I told you I would. I meant it
I set the phone down, pressing my palms to my eyes. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. I didn’t know how to stop wanting something that couldn’t last. The rest of the day passed in a blur. I went through the motions—editing photos, answering emails, pretending everything was normal. But every thought circled back to him. That night, I sat on the porch with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, the stars sharp and bright above me. The air smelled like pine and rain. I could almost hear his voice in the quiet, the way he’d said my name like it meant something. My phone buzzed again.
Preston: Can I call you?
I hesitated, then typed back. Yeah
A moment later, his voice filled the night. “Hey.” “Hey,” I said softly. For a while, neither of us spoke. The silence between us wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, full of everything we couldn’t say out loud. “I didn’t want to leave,” he said finally. “I know.” “I keep thinking about you. About that night.” I closed my eyes, my heart aching. “You can’t keep saying things like that.” “I know,” he said quietly. “But I can’t help it.” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. He sighed. “I don’t know what this is, Hattie. I just know I don’t want it to end.” I swallowed hard. “It has to, Preston. It has to.” “Does it?” “Yes,” I said, though my voice shook. “You’re in Chicago. I’m here. And there’s Maisie. There’s too much between us.” He was quiet for a long time.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Least of all her. But I can’t pretend I don’t feel what I feel.” Tears stung my eyes. “You’re not the only one.” The line went quiet again, the sound of his breathing steady in my ear. “I’ll be back in a few weeks,” he said finally. “For another meeting. Maybe we could—” “Preston,” I interrupted, my voice breaking. “Don’t.” He exhaled slowly. “Okay.” We said goodbye, but neither of us hung up right away. When the call finally ended, I sat there for a long time, staring at the dark screen.
The stars blurred above me, the night pressing close. I knew this couldn’t last. I knew it would only end in heartbreak. But as I sat there, the echo of his voice still in my ears, I also knew something else. I wasn’t ready to let go.