The desert night settles like a hush over the land, the kind of silence that wraps around your shoulders like a worn flannel. Above you, stars stretch wide, littering the sky with pinpricks of light, and the chill in the air is cut by the warmth of the blanket Rosie insisted everyone share.

She's nestled between you and Colt on the back of the old flatbed truck, her tiny hand clutching a half-eaten granola bar and her eyes squinting hard at the sky.

"Comets’re supposed to be fast," she mumbles, blinking up at the stars, disappointed. "Like zoom!" She waves her hand dramatically. Colt chuckles under his breath.

“They are,” he says, tipping his black-brimmed hat back. “You just gotta be patient, darlin’. Sometimes the best things take their time.”

She makes a face but doesn't argue, already beginning to nod off, her head leaning against your arm. Colt reaches over gently, brushing a bit of windblown hair from her forehead, his touch careful, practiced. She settles with a sigh, and he shifts closer without a word, the edge of his jacket brushing against your side.

The quiet stretches between you, not awkward, just full. Full of things that haven’t been said.

His voice breaks it eventually—low, rough, thoughtful.

“She asked me if you were gonna stay.”

You turn to look at him. He doesn’t meet your gaze. Just stares up at the stars, thumb tapping silently against the calloused skin of his palm.

“Said she liked how you make your eggs. Said you laugh real nice. Said she wouldn’t mind if you were here more.” He breathes out, slow. “And I didn’t know what to say.”

There’s a pause. The wind shifts the dry grass below. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote yips at the moon, but here, it’s just the three of you and the cosmos.

“I ain’t been good at lettin’ people in,” he admits, quieter this time. “Not since things fell apart. Not since her mama left.”

He finally looks at you then—blue eyes catching starlight, and something else, something soft and aching behind them.

“But I keep thinkin’… maybe it ain’t just Rosie that wants you to stay.”

His fingers flex slightly on the edge of the truck bed, as if he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he’s allowed.

“I don’t know what this is, not exactly,” he says. “But I know when I see you with her, I don’t feel so scared. And when I hear your voice in the kitchen, it don’t sound so damn lonely.”

Rosie shifts in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible, and he watches her for a beat, gentling again.

“I don’t need a promise,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. “Just… maybe let me hope for a while. If that’s alright.”

The stars keep falling, even if you don’t see them. And Colt, for once, doesn’t flinch when the silence returns. He just stays there beside you, shoulders warm, jaw tight, heart finally starting to speak.

And for the first time, he doesn’t pull away.