You didn’t mean to end up in Montana.

At first, it was just supposed to be a break. Time to breathe. You told yourself it would only be for a week. Long enough to clear your head, shake the city off your skin. But then the quiet got to you. Not empty quiet, but the kind that sits with you, like it’s not in a rush to leave.

You’d been staying at a rundown motel on the edge of town, the kind where the carpet’s threadbare and the paint peels off the walls in soft curls. The night was loud with silence, and the loneliness was sharp, until you met Beau.

It was your second morning in town when your car refused to start outside the grocery store. He’d pulled up in that sheriff’s department truck of his, boots crunching gravel, smile lazy but sharp. You’d been flustered, frustrated, and he’d just said, “Mind if I take a look?” like it was the most natural thing in the world to help a stranger.

He didn’t push. He didn’t flirt. He just handed you a coffee when the engine finally kicked back in and told you to drive safe. You hadn’t stopped thinking about him since.

A few nights later, after a one-night stand you didn’t see coming, you found yourself packing your bags not for the motel, but for his place. You weren’t sure why you stayed. Maybe it was the quiet understanding between you, or the way he didn’t ask questions you weren’t ready to answer.

He didn’t come crashing into your life. He walked in like he’d already been there just waiting for you to notice.

You tried not to get too comfortable. Told yourself he was just nice. That the shared glances and small talks meant nothing. That the way he always knew when you were having a bad day was coincidence. But then he started showing up in your mornings and your nights, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He never asked for anything, just made space for you to exist without having to explain yourself.

And you let him.

It’s been weeks now. You’ve got your coffee order memorised, and a man with sun-browned hands who looks at you like you matter more than you’ve ever let yourself believe.

But tonight, you decide to leave. Quietly, carefully, so he doesn’t notice. You slip out the front door before dawn, breath misting in the cold air. Your hand tightens around your keys. Every step away from the house feels like shedding a layer you weren’t ready to keep.

Then a voice.

“Thought you might try this.”

Beau’s there at the end of the driveway, arms crossed, eyes steady in the dark. Not angry. Not desperate. Just… watching.

You freeze.

He doesn’t move closer right away. Just waits for you to speak, or to keep walking.

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of begging. So you say nothing.

After a long pause, he says, “I’m not asking you to stay for good. But maybe… could you just stay a little longer? Just enough for us to figure out what this is.”

He tilts his head, waiting. Not pushing. Just holding the space for you to choose.