Brinley woke to a morning that felt less urgent than usual, though she couldn't have said why. The sun slanted through her blinds at an angle that made her kitchen glow gold, and for a moment she just stood there, mug in hand, listening to the faint hum of the fridge and the quiet rhythm of her own breathing. The world hadn't changed, but her place in it had shifted ever so slightly.
The sink caught her eye, still fixed, still holding its silence. She smiled to herself. She hadn't thought about it until now, but noticing that small thing, and nothing more, gave her an unexpected sense of calm. Small gestures had a way of speaking louder than words. She turned, sipped her coffee, and let the warmth spread, letting her thoughts wander instead of worrying about them.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Nitika again. You survived the morning?
Brinley laughed softly, the kind of laugh that escapes without notice. Barely. Coffee's doing most of the work.
Brandon's in a mood today. Which means he cares. Trying not to hover.
She typed back slowly, not because she had to, but because she wanted to feel her fingers on the keys without letting herself rush. Good. Noticed.
She set the phone down and just stood in the quiet of her apartment. The stillness no longer felt like absence; it felt like space. Space she didn't have to defend herself in.
Jaxson worked through the morning like he always did: hands busy, mind alert, but careful not to intrude where he wasn't asked. Fixing, building, lifting, doing, not for recognition, not for gratitude, just because he could. Every instinct in him wanted to check in with her, to make sure she hadn't taken his quietness as distance. But restraint had become its own kind of proof, one he was learning to trust. Showing up didn't always mean being seen. Sometimes it meant letting her choose her own way.
Around noon, Brandon appeared at the shop. Leaning against the doorway, he crossed his arms, his eyes sharp but not hostile.
"You're different," Brandon said, studying him.
Jaxson wiped his hands and gave a small, steady nod. "Trying to be."
Brandon's gaze lingered, then he gave the faintest nod in return. "Good. Don't make me regret easing up."
"I won't," Jaxson said, steady. No more words were needed. Trust was observed, not demanded.
By mid-afternoon, Brinley found herself running errands, moving through the city streets with a sense of calm that surprised her. She didn't check her phone constantly. She didn't rehearse conversations in her head. For the first time in a long while, she moved forward without expecting the world, or Jaxson, to chase her steps.
It was in this calm that she almost bumped into him in the grocery aisle. He was reaching for a box on a high shelf when she turned the corner. Both stopped, momentarily frozen in that familiar hesitation.
"Hey," he said. Not hurried. Not weighted with expectation.
"Hey." Her voice was steady, and she realized she felt proud of that steadiness.
They didn't step closer. They didn't force conversation. There was no tension in the space between them, only acknowledgment: recognition that they both existed and were choosing to meet without demand.
"I won't keep you," he said gently. "Just wanted to say hi."
She nodded, fighting back the small flicker of disappointment that came naturally, because she wanted more than words could offer. "The sink's holding," she added, almost playfully, almost as if testing him.
A small smile tugged at his lips. "Good."
He didn't linger. He didn't leverage it. He simply stepped aside, letting her pass, and in that act, he said everything without speaking.
By nightfall, Brinley curled up on her couch, journal open but untouched. The words weren't necessary. Her heart had already begun the quiet reckoning of trust, not earned in grand gestures, but in the steady, unremarkable ways he showed up without being seen.
For the first time in a long while, she realized that Jaxson wasn't trying to win her back. He was letting her choose. And that choice, terrifying and heavy as it was, felt more honest than anything she'd experienced before.
Outside, the streetlight hummed. Inside, the sink remained silent. Somewhere across town, Jaxson sat alone in his apartment, the fixed sink still holding, no drip, no proof he'd been there. And for the first time in a long while, that felt exactly right.