Chapter Eight: The Distance Between

The air in Dalton grew thick as August settled in. Mornings came with slow sunrises, and the evenings dragged like honey. By now, Ellie had been in town for over a week. The garage part had arrived. The car had been fixed. But she hadn't left.

Jack didn't ask why. He didn't need to. He knew the answer. It was written in the way they stood too close when they talked. The way her laughter pulled a grin from him he didn't know he still had. The way her fingers brushed his arm like it was accidental.

And yet, they hadn't crossed the line. Not quite. Not yet.

It wasn't just about timing. It was about the weight of it. The knowing. The thing that existed between them wasn't light. It was deep and aching. Beautiful, but real.

That afternoon, Ellie sat on the hood of Jack's truck parked behind the garage, legs swinging, sipping from a glass bottle of Coke. Her camera rested beside her, catching the heat shimmer in the distance.

Jack stepped out, wiping grease from his palms. He didn't say anything at first, just stood beside her. The silence was easy. It always was with her.

"You ever think about leaving this place?" Ellie asked after a while.

He shrugged. "Sometimes. But it's like I've got roots here. Deep ones."

Ellie nodded slowly, her eyes not leaving the horizon. "I've always had wings instead. I don't stay long anywhere. That used to feel like freedom."

Jack turned to look at her. "Used to?"

She glanced at him, and there it was again—the look. The long, slow look that didn't need words. "I don't know what this is, Jack. But it's not nothing."

Jack's jaw tightened. "I know what it is. I just don't know what to do with it."

He stepped a little closer, his hand brushing against hers. She didn't pull away. Their fingers slowly intertwined, the touch slow, almost reverent. It was the kind of touch that said, "I see you." Not just the version you showed the world, but the cracked parts, too.

They sat that way for a long time.

Not kissing.

Not confessing.

Just holding on.

Later that evening, Ruthie watched Ellie pack her bag at the motel, her face unreadable.

"You leaving tomorrow?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

Ellie paused. "That was the plan."

"You sure about that?"

Ellie looked up, tears welling in her eyes she didn't want to name. "No. I'm not sure about anything anymore."

And that's when Ruthie knew it. Dalton had changed something in Ellie. Or maybe Jack had. Either way, it was the kind of change you couldn't pack away in a suitcase.

Down the road, Jack stood on his porch, arms crossed, staring at the driveway like he expected to see headlights and goodbye.

He didn't know what tomorrow would bring.

But for the first time in years, he hoped it would bring her.

Even if hope was the scariest thing of all.