oldsoul007 - Tumblr blog

oldsoul007 · 21 days ago

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dirty cash

rich!joel miller x younger reader

summary: After a reckless hookup leaves you buying a pregnancy test in a pharmacy, the last person you expect to run into is your father’s wealthy but quietly tortured friend, Joel Miller—sparking a forbidden, dangerously irresistible affair where passion, power, and vulnerability collide.

a/n: reader and joel smoke, kissing, suggestive scenes, wholesome, 20 year age gap, i’ve been deep in writers block so I’d love some request!!

joel miller masterlist

It’s probably nothing.

That’s what I keep telling myself as I stand under the aggressive fluorescent lights of the pharmacy, staring down an entire wall of pregnancy tests like one of them might have the courtesy to jump into my hand and handle the situation for me.

“Which one do you want?” Ani’s voice is dry as she squats down to examine the shelves like she’s choosing a bottle of champagne. “The one that’s ‘99% accurate’ or the one that costs five dollars less?”

“I don’t know.” My arms are crossed, jaw tight. “Is there one that says ‘this is just a late period and not the worst mistake of my life’?”

Ani snorts and stands, grabbing two boxes. “This one says it’s easy to read, so maybe you won’t have to Google it when you’re sobbing on the bathroom floor.”

“Touching,” I deadpan, snatching the box from her hand.

Ani grins, brushing her dark hair over her shoulder. “I’m just saying—you always get like this when you’re stressed. Remember when we thought I were pregnant that one time in college and it turned out I’d just been living off coffee and vodka cranberries for three weeks?”

“This isn’t college.” I turn the box over in my hands, stomach twisting. My nails dig into the cardboard.

Ani drops her voice, leaning in close. “Okay, but even if you are…” She shrugs. “You’d handle it. You’re not seventeen. You’ve got your own place, a job, your shit’s together.”

“Do I?” I ask, biting back a nervous laugh. “I don’t even remember his name.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s fair.” Ani smirks. “But in your defense, he was hot.”

“Not helpful.”

“You’re right. My bad.”

I exhale sharply, shifting the test from one hand to the other. Ani’s already moving toward the register when I hear it—

“Y/n?”

Fuck.

My heart drops into my stomach. Because I know that voice. Low, slow, rough around the edges��like honey poured over gravel.

I turn, already knowing what I’m about to see.

And there he is.

Joel Miller. Standing in the middle of the pharmacy aisle, looking devastatingly expensive in a black cashmere sweater and tailored jeans that sit obscenely well on his hips. His dark hair is messy but intentional, streaked with silver. His watch—Rolex, of course—catches the light. But it’s his eyes that undo me: dark, sharp, locked on the bright pink box in my hand.

He wasn’t like the men I usually met in Manhattan—the ones who talked too much about stocks and barely knew how to hail their own cab. No, Joel was different. He had built his wealth rather than inherited it, and he carried himself with the kind of quiet confidence that made men respect him and women—well, women wanted him.

My throat dries out.

“Joel,” I say, too bright, too casual. “Hey.”

His gaze flicks from the box to my face. His jaw tightens. “Hey.”

I tuck the box behind my back like that’s going to erase the last five seconds. “Just… picking up a few things.”

Joel’s mouth opens—then closes. His eyes drag down my body, slow and deliberate. That heat—the one that’s always been there—creeps into my chest.

Joel’s jaw ticks. “You okay?”

I force a laugh. “Yeah! Just—y’know.” I gesture vaguely toward the shelves. “Girl stuff.”

Joel’s eyes darken. “Girl stuff.”

Ani coughs to cover a laugh.

My face burns. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Joel’s voice drops, low and dangerous. “’Cause if you’re not—”

“Joel.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend.

His mouth presses into a thin line.

It’s too much. Him standing there, in his cashmere and leather, watching me, piecing it together. I feel naked under the weight of his gaze, exposed in a way that makes my heart pound for all the wrong reasons.

Or maybe the right ones.

Ani steps in. “Well, we should go!” She grabs my arm, steering me toward the register like she’s dragging me out of a bar at last call.

“Y/n,” Joel says quietly.

I freeze.

His eyes drop to the test again, then back to my face. His jaw tightens, something dangerous flickering in his expression. His shoulders square like he’s already figuring out whose name he’s going to have to track down if that test comes back positive.

“If you need anything,” he says, voice low and steady, “you know where to find me.”

I swallow hard.

“See you around,” I manage, and then Ani’s tugging me away.

I don’t look back. But I feel his eyes on me the whole way out.

—

“False alarm,” I mutter.

Ani’s brows lift. “Started?”

��Yep.” I close my eyes, letting my head fall back. “I hate being a woman.”

Ani grins. “Oh, thank God. You’re off the hook.”

I shoot her a look. “Gee, thanks.”

Ani shrugs, sitting up and tucking her legs beneath her. “Look at the bright side. No baby. No weird hookup drama. Just your regularly scheduled period-induced misery.”

“Comforting,” I say flatly.

Ani gives me a sly smile. “Although…”

I groan. “What?”

“You could just avoid all this stress in the future by hooking up with someone a little more… reliable.”

My eyes narrow. “Ani.”

She leans toward me, eyes glinting. “Someone… older.”

“Ani.”

“Someone who clearly already cares about you.”

“Ani.”

She grins. “Joel.”

I nearly choke. I sit up so fast my stomach cramps harder. “Are you insane?”

Ani shrugs. “I’m just saying. He’s hot.”

“He’s my dad’s friend,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and?” Ani leans back on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “Didn’t stop him from looking at you like that at the pharmacy.”

She leans forward, eyes narrowing with that mischievous glint she gets when she’s about to push me into something uncomfortable. “Okay, but—let’s think about this. You’re not a kid anymore. You can make your own choices. And yeah, he’s older, but I swear, that man is just your type. You two have this thing. You’ve always had it.”

“Stop.” I throw my hands up in a half-joking, half-serious gesture. “No. Just no. He’s a friend of the family. That’s not even on the table.”

Ani tilts her head, sizing me up. “Sure, sure. But it’s not like you’ve never wanted it. And let’s face it, y/n—when it comes to guys, you usually go for the one who’s unpredictable. Maybe Joel’s exactly the guy you need right now. I mean, come on, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

I roll my eyes, standing up to pace a little, trying to shake the idea out of my head. “I’m not dating him, Ani. It’s not happening.”

Ani’s voice is a little quieter now, but I can hear the knowing smile behind it. “I’m just saying—maybe you should think about it. You don’t have to rush into anything, but you’ve been dancing around this for so long. Why not just see where it goes?”

I stop pacing, my hands still on my hips as I take in her words. The idea is… tempting, but I can’t. “It’s complicated. You don’t get it. He’s not like everyone else, Ani. He’s Joel.”

She shrugs, unfazed. “Exactly. He’s Joel. And that’s what makes it interesting.”

I sit back down on the couch, rubbing my temples. “I’m not going there. End of story.”

Ani leans back, giving me a sly grin. “We’ll see. We’ll see.”

I try to dismiss it, but as much as I tell myself no, the idea lingers, just a little. Because deep down, I know Ani’s not entirely wrong.

—

The thing about New York is that no one ever expects to run into someone at the most inconvenient times.

It’s a Friday evening, and the streets of Manhattan are alive with people in their after-work hustle, lights flashing from the windows of bars and restaurants like neon beacons in the dark. I’m walking down the block, heading to my favorite sushi spot, when I spot him.

Of course.

Joel Miller, standing on the corner of the street, waiting for the light to change. He’s in a perfectly tailored black coat, dark slacks, the kind of man who belongs in a city where money talks and time doesn’t. I see him before he sees me, and for a second, I wonder if I should just turn around and make a run for it. But no, that would be too easy.

“Y/n?”

Shit.

I take a breath, turning around with an exaggeratedly calm smile. “Joel.”

His gaze immediately sharpens, the same intense look that makes my heart jump into my throat. I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he could hear the rapid beat of it from across the street.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a little rougher than usual. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, you know New York.” I joke, trying to sound like I’m not totally thrown off. “City’s small. You’re bound to bump into people.”

His eyes flicker down to my hand, like he’s still waiting for me to be clutching a pregnancy test like some kind of urban myth.

I clear my throat. “Just to clarify—I’m not pregnant.” I say it almost too fast.

Joel raises an eyebrow, lips curling slightly in amusement. “Well, that’s good to hear.” There’s a pause, a quiet beat that hangs between us, before he steps a little closer, lowering his voice. “I wasn’t really sure how to feel about that whole situation.”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

Joel shrugs, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. “You just looked… different that day. A little more than stressed.” He watches me closely, his eyes never leaving mine. “I didn’t want to step in and make it worse.”

I look away, trying to hide the flush creeping up my neck. “Well, you didn’t. I was just… overthinking everything. It’s a thing I’m really good at.”

“I’ve noticed.” His voice is lighter now, like he’s teasing me in that way he does when he’s not sure if he should be serious or not.

I bite my lip, a grin slipping onto my face before I can stop it. “I wasn’t exactly planning on running into you again, you know.”

“Right.” He chuckles, but it’s the kind of laugh that sounds like he’s holding something back.

“So…” I drag the word out, feeling the weight of the moment settle around us. “Are you just wandering the streets of New York on a Friday night or do you have somewhere important to be?”

He looks at me with that knowing smirk. “A little bit of both.” He glances down the block, then back at me. “I’m headed to a meeting. But honestly…” He hesitates, as if weighing something. “I could always use a distraction.”

My stomach flips at his words, but I try to play it cool. “A distraction, huh? How convenient. I happen to be a very good distraction.”

Joel steps closer, his voice dropping lower. “I’m sure you are.” His gaze holds mine for a second too long, making everything inside me feel like it’s melting, a tight knot loosening in my chest.

I clear my throat again. “Well, if you’re free after your meeting, maybe we could catch up over a drink. Talk about, you know, how I’m definitely not pregnant.”

Joel’s lips twitch in that infuriating way he has when he’s fighting a grin. “Sounds like a good time.”

“Good,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant, though I can feel the electric buzz between us, like everything’s about to go off the rails. “Call me. I’ll be around.”

“I will.” His gaze softens just a little before he turns, and as he walks away, I can’t help but watch him go. The tension that’s been there between us—it’s still there, maybe stronger than before.

And I think, for the first time, I might actually be okay with it.

—

Later that night, after a few too many glasses of drinks and some laughter-filled catching up with Ani, I find myself at home, flipping through the pages of a magazine I’ve barely been able to focus on. My mind keeps drifting. Should I reach out to Joel? Should I wait for him to make the first move?

Before I can talk myself out of it, the phone rings, cutting through the silence of my apartment. I glance at it without thinking, and my heart skips.

Joel.

I answer quickly, trying to sound casual. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies, his voice low and easy, just like it always is. “You free for that drink?”

A rush of excitement hits me, surprising myself with how quickly I want to say yes. “Absolutely.”

“Good. I’ll be there in a few.” I put the phone down, a grin pulling at the corners of my lips.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m stepping out of my building and into the sleek black car waiting at the curb. The door is already open for me, the driver standing by with a polite nod, but my attention is drawn straight to the man inside.

Joel sits in the backseat, legs spread comfortably, a whiskey-colored gaze flicking up from where he’s been nursing a drink. He looks effortless—one arm resting against the door, the other hand wrapped around a heavy glass. His jacket is slung over the seat beside him, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, watch glinting in the low light.

“Fancy,” I say as I slide in beside him, smoothing down my dress.

“Figured I’d make it easy for you,” he drawls, offering me a drink from the little bar built into the side panel. “That, and I like havin’ you in my car.”

My stomach does something stupid at that. I take the glass from him, clinking mine against his before taking a sip. The car glides through the city, moving like the night belongs to us.

The bar he takes me to is nothing like the places I usually end up in. It’s tucked away on some quiet street, dimly lit with dark wood and low jazz humming from unseen speakers. The kind of place where people don’t come to get drunk; they come to drink.

Joel guides me through the space with an easy familiarity, his hand resting lightly against my lower back as he leads me to a quiet booth.

“Didn’t peg you as a cocktail bar guy,” I tease, glancing at the menu.

He smirks, signaling the bartender with two fingers. “I’m not. Just figured you’d like it.”

I bite back my smile.

Drinks arrive, and the conversation comes easy, like it always does with him.

But then—

“So,” Joel says, swirling the amber in his glass. “You gonna tell me who the guy is?”

I freeze for half a second, but he catches it. His gaze sharpens just slightly.

I roll my eyes, playing it off. “What guy?”

His lips twitch like he knows I’m full of shit. “C’mon, sweetheart. Ain’t dumb. You had a reason for buyin’ that test.”

Heat crawls up my neck. I sip my drink, willing the subject to dissolve. “Joel.”

His expression shifts, something unreadable there. But he doesn’t push. Just leans back in the booth, watching me.

I exhale, deciding to change the subject completely. “You always take women here?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You always deflect?”

I grin, tipping my glass toward him. “Maybe.”

Joel chuckles, shaking his head, and just like that, the tension shifts. The air between us settles into something familiar, charged but unspoken.

We talk about other things—his latest project, my work, New York’s ever-present bullshit. But there’s something lingering beneath it all, in the way his fingers graze mine when I reach for my drink, in the way his eyes linger on my mouth when I speak.

It’s always been like this with us.

The drinks keep coming, smooth and slow, and the conversation drifts into something heavier without either of us meaning it to.

Joel leans back, one arm slung over the booth, rolling his glass between his fingers. “Ever think about leavin’?”

I blink, caught off guard. “New York?”

He nods, gaze steady. “The city. Work. All of it.”

I scoff lightly, but there’s no real bite to it. “Where would I go?”

“Anywhere.”

It’s such a simple answer, but the way he says it, so sure, makes something tighten in my chest.

I glance down at my drink, swirling the last of the amber liquid. “I don’t know. I love it here, but… sometimes it feels like too much, y’know?” I meet his eyes, watching the way he listens, really listens. “Like you can’t breathe without the city pushing in on you.”

Joel hums, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Know that feeling.”

I tilt my head. “So why are you still here?”

His lips quirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Same reason as everyone else, I guess.” He lifts his glass slightly. “Money. Work. Habit.”

“That’s depressing.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Little bit.”

I study him for a moment, my head buzzing just enough to loosen the words sitting heavy on my tongue. Slowly, I shift under the table, lifting my foot and pressing it lightly against his leg. A small touch, but intentional. His fingers still on his glass.

“What would you do if you left?”

Joel leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. His fingers graze the rim of his glass as he thinks, really thinks, like no one’s ever asked him before.

“Dunno.” His voice is quieter now, like he’s admitting something he’s never said out loud. “Find some place quieter. Somewhere no one gives a shit who I am or what I got. Build somethin’ for myself.” He smirks a little, but there’s a sadness behind it. “Guess I never really let myself think about it.”

I watch him, my fingers toying with the condensation on my glass. “You still could.”

His eyes flick to mine, unreadable, like he’s trying to decide if I mean it.

Something shifts between us, heavy and unspoken.

Joel exhales, tipping his head toward me. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You ever think about somethin’ different?”

I chew my lip, considering. “Maybe.” I glance around the bar, the dark wood, the quiet hum of conversation. “But I think I’d miss it.”

Joel watches me, something warm in his gaze. “Yeah.” He nods slowly. “Reckon I’d miss you too.”

The words slip out so easily, so casually, that I almost don’t catch them. But I do.

My breath catches slightly, my fingers stilling against my glass. Joel just watches me, calm, steady, like he’s giving me a second to let it sink in.

And then, before I can overthink it, I knock back the rest of my drink and grin. “You getting sentimental on me, Miller?”

His smirk is slow, lazy. “Maybe.”

I roll my eyes, but the warmth lingers.

The game continues.

The night stretches on, slow and easy, the drinks disappearing as the city hums outside the bar’s fogged-up windows. The conversation shifts—back to old stories, to things we shouldn’t say but do anyway.

At some point, I feel the weight of Joel’s hand on the back of the booth, close enough that if I just leaned back a little, I’d be resting against him. I resist the urge, barely.

“It’s late,” I murmur, glancing at the time.

Joel takes a slow sip of his drink, his gaze steady on mine. “You in a hurry?”

“No,” I admit.

He smirks. “Didn’t think so.”

The tension between us tightens, thick like smoke curling in the air. We both feel it—always have. It’s in the way I play with the rim of my glass, in the way his fingers drum idly against the table like he’s working through something in his head.

When we finally leave, the night is warm, the city alive with its usual buzz. The car is waiting, sleek and polished under the streetlights. Joel opens the door for me, and I hesitate just long enough for him to notice.

“You comin’?” His voice is low, rough.

I should go home. I should get out now, before this turns into something. Instead, I slide inside.

Joel follows, the door shutting with a quiet click. The car pulls away from the curb, and suddenly, we’re alone in the dark, the city slipping past in a blur of neon and street lamps.

I exhale slowly, the leather cool beneath my fingertips.

Joel watches me, silent for a long beat. Then—

“Where to?” he asks, his voice deliberate. The question hangs there, waiting. I don’t answer right away. I don’t need to. Joel just nods, like he already knows. And then the car changes direction.

His apartment is everything I expect it to be—too big, too nice, too quiet. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the main living space, giving a view of the city that most people only dream of. The kind of place that feels like money, like success, like someone who’s worked too hard for too long and now doesn’t know how to sit still.

Joel shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto a leather chair. His gaze flicks to me, dark and unreadable.

“You want another drink?”

I shake my head, stepping toward the window, pressing my fingertips against the cool glass. The city sparkles beneath me, the streets moving like veins through the night.

Joel moves behind me, slow and steady. When I turn, he’s closer than I expect, the space between us suddenly small.

For a second, neither of us speaks. Then, his fingers graze my wrist, barely there. I look up at him, breath catching in my throat. His voice is quiet when he finally says, “Tell me to stop.” I don’t. Instead, I close the space between us.

The bedroom is dark, the city lights bleeding through the curtains.

It’s slow, at first. Me, still trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing. Him, patient in a way I didn’t expect. But when his hands find my waist, when his lips press against the curve of my neck, when I sigh his name into the quiet—

His lips brush mine, hesitant, like he’s waiting for me to stop this before it starts. But I don’t. I can’t. I just tilt my chin up, pressing my mouth fully to his, and he exhales against me like he’s been holding his breath.

Joel’s hands slide up my back, slow and steady, as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to taste me fully. His mouth is warm, careful, his touch reverent, like he wants to make sure I want this just as much as he does. And I do. God, I do.

I thread my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, pressing myself against him. He groans, low in his throat, like he’s barely holding on. His hands tighten at my hips before one of them slides up my spine, dragging me further into him, chest to chest, breath to breath.

He moves like he wants to savor me. Like he wants to take his time, to make this last.

Joel presses me down into the bed, his body warm and solid against mine, his hands framing my face as his mouth claims me in a slow, consuming kiss. It’s deep, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s memorizing the shape of my lips against his.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, voice rough, edged with something vulnerable.

I nod, brushing my lips against his. “Yes.”

That’s all he needs.

Joel undresses me with the kind of patience that makes my skin burn, like he’s committing every inch of me to memory. He trails his fingers over my bare skin, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, his touch reverent.

His fingers skim down my sides, mapping every inch of bare skin, rough but reverent. When I arch beneath him, chasing his touch, he exhales sharply, like he’s been holding something in for too long.

“Joel,” I breathe, my hands fisting in his shirt, tugging him closer, needing him closer.

He groans against my throat, his teeth scraping lightly before he soothes the spot with his lips. “You don’t know what you do to me baby,” he mutters, voice thick, almost strained.

I do, though—I can feel it in the way his body moves against mine, in the way his breath stutters when my nails drag down his back.

His hand slides up my thigh, pushing fabric aside, and his mouth finds mine again, hungrier this time.

And when we finally come together, it’s nothing like I expected.

It’s deeper.

Slower.

Like he wants me to feel it.

Like he wants me to know this isn’t just a night to him.

And as I meet his gaze in the dim light of the room, as his fingers intertwine with mine, I realize something terrifying.

Neither is it to me.

Later, when the sheets are tangled around us and the air still smells like sex and expensive cologne, we lie in the dark, passing a cigarette back and forth.

I slip out of bed and pull on his dress shirt. I pad barefoot to the balcony, lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers.

The city stretches out below, golden and endless. The dead of night in New York is never really dead—it hums, it moves, it waits.

Joel joins me a minute later, shirtless, sweat still cooling on his skin. He takes the cigarette from my fingers, taking a slow drag before exhaling right in my face.

The smoke curls into the air in a perfect ring.

I giggle, waving it away. “Show-off.”

He smirks, watching me through the haze. “Didn’t mean to.” I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, sure. Just a natural talent, huh?”

He chuckles, flicking the ash over the edge of the balcony. “Tryin’ to quit.” I steal the cigarette back from his fingers, taking a drag myself. “Yeah? How’s that workin’ out for you?”

Joel tilts his head, eyes dragging over me, slow and deliberate. Then he leans in, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him, the tease of a smirk on his lips.

—

The date wasn’t even my idea.

Ani had set it up weeks ago, probably thinking I needed a distraction. And then, of course, she forgot to cancel.

So here I am, sitting across from a guy named Ryan, who is perfectly nice. Perfectly normal. I swirl the last sip of my drink in my glass, barely listening as he talks about something work-related. Maybe stocks. Or real estate. Or his incredibly riveting trip to Aspen.

I’m about to excuse myself to the bathroom when the waitress appears with a fresh drink and sets it down in front of me.

But then—

A drink lands in front of me.

I blink, glancing up at the waitress. She smiles and sets down a glass of a Cosmopolitan. The same drink I ordered that night with Joel. I frown. “Oh, I didn’t order this.”

“The gentleman at the bar sent it,” she says, tipping her head toward the far side of the room.

And when I look—

Joel. Sitting alone, leaned back in his chair, watching me. Heat crawls up my spine, a mix of irritation and something I refuse to name. I exhale sharply, already irritated.

“Excuse me,” I mutter to Ryan, grabbing the drink and making my way over.

Joel doesn’t look surprised when I place the glass down in front of him with a soft clink.

I cross my arms. “What the hell are you doing?” He looks up at me, completely at ease. “Drinkin’.” I narrow my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

He gestures to the glass. “Just bein’ polite.”

“By sending me a drink when I’m clearly on a date?”

He shrugs, gaze flicking over to Ryan for a beat before meeting mine again. “Didn’t look like you were enjoyin’ yourself.”

I let out a sharp breath. “Oh, and you think you know when I’m enjoying myself?”

Joel’s lips twitch, eyes dragging down my frame, then back up again. “Yeah. I think I do.”

A heat rises in my chest. I shake my head, ignoring it. “You’re unbelievable.”

Joel leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Leave with me.”

It’s so direct, so him, that it knocks the wind right out of me. I grip the back of the chair in front of me, heart hammering.

God, part of me wants to.

Instead, I take the drink, place it back in front of him, and meet his gaze. “Enjoy your drink, Joel.”

Then I turn on my heel and walk back to my date.

I can feel him watching me the entire way back.

—

Every single one that passes is either full or just doesn’t bother stopping.

I sigh, hugging my coat tighter around myself, feeling the lingering annoyance from earlier. The date had been uneventful. The only thing remotely interesting about the night was Joel showing up and acting like he had a right to interfere.

And now, here I am, standing alone, wet, and stranded.

A black car rolls up to the curb in front of me, sleek and unmistakable. The window rolls down.

Joel. Of course.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at me, his elbow resting against the door, fingers brushing his mouth like he’s trying to hide a smirk.

I exhale sharply. “Are you following me now?”

He tilts his head, expression unreadable. “Get in.”

I should say no. I should roll my eyes and keep waiting for a cab. I should ignore the way my pulse jumps at the way he says it, low and easy, like it’s inevitable.

But instead—without a word—I open the door and slide into the seat beside him.

The door shuts with a quiet thud, sealing us inside the warmth of the car, the low hum of the city outside suddenly muffled.

Joel watches me, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s won something.

I huff out a breath, shaking my head as I lean back against the seat. “You’re ridiculous.”

His voice is steady, calm. “And yet, here you are.”

I don’t answer. Because he’s right.

I settle into the seat, crossing my arms as I turn to face him. “You know, normal people just call if they want to see someone. They don’t crash their date and send cryptic drinks across the room.”

Joel smirks, tilting his head slightly. “Didn’t seem like much of a date to me.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry—were you keeping track? Should I have sent you an update?”

He leans back, stretching his legs out, completely unbothered. “Wouldn’t have minded one.”

I shake my head, biting back a smile. “You are unbelievable.”

He shrugs. “You walked over to me, sweetheart.”

That makes me pause. Because he’s right—I did walk over to him. I did let him get under my skin. And now, I’m here, in his car, once again letting him pull me into his orbit.

I exhale, glancing out the window as the city blurs past. “Why’d you do that?” I ask, quieter this time.

Joel doesn’t answer right away.

Then, in that low, steady voice, he says, “Didn’t like seein’ you with him.”

I scoff, looking back at him. “And what, exactly, gives you the right to not like it?”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. Just keeps looking at me like he already has the answer.

And I hate that my heart stumbles over itself at the weight of his gaze.

“It’s not about rights,” he says finally. “It’s about what is.”

I shake my head. “That doesn’t mean anything, Joel.”

His mouth twitches like he’s holding something back. “Sure it does.”

The car slows as we near my apartment.

I glance at him, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. “So, what? You gonna walk me to my door now, too?”

Joel holds my gaze for a second longer before he leans forward, knocking twice on the partition.

“Pull over,” he tells the driver.

And when the car stops, he looks back at me. “Let’s find out.”

Joel steps out first, rounding the car as I push open my door. His presence is solid beside me as we make our way up the front steps of my building, the city humming around us.

I try to ignore the way my pulse jumps, the way my skin burns under his gaze.

At my door, I turn to him, arching a brow. “So, you are walking me to my door. What’s next? A goodnight kiss like a gentleman?”

Joel huffs out a quiet laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Wouldn’t exactly call myself a gentleman.”

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “No, you wouldn’t.” A pause stretches between us, thick with everything unsaid.

Then Joel does something unexpected. He follows behind me, pushing the door open and walking inside like he owns the place.

I follow him in, shutting the door behind me as he glances around, taking in my apartment. It’s not much—messy bookshelves, half-empty wine glasses on the counter, a record player I never use—but it’s mine.

Joel smirks. “So this is your place.” I cross my arms. “You breaking in is not as charming as you think it is.”

He turns to face me, and just like that, the air shifts. The teasing, the banter—it all simmers down to something heavier. Something real.

“What do you want from me, Joel?” I ask, my voice quieter now, less sharp.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me like he’s figuring it out himself. Then, after a beat, he takes a step closer. “Nothin’ you don’t already know.”

And before I can think—before I can stop myself—I reach for him.

Joel meets me halfway.

His hands find my waist as mine slide up his chest, and then his mouth is on mine, slow and sure. It’s different from the last time, different from the fire that burned between us that night. This time, it’s deeper. It’s steady.

Like he’s proving something. Like I’m letting him.

—

The phone rings—sharp and unexpected, cutting through the quiet of my apartment.

I pick up, pressing the receiver to my ear as I absently start pacing, the cord trailing behind me. “Hello?”

A beat of silence. And then—

“You busy?”

It’s Joel.

I smirk, my voice playful as I move toward the window. “Depends. Who’s asking?”

I hear the familiar low rumble of his laughter. “You know damn well who’s askin’.”

I bite my lip, glancing out at the city lights. “Then no, I’m not busy.”

I hear a slight shuffle on his end, the clink of glass. “Got some salmon. Figured I’d cook.”

I raise a brow, curiosity piqued. “Joel Miller, cooking? What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion.” His voice is steady, but there’s something in the way he speaks that feels almost… softer. “Just thought you might like something better than takeout for once.”

I smile, twirling the phone cord around my fingers. “I like takeout.”

“That don’t mean it’s good for you.”

I roll my eyes, amused. “I’ll bring wine.”

“Figured.” His tone shifts slightly, quieter this time, more deliberate. “So? You comin’ over?”

I don’t answer immediately. Not because I’m unsure—I’m not—but because something about the way he asks makes my heart beat a little faster.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice a little softer than usual. “Be there soon.”

Joel doesn’t say goodbye. Just a soft, “See you soon,” before the line clicks dead.

I sit there for a second, the dial tone humming in my ear before I hang up. My chest tightens, but in a way that feels warm. I grab my bag, the wine, and step out the door, already feeling the pull of him waiting for me.

When I arrive at his place, it’s just as I remember—warm, lived-in, familiar. The city’s noise is muffled here, replaced by the low hum of the lights and the scent of something delicious cooking in the kitchen.

Joel’s already at the table, his back slightly turned, one hand lazily resting on the edge while the other holds a cigar between his fingers. I can see the faint smoke curling upward, mixing with the warm glow from the overhead lights.

I watch him for a moment, then speak up, my voice softer than usual. “Didn’t know you smoked cigars.”

He looks up, a small, knowing smirk on his lips. “Only every once in a while. Special occasions.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what’s the occasion?”

He exhales a slow stream of smoke, his eyes locked with mine, that familiar warmth in his gaze. “You tell me, sweetheart.”

I roll my eyes, but the smile that tugs at my lips betrays me. I stand up, stretching my arms overhead, and then I spot them—the records stacked by his bookshelf. The sight of them brings a sudden warmth to my chest.

“Wait.” I crouch down, fingers grazing the covers. “You have records?”

Joel exhales again, nodding toward them. “Yeah. Haven’t played ‘em in a while, though.”

I flip through the albums, smiling as I see the names—Johnny Cash, Linda Ronstadt, Etta James—and then, nestled toward the back, a cover I recognize.

I pull one out, holding it up with a playful grin. “Which one is this?”

Joel looks over, then leans forward, a small glint in his eyes. “That one’s a classic.”

“Classic, huh?”

He smirks. “You’ll see.”

I stand, taking the album toward the old record player by the window. The needle wobbles slightly as I set it down, and then, after a beat of silence, the room fills with the smooth, velvety voice of Andy Williams.

“Moon River, wider than a mile…”

Something in my chest tightens at the sheer romance of it. I glance over at Joel, and he’s already watching me, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft, like he’s seeing me in a way he doesn’t often let himself.

I take a step toward him. Then another.

“Dance with me,” I say softly, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them.

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as if to protest. “I don’t dance.” I smirk, reaching for his hand anyway. “Sure you do.”

He exhales, like he’s already lost the battle, and then he lets me pull him up. He places his hand against my waist as I drape my arms over his shoulders, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver through me.

We begin to sway slowly, moving together as the song wraps around us, filling the space between us with something unspoken, something deeper than just the music.

Joel exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly, but there’s no bite to it now, just that familiar, soft edge. “Can’t believe you got me doin’ this.”

I smile, my cheek resting against his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming me in a way nothing else can.

He chuckles, low and rich, his fingers pressing just a little firmer into my back as we move together, closer now, the distance between us narrowing until there’s nothing but the sound of the song and the soft shuffle of our feet.

We don’t say anything else. We don’t need to.

The song plays on, a familiar, warm melody that fills the quiet around us, and for once, neither of us runs from it. Neither of us pulls away. In this moment, we’re just two people, swaying in the dim light, letting the world outside fade away.

—

The night is cool, the air thick with the scent of rain that never quite fell. I tug my coat a little tighter around me, glancing over at Joel as he holds the door open for me, that familiar, easy presence at my side.

“Hey, handsome,” I tease as he reaches for my hand.

“Hey, baby.” His voice is warm, rough, and he tugs me in for a brief kiss, his palm steady on my waist.

Before I can step toward the car, he pulls something from his pocket—a small velvet box, dark red, almost black under the glow of the streetlights.

I arch a brow, eyeing it suspiciously. “What’s this?”

Joel smirks, pressing the box into my palm. “Just open it.”

I flip the lid open—and my breath catches.

Inside, nestled in the velvet, is a bracelet. A delicate Cartier piece, sleek gold with just the right amount of weight to it. Simple. Timeless. Beautiful.

“Joel.” My voice is quieter now, the teasing edge gone. “This is—”

“Figured you’d like it.” He watches me carefully, his expression unreadable.

I swallow, brushing my fingers over the smooth metal. “You just—randomly decided to buy me a Cartier bracelet?”

His lips twitch. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence stretches between us, thick with everything unspoken.

Then, because it’s easier than acknowledging what this means, I smirk. “You tryin’ to win me over, Miller?”

Joel exhales through his nose, shaking his head as he reaches for the bracelet, undoing the clasp. “Don’t gotta try, sweetheart.”

He takes my wrist in his hands, his fingers warm, rough as he slides the bracelet into place. Careful. Precise. The clasp clicks softly, and his thumb smooths over the gold.

Then, before I can say anything, he lifts my wrist to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the inside of it.

My pulse stutters.

Joel pulls back slightly, studying me. “Looks good on you.”

I shake my head, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smirks, offering his arm. “C’mon, let’s go.”

We step inside, warmth wrapping around us as the low hum of conversation fills the air. It’s all polished marble and chandeliers, the kind of place that feels expensive just to breathe in. A few people glance our way—some nod, some linger.

Joel keeps a steady hand on my back as we move through the room, his presence grounding.

We’re mid-conversation with a group of men in tailored suits when one of them—James, I think—turns to Joel with a polite smile.

“And who’s this?”

Joel hesitates. Just for a second. But I feel it.

His grip on my waist tightens slightly before he finally says, “This is—” He exhales, then settles on, “My date.”

I blink, fingers tightening around my champagne glass. My date. The way he says it—careful, deliberate—sticks with me, winding itself around my thoughts as the conversation moves on.

—

It’s late. The city hums around me, distant sirens wailing, the occasional car rolling by. The streetlights cast a dull glow over the sidewalk, and the smoke from my cigarette curls up into the thick night air. I don’t even smoke that much, not really, but sometimes it gives my hands something to do when my thoughts get too loud.

The apartment door creaks open behind me, and I know it’s him before I even turn my head.

Joel steps out, his boots heavy against the worn concrete as he lowers himself onto the step beside me. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stretches his legs out in front of him and rubs a hand over his face. He looks tired.

We sit like that for a while, the quiet between us stretching, comfortable but charged, like it always is.

And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I ask, “What are we doing, Joel?”

His head turns toward me slowly. I don’t look at him right away, just keep my gaze trained on the empty street in front of us. My fingers fidget against my knee.

I hear him sigh, long and deep. “You really wanna have this conversation now?”

I finally look at him, and he’s already watching me, his brow furrowed like he’s bracing himself.

“Yes, actually,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Because it’s been—what? Months now? And we just keep—” I wave a hand between us, searching for the words. “We keep doing this. Whatever this fucking is.”

Joel runs a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. “Y/n…”

“Don’t do that.” My voice is sharper than I intend. “Don’t say my name like that, like I’m asking for something ridiculous.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, staring down at his hands like maybe he wishes they could answer for him. Then he finally speaks.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “How about the truth?”

“The truth?” He looks over at me, his jaw tight.

“Yes, Joel,” I press, my voice raw now. “We sleep together. We spend all our time together. You take me to work things, I take you to family things. You leave your clothes at my place. You kiss me like it means something, and then—” I pause, my throat tight, my chest aching. “And then you act like it doesn’t. Like we’re just—” I shake my head, my voice catching. “Like we’re just something easy to walk away from.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his hands clenching into fists against his knees. “That’s not true.”

“Then what is?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Because it feels real to me, Joel. And I think—I think it feels real to you too.”

Joel drags a hand over his face, looking away like he can’t bear to meet my eyes. “Y/n…”

“Just say it,” I plead. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll drop it.”

He watched me, his brown eyes dark under the low lights of the street. “You know why it ain’t that simple.”

I tilted my head. “Is it because I’m your friend’s kid? Or because you’re terrified that if you let yourself want this—want me—you won’t be able to stop?”

Joel’s jaw flexed. He had a tell—this little muscle that twitched when he was trying to hold back what he really wanted to say.

“You think I don’t want you?” His voice was lower now, rougher. “Y/n, I’ve been trying not to want you since the day I met you.”

Heat spread through me, but I wasn’t about to let him off that easy. “So stop trying.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits there, jaw tight, muscles coiled like he’s holding himself together by a thread.

And then, after what feels like forever, he exhales sharply and shakes his head.

“I can’t.” His voice is rough, broken.

My breath catches.

Joel looks over at me then, and there’s something raw in his eyes, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.

“I can’t, because you’re right,” he admits, voice low, unsteady. “It is real. It’s been real since the damn start. And I’ve been—” He exhales, shaking his head. “I’ve been tryin’ to keep it casual, keep it simple, because I thought maybe if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t be true.”

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering. “And what’s the truth?”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and when he finally speaks, his voice is steady.

“I’m in love with you.”

It slams into me like a freight train, stealing the breath from my lungs.

Joel swallows, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’ve been in love with you. And I—I didn’t wanna say it. Because if I did, then it meant I’d have to admit to myself that this was never just a casual thing. That it was never just something I could walk away from.”

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands twisting together like he’s holding onto something fragile. “And that scares the hell outta me, y/n. Because I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be the kind of man you deserve. And I’d rather ruin myself keeping you close than lose you by not being enough.

I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear slips down my cheek.

Joel notices, his eyes flickering with something unreadable, and for the first time, he looks scared. Like maybe he’s already lost me.

But then, before he can say anything else, I shake my head, my throat tight.

“Joel,” I whisper.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.

And then, slowly, I reach over and take his hand in mine.

His fingers twitch under mine before he exhales, his whole body seeming to relax, like maybe—just maybe—he’s finally allowed himself to believe it.

I squeeze his hand, my heart pounding. “It scares me too.”

Joel’s eyes search mine, and for the first time, we don’t hide from it.

I can’t look away from him, not now, not after everything he’s just said. My breath hitches, heart thundering in my chest, and it’s like everything inside of me is pulling towards him, like I can’t fight it anymore.

Joel shifts, and for a second, I think he’s going to pull away, but instead, he leans in, his face inches from mine, his eyes flicking down to my lips.

Without thinking, I close the space between us, my hands finding his shoulders as I pull him closer. His lips crash into mine, urgent and hungry, like he’s been holding back for far too long.

The kiss is everything I’ve been waiting for—raw, desperate, full of all the things neither of us could say before. His hands slip into my hair, tugging me closer as if he can’t get enough, and I answer with the same intensity, matching the fire he’s ignited in me.

We pull back for a breath, both of us gasping, but before I can even say anything, he’s kissing me again, this time slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring it, savoring me. His arms wrap around me, pulling me into him so tightly I feel like I might disappear into him.

I let myself fall into it, into him, into everything we’ve both been holding back. His lips trail down my jaw, to my neck, and I can feel the beat of his heart against mine, steady, grounding me.

“God, y/n…” His voice is thick, husky, and I can hear the rawness in it. “I don’t ever wanna let you go.”

I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, my hands still tangled in his hair. “Then don’t.”

And just like that, the walls we’ve been building between us shatter. He pulls me into another kiss, even deeper this time, as if we both know there’s no turning back now. No more holding back.

I wrap my arms around him, holding onto him like I’m afraid he might disappear.

His hands slide down to my waist, holding me close, pulling me against him like he needs me as much as I need him.

When we finally break apart, it’s not because we want to, but because we have to breathe. I rest my forehead against his, my chest still rising and falling rapidly.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice soft but sure.

“I love you too,” I answer, my voice shaky but steady.

And when he pulls me into his arms, holding me tight, I know that this is it. This is the start of everything.

taglist: @aomi-recs @millers-girl @suzysface @picketniffler @justsarahbella @heartlessvirgo @paleidiot @orodaeh @ccmoonshine @joelmillerisapunk @callmebyyournick-name @urlivingdeadgirl @comfortzonequeen @partypoison00 @whaddupbaby

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oldsoul007 · 27 days ago

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Dirty Cash

rich!joel miller x younger!reader

available to read

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oldsoul007 · 1 month ago

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stuck here like me

joel miller x reader

summary: After twenty years apart, you and Joel reunite in Jackson, but while he spent decades surviving, you built a life without him—one he can only look at from the outside before walking away in silence.

a/n: angsttttttyyyyy, some fluff, takes place when joel and ellie make it back to jackson to live there, let me know if you want a part two because I reached the limit hehe, enjoy ;)

joel miller masterlist

I spot Tommy before he even makes it up the path.

I know that walk—slow, deliberate, like he’s carrying something heavy and trying to figure out how to put it down. It’s the same way he used to walk when we lost people, back when grief was a daily visitor we learned to live with.

He doesn’t come out this way often. Not unless it’s important.

The ranch is a little ways from town, far enough that most folks don’t bother making the trip unless they’ve got a reason. Tommy’s got a reason.

I wipe my hands on my jeans and step off the porch as he slows to a stop by the fence. He swings off his horse, and I meet him halfway.

“Hey, stranger,” I say, brushing the dust off my hands. Tommy’s mouth twitches into something close to a smile. “Y/n.”

I step into him easily, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He hugs me like it’s nothing, like it’s second nature—and maybe it is, after all this time. After everything.

“Didn’t think you’d make it out here today,” I say as I pull back.

“Yeah, well. Thought I’d check in on you.” His eyes flick toward the house. “Been a while.”

“Two weeks, Tommy. You’re slacking.”

Tommy huffs out a laugh, the corner of his mouth tilting up. But the lightness doesn’t stick. His gaze drops to the ground, hands sliding to his hips.

I don’t notice at first. My mind’s already moving, still caught in the easy rhythm of conversation.

“Well, the kids were just talking about you the other day,” I say, wiping my hands on my jeans. “They wanna hang with Uncle Tommy soon—take the horses out maybe, or—”

I trail off when I see the way he’s looking at me. “What’s wrong?”

His mouth pulls tight. The lightness in his eyes fades into something heavier.

“We got some new folks in town,” he says carefully. My stomach tightens. “Yeah?”

Tommy hesitates—just for a second—but it’s enough.

“It’s Joel,” he says finally.

My breath catches.

I stare at him, feeling like I’ve misheard. But I haven’t. I know it in the way Tommy looks at me—soft and steady, like he’s bracing himself for impact.

Joel.

My Joel.

The world tilts under my feet.

I hear him, but my body won’t catch up. My breath locks in my chest. I shake my head, staring at Tommy like I can will the words away. “No,” I say, too quiet. “That’s not—”

Tommy’s expression softens. “It’s him, y/n.”

“He’s not alone,” Tommy had added, his voice soft. “Got a little girl with him.”

Something deep inside me clenches so tight it hurts. My vision blurs at the edges, and for a second, I feel untethered—like if I don’t hold on to something, I might just float away.

He’s alive, and he’s here, in Jackson, in the same place as me, breathing the same air, walking the same streets.

For the first time in twenty years.

I don’t realize my hands are shaking until Tommy steps closer and grips my arm. “Hey,” he says gently. “I know this is a lot.”

I nod, but it’s automatic. My throat feels tight, my chest too full.

Tommy hesitates, like he’s not sure if he should say more. But in the end, he just squeezes my arm once before letting go. “You okay?”

No. But I don’t say that.

Tommy shifts his weight, the heel of his boot scuffing against the dirt. “He asked about you.”

My heart jolts painfully against my ribs. “What did you say?”

“Told him you’re doing fine.”

I press my lips together, nodding.

Tommy watches me closely. His eyes soften. “Y/n—”

“I’m fine.” My voice is too quick, too thin.

Tommy’s mouth twitches like he’s about to say something else, but in the end, he just sighs.

“You don’t have to see him,” he says quietly. “If you don’t want to.”

I swallow hard. “I know.”

Tommy hesitates for a second longer, like he’s waiting for me to crack. When I don’t, he steps back toward his horse and grips the reins.

“I’ll be around,” he says.

I nod. “Alright.”

He swings back into the saddle. His eyes linger on me a beat longer before he clicks his tongue and guides the horse down the path. I stand there, arms crossed against the chill, watching him disappear toward the tree line.

The breeze shifts through the dry grass, brushing over the porch steps. I hear the faint sound of the horses in the stables, the quiet creak of the weathered barn door swinging in the wind.

Joel is in Jackson. And he asked about me.

I head back toward the house, the screen door creaking under my hand as I push it open. My hand is still on the doorframe when I pause, looking out toward the horizon.

I know this land better than I know myself. The stables, the hills beyond the creek, the trails that lead into the woods. I’ve walked them a hundred times.

But now it feels different.

Like maybe there’s a ghost in these hills.

—

I don’t see him. Not at first.

“He’s not alone,” Tommy had added, his voice soft. “Got a little girl with him.”

A little girl.

That’s what pulled me toward town, even when I knew I should stay put. I didn’t even remember leaving the ranch, but somehow I was here now, standing just outside the square, breath hitching in my throat as my eyes caught him.

Joel.

He was talking to Tommy, his back to me, but I knew him like I’d seen him just yesterday. Broader now, a little more gray in his hair, his shoulders tense beneath his worn jacket.

And next to him—there she was. The girl. Maybe fourteen. Freckles, wild brown hair, arms crossed over her chest with the kind of defiance only a kid could wear so comfortably. Joel stood close to her, protective. Always protective.

My chest squeezed.

I should leave. I should turn around, go back to my house, pretend this moment never happened. But I don’t.

I stayed frozen there, my boots planted firmly in the dirt. I could’ve turned back. Maybe I should have. But then Joel shifted, like he felt me, and when he turned—

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say my name but can’t. His face flickers through a thousand things at once—shock, disbelief, something deeper, something broken. His hands twitch at his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to reach for me or run.

The world shrinks to just the two of us.

His face… the years were carved into him like stone. Deep lines at the corners of his eyes, at the crease of his mouth. But those eyes—they hadn’t changed. Dark brown, the same way they used to soften when he looked at me.

“Y/n.”

It wasn’t a question. Just my name, rough and low and familiar.

My breath hitched. His eyes swept over me like he was trying to take me apart, piece by piece. My knees locked to keep from swaying under the weight of it.

I took a step toward him, then another. Joel didn’t move at first—he just stared, his eyes sharp and dark. And then his jaw tightened, and he crossed the distance between us in three long strides.

And then his arms were around me.

I stumbled into him, my hands pressing against his back as his arms locked tight around me, one hand curling at the back of my head. My breath hitched as his chin dropped against my shoulder.

“Hey,” I whispered against him.

He breathed out, his chest rising and falling hard beneath my hands. His arms stayed locked around me, one hand splayed against my back like he was grounding himself. My fingers curled into his jacket.

We stood there too long. Longer than anyone would call just a casual hug. But neither of us let go. His heart thudded against mine. My eyes burned.

Finally, Joel’s hand slid from the back of my head, brushing down my hair. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands framing my arms. His eyes softened, but there was something sharp in them. Something guarded.

Joel’s jaw tensed. His hands flexed around my arms, but he didn’t let go. “Tommy said you knew.”

“I did.” My breath hitched. “I just… I didn’t know if you’d want to see me after all this time.”

Joel’s eyes darkened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. His gaze flicked over my face, searching, and then his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure me out.

A small voice broke the silence.

“Uh… hi?”

Joel’s head turned toward the girl standing a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest. She was watching us with open suspicion, one eyebrow raised.

Joel’s hand dropped from my arm. His posture shifted slightly, more guarded now, his protective instinct flaring up the way it always did when Sarah was nearby. My stomach squeezed painfully at the thought.

Joel’s gaze lingered on me for half a second longer before he spoke.

“Ellie,” he said. His voice was steadier now. “This is y/n.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “You know each other?”

Joel’s gaze sharpened. His mouth twitched like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We know each other.”

Ellie’s eyes slid toward me. “How?”

Joel hesitated. His jaw flexed. “It’s… complicated.”

Ellie snorted. “Figured.”

Joel’s hand dragged down his face, weariness etched into the lines of his face. His eyes met mine again, dark and searching.

I glanced toward Ellie, then back at him. “She yours?”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly. His mouth parted like the question had caught him off guard. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “She’s not mine.”

Ellie made a face.

Joel shot her a look. Ellie just shrugged.

“She’s… with me,” Joel said after a beat, his voice low. “Been taking care of her.”

My heart twisted painfully.

“She’s lucky to have you,” I said softly.

Joel’s jaw tightened. His eyes lingered on mine for a long moment. “I don’t know about that.”

Ellie made a scoffing noise. “Yeah, well, I’m still alive, so he’s doing something right.”

Joel’s gaze sharpened toward her. “Ellie.”

She held up her hands, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

Joel’s eyes softened just a fraction as he looked at her. My chest squeezed at the sight. That protectiveness—that quiet steadiness—it was still there. Still Joel.

Joel’s eyes slid back toward me.

I hesitated. My hand twitched toward my chest—toward the thin gold band on my finger—but I stopped myself before it could catch his eye.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said quietly.

Joel’s eyes softened, something flickering beneath the guarded expression. “Yeah.” His voice was low. “Me too.”

Ellie shifted impatiently.

“Yall should get settled,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Jackson’s a good place. Safe.”

Joel watches me a second longer, his jaw tight, like there’s something he wants to argue, something he wants to say. But instead, he nods.

I turn before I do something stupid—like let my heart remember what it was like to be his.

I avoid him after that.

It’s not easy. Jackson isn’t a big place, and people talk. I hear his name in passing, see glimpses of him from a distance—helping with patrols, talking with Maria, fixing up some old building with Tommy. The girl, Ellie, is always nearby, a shadow at his side. She reminds me of Sarah in some ways, the way she carries herself, the sharpness in her eyes.

But I don’t go near him.

I don’t trust myself to.

The hug was a mistake. I should have turned and walked away the moment I saw him, but I didn’t. I let myself feel something I buried a long time ago, something I had no right to hold onto anymore. And Joel… Joel felt it, too. I could tell in the way he held me, in the way he didn’t want to let go.

I can’t let it happen again.

So I stay away.

I stick to my routines, my family, my home. I keep my head down, and for a while, it works. Until it doesn’t.

—

It happens a week later.

I’m standing near the garden beds in the middle of town, hands resting on the edge of a planter as Maria talks. The smell of soil and cold air hangs between us.

“So, we’ll need someone to cover the north patrol this week,” Maria says, arms crossed over her chest. “Could use someone who knows the area.”

I glance toward the street where my kids are playing with a couple of the other town kids. Their laughter cuts through the crisp air, sharp and clear.

“I don’t know, Maria,” I say, quiet but steady.

Maria’s gaze follows mine. “They’re old enough now,” she says, voice soft. “You know they’ll be fine.”

My stomach knots. I know that. But it doesn’t make it easier.

“You’ve done your part,” Maria says. “Hell, you’ve done more than your part. But Jackson’s safer with you out there.”

I’m opening my mouth to respond when I feel it—someone watching me.

It’s not loud or obvious. Just a shift in the air, the way my skin prickles under the weight of a gaze I know too well.

I turn toward the street, and there he is.

Joel stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, broad shoulders tense beneath the worn canvas of his coat. His face is unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are heavy and sharp, searching me for something I’m not ready to give.

Maria’s gaze flicks toward him, then back to me. Her expression sharpens. “Think about it,” she says, tone clipped. Then she gives Joel a look before stepping away.

I don’t move until she’s gone. Then I force myself to turn toward him fully. “Hey.”

Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Been tryin’ to find you.”

I shift my hands to my jacket pockets. “Been busy.”

Joel’s eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah,” he says, but there’s doubt in his voice. “Guess I just thought… after all this time… you might wanna talk.”

My gaze flickers toward my kids again. I force myself to keep my expression even.

“There’s not much to say.”

Joel tilts his head, studying me with that quiet intensity that always made it hard to breathe. “That why you been avoidin’ me?”

My chest tightens, but I keep my face neutral. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

His brows lift slightly. “Right.”

The weight of his gaze is unbearable. I glance toward the street again, toward the sound of my kids’ voices, and it feels like I’m standing on the edge of something sharp.

Because I have a husband. A family. A life.

But Joel doesn’t know that. And I don’t tell him.

Because the moment I say it out loud, the moment I name it, everything between us will become real again. He’ll look at me the way I know he will—like I’ve slipped through his fingers all over again.

So I don’t say anything. I just shove my hands deeper into my pockets and shift my weight. “I should go.”

Joel watches me, his jaw tightening. His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess you should.”

I turn and walk away before I do something stupid.

Before I tell him the truth.

I try to keep my distance after that. I really do.

But Joel has never been the type to let things go.

—

The next time I see him, it’s late. The town is quiet, the sky thick with stars. I’ve just finished putting my kids to bed when I step outside for air, wrapping my arms around myself as I breathe in the cold. The past week has been suffocating—knowing Joel is here, knowing I can’t let myself get close.

And yet, somehow, he still finds me.

I hear the scuff of boots before I see him.

“You always did like the quiet,” he says, voice low and rough.

I turn, and there he is—leaning against the wooden railing of my porch, arms crossed. He looks older in the moonlight, more worn than he did all those years ago. But he’s still Joel. That part of him hasn’t changed.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, but my voice lacks any real conviction.

Joel huffs a soft breath. “Yeah, well… got the feelin’ you weren’t gonna come find me.”

I sigh, pressing my hands to my face before letting them fall. “Joel—”

“Just talk to me, y/n.” His voice is quiet but firm. “You can’t just—see me again after twenty years, hug me like that, and then disappear.”

I close my eyes briefly, willing the lump in my throat to go away. When I look at him again, his face is softer—like he’s pleading, like he’s just as lost as I am in all of this.

I sink down onto the porch steps. For a moment, I think he’ll leave, but instead, Joel exhales and eases down beside me. We sit in silence, the night stretching wide around us.

“Didn’t think I’d ever find you again,” he admits after a while. His voice is lower now, almost hesitant. “Hell, didn’t think there was anything left worth findin’.”

I swallow hard, staring at my hands. “I stopped wondering a long time ago,” I say quietly. “Had to. Didn’t see the point in hoping for something that wasn’t gonna happen.”

Joel nods slowly, like he understands. Like he lived through the same kind of grief. “Guess I shoulda known you’d make it,” he says. “Always were tough.”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “I wasn’t tough, Joel.”

“You were,” he insists. “You are. You… You saved me more times than I can count, you know that?”

I glance at him, startled. “Joel—”

“You did,” he says again, voice thick. “Even when you didn’t know it.” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “After Sarah… I wasn’t sure I was gonna keep goin’. Didn’t see the point. But you—” He pauses, shakes his head like he’s searching for the right words. “You kept me human. Kept me from bein’—”

The kind of man he became.

He doesn’t say it, but I hear it anyway.

I blink back the burn in my eyes and look away. “I should’ve been there,” I whisper. “I should’ve—”

“No.” Joel’s voice is firm. “There wasn’t anything you could’ve done, y/n.”

I clench my jaw, swallowing against the ache in my chest. “I still think about her.”

Joel’s breath shudders. “Me too.”

The silence that follows is heavier than the last. I stare out at the town, at the flickering lights in the distance, at the life I built. A life Joel was never supposed to be part of again.

“I miss her,” I admit.

Joel nods, his voice barely audible. “Me too.”

We sit like that for a while, side by side, ghosts between us.

I know I should end this here, should get up and go inside before I let myself get too close again. But I don’t.

Because for the first time in twenty years, I don’t feel so alone.

—

Joel doesn’t show up at my house again right away.

For a while, things stay the same—I see him in passing, hear his name spoken in town, feel his presence like a shadow I can’t shake. We don’t talk about that night on the porch. Maybe we both know it’s better that way.

So when I open my front door one evening and find him standing on my porch, I’m not surprised.

I am, however, completely unprepared.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

I grip the doorframe like it might hold me upright. “Joel.”

His gaze drifts past me, into the house, and I know he’s taking it all in—the warmth of the fire, the sound of laughter from the other room, the smell of dinner lingering in the air. A home. A life. One that isn’t his.

One that never could be.

“You gonna invite me in?” he asks after a moment, his voice light, but there’s something beneath it, something heavier.

I hesitate, just for a second, before stepping aside. “Yeah. Come in.”

Joel moves past me, slow, his eyes sweeping over everything—the framed drawings on the wall, the worn blankets draped over the couch, the little boots by the door. His jaw tightens. I can see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his hands curl into fists before he forces them loose again.

He’s seeing everything he never had. Everything he lost.

And then—

“Daddy, look!”

I freeze.

Joel does, too.

My son barrels into the room, waving a wooden toy in the air, and runs straight into the arms of the man who walks in after him—my husband.

I feel the air shift before I even turn to look at Joel.

Because I know what he’s seeing.

My husband laughs, ruffling our son’s hair, his smile easy, warm. He’s kind, steady, everything I needed when the world felt like too much. He doesn’t hesitate when he lifts our son into his arms, doesn’t flinch when our boy clings to him, laughing.

Joel watches it all, silent.

I force myself to breathe.

“Y/n?” My husband looks up, finally noticing Joel. His brow furrows. “Who’s this?”

I swallow hard, ignoring the way my hands feel unsteady at my sides. “This is Joel,” I say carefully. “An old friend.”

Joel’s face doesn’t change. He just nods, his voice even when he says, “Nice place you got here.”

My husband nods back. “Thanks. Been a long time since y/n had any old friends show up.” He chuckles, bouncing our son once before setting him down. “She doesn’t talk much about the past.”

I feel Joel’s eyes flick to me. I don’t look at him.

“That so?” he murmurs.

My husband claps a hand on Joel’s shoulder, always friendly, always welcoming. “You should stay for dinner. We’ve got plenty.”

Joel doesn’t move for a long moment. I wonder if he’s going to refuse, if he’s going to say something, if he’s going to—

But then, he just shakes his head, offering the smallest of smiles. “No, I should get going, just wanted to stop by.”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes I can’t name. Something deep, something that aches.

I wonder if he’s thinking about all the things he never got. A home. A family. A son who runs into his arms without fear. A wife who waits at the door, smiling when he comes home.

Joel’s gaze lingers for a second longer before he steps back toward the door. “I’ll see you around, Y/n.”

And then he’s gone.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my chest tight, my heart unsteady.

I don’t go after him.

Because I know—just as well as he does—some things aren’t meant to be spoken out loud.

—

I hadn’t been on patrol in years.

Maria had asked—no, begged me, really—about a dozen times to come back on the rotation. My kids were older now, the ranch wasn’t as demanding, and I wasn’t getting any younger. She said it would be good for me to get back out there. Said I’d be helping the community.

But every time she asked, I just found an excuse. I didn’t want to leave my family behind, didn’t want to risk being away from them for too long. They were my everything, my anchor.

But eventually, I relented. Maria practically wore me down. And so, here I was, gearing up for a patrol, reluctantly pulling my vest on and checking my gear.

I watched my three kids in the living room, the boys, already getting into some roughhousing, while my little girl, sat on the couch, clutching her stuffed bunny. She was so small, so fragile, even after all this time.

She was sensing the shift in the air, stood up and waddled over to me. Her little hands reached for my legs, and she looked up at me with wide, uncertain eyes. “Mama, I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, her voice small but heart-wrenching.

My heart clenched in my chest as I bent down to scoop her up, holding her tight against me. “I know, sweetie,” I murmured, kissing her forehead. “But I have to go. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

I kissed her forehead, whispering, “Be good for Daddy.”

My boys, still half-distracted by their wrestling, looked up.

My husband stepped into the room just then, his eyes soft as he walked over to me. Without a word, he pulled me into a kiss, brief but full of unspoken feelings.

“Come back safe,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against mine for a moment.

“I will,” I said again, pulling away, my heart aching.

I turned to leave, one last look at my kids as they waved from the door.

“Be safe, Mama!” They shouted.

“I will, I promise,” I called back before heading out the door.

They waved from the window, and I waved back, trying to smile. My oldest hand was resting on my youngest little head, her face pressed against the glass.

—

“I’ll be fine,” I said to myself, as much as anyone else, as I checked my rifle. It wasn’t the patrol I minded—it was the thought of facing things I didn’t want to face again.

Jackson’s streets were quieter than usual as people prepared for the oncoming winter, most already taking refuge inside their homes. My boots crunched against the snow as I made my way to the stables, where the patrols usually gathered.

I should’ve known something was off when I saw Maria standing there, looking tense as she talked to a familiar figure. Joel.

Great.

My stomach twisted into knots when I saw him.

Joel was standing by one of the horses, adjusting the straps on his gear. He looked different—harder, with a rougher edge than I remembered. His eyes had the same weight to them, the same depth, but his body was broader, more solid, like he’d taken years of wear and tear and only gotten tougher.

Maria caught sight of me and gave a small wave. “Hey, y/n, thanks for doing this. Joel’s new at patrol. Thought you could show him around the area.”

I nodded curtly. “Sure. No problem.”

Joel turned at the sound of my voice, his eyes locking onto mine almost immediately. There was no surprise there, no flicker of recognition at the moment. It was as if he was already expecting me to show up, though his expression softened just a bit when our eyes met.

“Y/n,” Joel said, his voice as rough as I remembered.

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what to say, or if I even wanted to speak. The tension between us still hung in the air like an unspoken apology, the years that had passed only thickening it.

Maria handed me a map and some supplies before giving us both a nod. “I’ll leave you two to it. Just make sure to stick to the area. Stay close to town.”

I barely acknowledged her as she walked off, my attention already on the horse I’d need to ride. I kept my gaze trained forward, refusing to meet Joel’s eyes again.

Joel mounted his horse first, adjusting his gear, the weight of his gaze lingering on me.

“You gonna teach me the ropes, or what?” he asked, his voice quieter this time.

“Just stay close and follow my lead,” I said, trying to keep my tone even, but the underlying edge was there.

We started riding in silence, the snow crunching beneath the hooves of our horses as we made our way toward the outskirts of Jackson. My stomach was in knots, the quiet between us stretching longer than it should. The past twenty years felt like a lifetime, and every inch of space between us seemed to weigh a ton.

Finally, as we rounded a bend, Joel spoke. His voice was calm, but I could hear the tightness in it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shake my head, exhausted. “Tell you what, Joel?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” His voice hardened, just a bit, with the question. “Why didn’t you tell me you had kids?”

My chest tightened. I didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now, not like this. The words were already there—sitting on the tip of my tongue—but I forced myself to swallow them.

“It wasn’t your business,” I said, more sharply than I meant to.

Joel’s jaw clenched, and I could see the way his hand tightened on the reins. “It wasn’t my business?” His voice was low but raw. “You think I wouldn’t care? You think I wouldn’t want to know what happened to you?”

I could feel his eyes on me, and I kept my gaze straight ahead. “It’s not like that, Joel.”

“Then what is it?” he demanded, his voice thick with frustration. “You didn’t think I deserved to know? Or you just didn’t want me to know the truth? That you went off and got a family, while I…” His voice trailed off for a second, and I could see the way his fingers flexed around the reins, his knuckles white.

“You know what happened to me,” I said quietly, the sharpness in my voice slipping just enough for my vulnerability to bleed through. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want you to know.”

Joel’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, but his frustration didn’t subside. “You think I wouldn’t have wanted to be there for you? To help you?”

I shook my head, my breath catching in my throat. “I didn’t need your help, Joel. I needed to move on. I needed something… something normal.”

He scoffed, clearly frustrated, his gaze turning cold. “Normal? Is that why you couldn’t tell me? Because you were so busy trying to create some perfect little life that didn’t include me?”

“Don’t you dare,” I snapped, finally turning to face him. “You don’t get to throw that in my face. You don’t get to act like I owe you some explanation for how I lived my life. You left. You disappeared.”

His face hardened, his lips pressed tight as if he were holding something back. “You think I wanted to disappear? I didn’t have a choice, y/n. None of us did.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands. “I couldn’t just wait around. I couldn’t just stand still while my world kept falling apart.”

Joel opened his mouth to say something, but I turned away, refusing to let him see how close I was to breaking.

“I don’t need your forgiveness, Joel,” I said softly. “I just need you to understand that I did what I had to do.”

There was a long, painful silence as Joel rode beside me. I could feel his gaze on the back of my head, but I didn’t dare look at him.

“Yeah,” Joel said after a while, his voice quiet. “I get it.”

But we both knew it wasn’t that simple.

—

The gates creaked open as we approached, the familiar faces of the patrol guards nodding at us. Maria waved from the guard post, her smile genuine, but I could tell she could sense something was off. She always had that way about her.

“Y/n! Joel! Good to see you back in one piece,” Maria said, her voice bright but laced with concern.

“Yeah, we’re good,” I said, forcing a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “No problems out there.”

Joel, on the other hand, didn’t even glance at Maria. He just gave a small grunt and walked past her, disappearing into the gates without another word.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead as I followed behind. The weight of everything was crushing, but I didn’t want anyone to see it. Not now. Not in front of Jackson.

Inside the gates, everything was calm—too calm for what had just happened. The kids were playing in the streets, some people were talking, others were tending to the animals or making their way home. It was a normal evening in Jackson, and I should have felt relieved to be back in the safety of the settlement, but all I could think about was Joel’s words. His accusations. His anger.

And the way he’d looked at me before we left, like I was some stranger he couldn’t even recognize anymore.

I walked past a few familiar faces, nodding and greeting people, but my thoughts kept drifting back to him. He wasn’t okay. I wasn’t okay. But I had to pretend. For everyone else.

“Y/n,” Tommy’s voice called from behind me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I turned to see him walking toward me, his face lighting up when he saw me. “Hey,” I said with a forced smile, trying to push the weight of the argument and the silence from my shoulders. “Everything okay here?”

Tommy grinned. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just got back from the stables. We’ve got a new batch of supplies in from the west side. How about you? How was the patrol?”

I didn’t want to talk about it, but I couldn’t avoid it. “It was fine,” I said quickly, trying to make it sound like it had been just another patrol. “We got into a bit of a scuffle, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t push. “You sure? You don’t look like you’re fine.”

I forced a smile again, brushing off his concern. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “Alright. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

I nodded, stepping away as I tried to make my way toward home. I couldn’t help but glance over at the direction where Joel had disappeared, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. But there was nothing. The world was moving on, and I was stuck in this mess of old feelings and unspoken words.

I wanted to make everything okay. I wanted to fix things, to make it feel like it used to. But I knew it wasn’t that simple.

Joel wasn’t the same anymore, and neither was I.

But for now, all I could do was put on the mask and pretend. Pretend everything was okay.

Because there was no other choice.

Days pass. I avoid him. I shouldn’t, but I do.

I have a life now. A family. I can’t just let Joel drag me back into the past.

—

20 years ago

The kitchen was warm, filled with the smell of garlic and onions sizzling in a pan. I moved around the counter, chopping vegetables, the soft sound of the knife cutting through them mixing with the low hum of the oven. The evening light was fading outside, casting everything in a soft, golden glow.

Sarah in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, doing her homework or reading—something that kept her distracted. Her laughter occasionally bubbled up as she talked to me from across the room. She didn’t mind the quiet either.

I loved these quiet nights—just the simple rhythm of cooking dinner, the familiar routine. It made everything feel right, grounded. As I stirred the pot, I could hear the soft creak of the floorboards behind me, the sound of someone moving closer. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The familiar weight of his presence, the warmth in the air, was enough.

And then, just as I added the last of the spices, I felt his arms slip around me from behind, pulling me in close. His chin rested on my shoulder, and for a moment, everything stopped. The knife in my hand was forgotten as I leaned back into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re making my favorite,” he murmured, his voice low, warm with affection. His breath brushed against the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

I smiled softly, glancing over my shoulder at him.

He tightened his hold a little, like he wanted to pull me into him more. His lips brushed my neck in a soft kiss, lingering for a moment. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of him flood over me, savoring the comfort of this.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” he whispered, the words so quiet they almost seemed like a secret just between us.

I felt my heart tug at the simple honesty in his voice. The world outside, everything that had happened, seemed to fade away in that moment, leaving only this—us—together in the quiet of the kitchen.

“I hope not,” I whispered back, turning in his arms, our faces only inches apart. Joel’s eyes softened, the weight of everything we’d been through settling between us, but in that moment, there was nothing else but the peace we’d found here, together.

With a small, quiet smile, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips soft and sure. It was gentle, but it carried the weight of all the things we didn’t need to say. Just us. Just this.

And in that instant, I realized that no matter what else happened, I’d always hold on to this. This small, perfect moment. Just Joel and me, in a kitchen full of the smell of dinner and the quiet hum of life moving on.

—

We were careful. Cordial. Friendly, even, in that way people are when they have too much history and not enough words. We saw each other in passing, at the stables, at town meetings, in the market. He kept to himself most of the time, but I saw how he watched over Ellie, how he was trying, even if he didn’t always know how.

And then there were the moments that caught me off guard.

Like when I’d be in the town square, helping my husband with the livestock trade, and I’d glance up to find Joel watching from a distance. His eyes would flick from me to my husband, to my kids, to the life I had built without him. He never said anything about it, never let his expression betray anything more than quiet observation, but I knew him too well.

I knew what he wasn’t saying.

And maybe that was why, on a cool evening, I found myself walking up to his house with a basket in my hands.

It wasn’t much. Just a small batch of cookies, warm from the oven, the kind I used to make for him before.

I hesitated outside his door. It was stupid, really. He might not even remember. But before I could overthink it, I knocked.

The door creaked open a moment later, and Joel blinked at me, looking more surprised than anything. “Y/n.”

I lifted the basket slightly. “Brought something for you and Ellie.”

Joel glanced down, and for the first time in a long time, something like warmth flickered in his eyes.

“You remember,” he said quietly.

I huffed out a small, nervous laugh. “Hard to forget how you used to hoard these things like they were gold.”

Joel shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Still are.”

Something in my chest ached. This—this easy familiarity, this old rhythm of knowing each other—was dangerous. It made me remember too much.

Before I could linger too long in it, there was a noise from inside.

“Who’s at the door?” Ellie’s voice called out.

Joel sighed, stepping back and nodding for me to come in.

I hesitated.

And then I did.

The house was simple but warm—lived in. A fire crackled in the hearth, the scent of old wood and leather filling the space. Ellie sat on the couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table, whittling something in her hands. She glanced up as I entered, brows raising.

“Hey,” she said, studying me like I was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet.

“Hey,” I replied, setting the basket down on the small table near the couch. “Brought you something.”

Ellie perked up instantly, setting her whittling knife down and leaning forward. “Wait. Are those—” She lifted the cloth covering the cookies, eyes widening. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Joel exhaled, shaking his head. “Manners, kid.”

Ellie ignored him completely, already stuffing a cookie in her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut. “Okay, these are so much better than the ones they make in town.”

I smirked. “Well, I was always better at baking than Joel, so that tracks.”

Joel let out a sharp breath, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “I didn’t bake.”

“Exactly,” I said with a grin.

Ellie perked up at that, something sparking behind her eyes. “Wait, wait, wait—you knew Joel before all this?”

Joel stiffened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Just waited, watching me.

I hummed, tilting my head. “Oh, yeah. Way before.” Ellie’s brows shot up. “How far back?”

I glanced at Joel, but his expression was unreadable. “Before the outbreak,” I admitted.

Ellie’s mouth fell open slightly. “Whoa. So, like, you knew young Joel?”

I bit back a laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t say young—he was already an old man in spirit.”

Ellie choked on her cookie, grinning. “Oh my god. I knew it.” Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus.”

Ellie ignored him, leaning forward like I’d just promised her the juiciest gossip of all time. “Okay, What was he like?”

I tapped my chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… well, he was stubborn—”

“Big shock,” Ellie deadpanned.

“—and bossy,” I added.

“Still checks out.”

“And,” I drawled, smirking at Joel, “he thought he was so cool, but really, he was just a huge dork.”

Joel groaned, shaking his head. “Y/n.”

I grinned. “What? You were! Always muttering under your breath, acting all broody—” I turned back to Ellie. “You know, I once caught him singing to himself while he was fixing his truck?”

Ellie’s face lit up. “No way.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, nodding solemnly. “And not just any song. It was some cheesy ‘80s ballad, and he was really into it.”

Ellie clutched her stomach, laughing. “Joel, is this true?”

Joel sighed heavily, like he was reconsidering his entire existence.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice like I was sharing a secret. “And he used to smile all the time. Like, actual, real smiles.”

Ellie’s laughter slowed as she blinked at me. “Seriously?”

Joel went quiet.

I felt my own smile falter, something heavier settling between us.

I cleared my throat, forcing some lightness back into my voice. “Yeah. He was a good man.”

Ellie looked between us again, clearly picking up on something, but thankfully, she didn’t push.

Instead, she sat back, munching on another cookie. “Huh. You know, I think I like you.”

Joel shook his head, exhaling sharply. “Lord help me.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

For a second, it was easy—too easy—to pretend like things weren’t broken. That Joel and I weren’t standing on opposite sides of something too wide to cross.

—

I should’ve known better than to let my guard down.

That night at Joel’s, sitting with Ellie, laughing, letting the past slip off my tongue like it wasn’t still a wound—it was a mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake. Because now I can’t stop remembering.

The way Joel used to smile at me like I was his whole world.

The way I used to look at him like he was mine.

The way we used to belong to each other before everything fell apart.

And now we live in the same town, breathing the same air, orbiting around each other like ghosts of the past we never buried.

I do my best to avoid him.

I keep myself busy—taking care of the kids, helping my husband on the farm, working in the stables. It’s easy to pretend when my hands are full, when my days are long, when I fall into bed too exhausted to think.

But Joel doesn’t make it easy.

I see him everywhere. Walking through town, talking to Tommy, riding out for patrol. I feel his eyes on me when I pass him on the street, when I’m at the market, when I’m laughing with my kids. And every damn time, I pretend I don’t notice.

But then, some nights, I slip.

Like tonight.

It’s late—spring air thick and cool, the sky stretched wide and star-freckled above Jackson. I’m at the stables, brushing down one of the horses, the rhythmic strokes lulling me into a quiet, distant place.

I don’t hear him at first. Not until his voice cuts through the quiet.

“You always did love the stables.”

I freeze. My heart lurches painfully, betraying me before I can shove the feeling down.

Slowly, I turn.

Joel stands a few feet away, holding a saddle in one hand, the other resting against the wooden stall. His eyes are dark in the dim lantern light, watching me like he’s trying to read the parts of me I keep hidden.

I swallow. “And you always loved sneaking up on me.” His lips twitch like he wants to smile—but doesn’t.

He steps closer, setting the saddle down on the nearby bench. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

He nods, but his gaze flicks over me, like he doesn’t believe me. Like he still knows me well enough to see through the cracks.

Silence settles between us, heavy with things we don’t say.

I turned toward him, sweeping my hair over my shoulder. His eyes flicked down immediately, and I realized too late what I’d done.

The scar.

It stretched over my shoulder, pale against my skin even in the dim light. My husband always told me it had faded, but I knew better. It was still there. A reminder.

Joel went still.

His gaze darkened, brows pulling together, and before I could say anything, his fingers twitched—like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he should.

“What happened?” His voice was low, rough around the edges.

I swallowed. “Joel—”

“Y/n.”

I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening around the brush in my hand. “It was years ago.”

Joel didn’t say anything, just waited.

I turned away, running a hand down the horse’s mane, grounding myself before I spoke.

“It was before Jackson,” I murmured. “Bandits found our camp. We fought back. I—” I swallowed. “I got lucky.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That ain’t lucky.” I forced a small smile. “I survived.”

Something in his expression shifted, something deep and unspoken. He took a slow step forward, his hand hesitating before it finally reached out.

His fingers barely grazed the scar, the lightest touch, but it sent a shiver through me.

I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve stepped back, laughed it off, said something to make it less. But I didn’t.

Because his touch was careful. Reverent. Like he was mourning something he never even knew he lost.

Joel swallowed thickly, his voice quieter now. “Did he take care of you?”

I knew who he meant.

“Yes,” I whispered. Joel nodded, but something in his eyes was raw, something heavy pressing between us.

We stood there for a long moment, neither of us moving, his fingers still hovering just barely over my skin. The air between us felt thick, charged with something we weren’t supposed to name.

Then, just as quickly, Joel pulled back. I cleared my throat, stepping away. “You should get some rest.” Joel exhaled, like he was letting something go. “Yeah.”

And then, without another word, he turned and walked away. I let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand over my shoulder—where his touch still burned.

—

It had been a few months since Joel and Ellie settled into Jackson. Things were… good, mostly. Better than I expected, considering everything. Joel and I had found a rhythm again—not quite the way it used to be, but close. Close enough that some days it felt easy to slip into old habits.

He’d come by the stables when I was working, make some dry comment about how I hadn’t changed, and I’d roll my eyes and give it right back to him. He’d show up at my house sometimes, too—usually under the pretense of asking about patrols or Jackson’s defenses—but he’d stay longer than necessary, and we’d find ourselves talking about things that had nothing to do with Jackson. Things like Sarah. Things like the life we almost had.

And it was fine. It was safe. It was a line we both knew better than to cross.

Until today.

We’d just gotten back from a longer patrol—a rough one. A couple of clickers had gotten too close to the perimeter, and Joel had gotten clipped. Nothing serious, but he was pissed. His shirt was torn at the sleeve, dried blood crusting the fabric. He wouldn’t stop flexing his shoulder like he was trying to work the soreness out, and it was starting to grate on me.

“You should’ve let me handle it,” I muttered, brushing down my horse as Joel stood nearby, watching me with that same hard look he always wore after a fight.

“Yeah, and let you get yourself killed?” Joel scoffed. “Not a chance.” I rolled my eyes. “I had it under control.”

“Yeah, sure,” Joel bit out, shaking his head. “Looked real under control from where I was standing.”

I spun toward him, frustration bubbling over. “God, Joel, why do you always have to make it a thing?”

“Because it is a thing!” His voice rose, sharp and cutting. “You think I’m just supposed to stand there and watch you throw yourself into danger?”

“That’s how patrol works, Joel. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle twitching beneath his skin. His eyes were sharp and dark, cutting right through me.

“Yeah? And where the hell was your husband while you were out here risking your life?”

I froze. My hand stilled on the horse’s reins, my breath catching in my chest. Slowly, I turned toward him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Joel took a step closer, his shoulders tense, his eyes burning into mine. “It means you’ve got a whole family waiting for you back home, y/n. And yet here you are, out on patrol, risking your life every damn day.” His voice was low, rough, like he was trying to hold it together but barely managing. “Why the hell are you still doing this?”

I shook my head, trying to laugh it off. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

“Don’t I?” Joel’s voice sharpened. “Because last I checked, we’ve been doing this together for months now. And I don’t see him coming out here with you. I don’t see him keeping you safe.”

My chest tightened. “That’s not his job.”

“It should be.” His eyes flashed. I felt the heat rising to my face. “What are you even trying to say, Joel?”

Joel’s face twisted into something complicated—anger and hurt and longing all wrapped up together. He shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. “You know what I’m saying.”

“No, I don’t,” I shot back, my heart pounding. “So why don’t you just say it?”

Joel’s mouth curled into something bitter. “Fine,” he bit out. “Your husband—he got everything I wanted.”

The words hit me like a gut punch.

Joel took a step closer, his eyes burning into mine. “You think it’s easy for me? Watching you with him? Watching you with your kids?” His voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply. “You built a life with him. A whole life. A family.” His jaw flexed, his voice trembling. “And it should’ve been me.”

My mouth went dry. My heart hammered so loud I was sure he could hear it.

“You think I don’t think about it?” Joel’s voice dropped, low and raw now. “About how different things could’ve been if you’d stayed? If I had pulled myself together and told you how I felt before you left?” His eyes darkened. “But I didn’t. And now I get to watch him have the life that I should’ve had with you.”

My chest squeezed painfully. “Joel—”

“No.” He cut me off, his eyes hard. “I need to say this. You think it didn’t kill me? Knowing that you moved on? That you built a life with someone else?” His breath hitched, his eyes sharp with something almost desperate. “That you had his kids?”

I blinked, feeling the sting of tears that I refused to let fall.

“I’m happy for you,” Joel said, but his voice sounded anything but. “Really. You deserve to be happy. But don’t stand here and act like it doesn’t kill me every time I see him put his arm around you. Every time your kid calls him ‘Dad.’” He took another step toward me, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off his body. “It should’ve been me, y/n. It was supposed to be me.”

My throat tightened. “Joel, you don’t get to say that.”

“Why not?” His voice sharpened again. “Because it’s true?”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “Because it’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” His eyes searched mine, desperate, angry. “Tell me you’ve never thought about it. Tell me you’ve never looked at him and wondered if it should’ve been me instead.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Joel’s eyes were sharp, his breath shallow. “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “That’s what I thought.”

We stood there in the cold barn, the sound of the horses shifting restlessly around us, the storm still lingering in the distance. I didn’t know what to say. What the hell could I say to that?

Joel’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, his hand flexing at his side like he was barely holding himself together. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All I could feel was the weight of what he’d just said sitting between us like a live wire, burning and dangerous.

Joel shook his head, his eyes dark. “You don’t have to say anything. I already know.” Then he turned, his hand running through his hair as he started toward the barn doors.

“Joel,” I said, my voice strained. He stopped, his back to me.

“I…” I trailed off, not even knowing what I wanted to say.

Joel sighed, his shoulders sinking. Without looking at me, he said, “I’ll see you around, y/n.”

Then he walked out, leaving me standing there, heart racing, head spinning, wondering how the hell we were supposed to come back from this.

a/n: part two coming soon…

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oldsoul007 · 1 month ago

Text

stuck here like me

joel miller x reader

After twenty years apart, you and Joel reunite in Jackson, but while he spent decades surviving, you built a life without him—one he can only look at from the outside before walking away in silence.

here it is

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oldsoul007 · 2 months ago

Text

off limits

dbf!joel miller x stripper!reader

When Joel Miller—your distant dad’s best friend and the man who’s always been in your life—walks into the strip club where you work, your carefully kept secret shatters, forcing you both to confront the forbidden desire that’s been simmering between you for years.

coming soon…

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oldsoul007 · 2 months ago

Text

Collide

joel miller x famous!reader

summary: A famous pop star and a reserved contractor find an unexpected connection when their paths cross at a concert, leading to a complicated and intense relationship despite their vastly different worlds.

a/n: 20 year age gap, suggestive scenes, kissing, fluff, teen Sarah, please request!!

joel miller masterlist

I was still coming down from the high of the show, the pulse of the bass lingering in my veins as I sat in my dressing room. My legs were stretched out over the couch, my body buzzing with exhaustion in the best way. Another sold-out night. Another crowd screaming my lyrics back at me.

Someone knocked, and my manager popped her head in.

“Your meet-and-greet winner is here—Sarah Miller.”

“Send her in,” I said, smiling.

The door swung open, and in walked a teenage girl, clutching a crinkled tour poster with wide, almost disbelieving eyes. I’d seen that look before—pure, unfiltered excitement, the kind that made all the work worth it.

But what I hadn’t seen before—what I wasn’t expecting—was the man following her.

Older. Tall. Broad shoulders filling the doorway, a flannel stretched over his chest, sleeves rolled up his forearms. His hair was dark but streaked with gray, and the scruff along his jaw was salt-and-pepper. He wasn’t moving like he was part of this world—he lingered, arms crossed, scanning the room with wary eyes like he wasn’t sure if he’d just stepped into a trap.

I was used to seeing dads at my shows, usually half-asleep or scrolling on their phones, counting down the minutes until they could leave. But this guy?

Something about him felt different.

Sarah, completely unaware of the shift in my focus, let out a sharp breath. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I’m here.”

I grinned, forcing myself to drag my attention away from the man hovering behind her.

“Believe it, babe. You made it.” I patted the couch beside me. “Come sit. Let’s take some pictures.”

Sarah practically collapsed onto the seat, still clutching her poster like it might disappear if she let go. “You were amazing. Like, I love your albums, but live? Insane. And the outfits? Oh my God.”

“Thank you!” I laughed, flicking my hair over my shoulder. “Gotta give the people a show.”

I felt it then—that weight of a gaze pressing into me. Not from Sarah.

From him.

I glanced up, catching him watching me. Not in a creepy way. Not in a casual way, either. It was assessing, lingering, like he wasn’t expecting this from me. Like I wasn’t what he thought I’d be.

Sarah rolled her eyes dramatically. “That’s my dad Joel. He insisted on coming. Thought I’d get kidnapped or something.”

“Smart,” I murmured, turning my gaze back to him.

His eyes flicked to mine, and for a second, the room felt smaller.

“You didn’t have to stay back here,” I said, tilting my head. “Most parents just drop their kids off and wait outside.”

His jaw twitched, like he was debating if it was worth answering.

“Didn’t feel right leaving her alone,” he said finally. His voice was deep, rough—like gravel warmed by the sun.

I studied him, smirking a little. “Didn’t seem like you hated the show.”

Something flickered in his eyes—like he hadn’t expected me to notice him in the crowd, let alone call him out on it.

Sarah gasped dramatically. “Wait. Did you actually like it?” She turned to him, eyes wide. “Oh my God, Dad, are you a fan now?”

Joel—Joel. I liked the name—exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight. “Let’s not get carried away.”

I laughed. I liked this. The push and pull of it. He was clearly out of his element, but he wasn’t running from it either.

Sarah turned back to me, still buzzing. “He literally never listens to anything but old music. Like, dad music. So this is, like, a huge deal.”

I arched a brow at him. “Old music, huh? Let me guess—Springsteen? Tom Petty?”

Joel just stared at me. “Nothin’ wrong with Petty.”

I grinned. “Didn’t say there was.”

He held my gaze for a beat too long, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he looked away.

Sarah didn’t seem to notice any of it, too busy gushing about her favorite songs. I signed her poster, took a few selfies, and listened as she told me about how she and her best friend had waited all night to get tickets.

Eventually, my manager cleared her throat—a signal that it was time to wrap things up.

Sarah pouted but nodded, clutching her signed poster like a lifeline. “Thank you so much. This was, like, the best night of my life.”

“Anytime, babe,” I said, giving her a wink.

Then my eyes flickered back to Joel.

He lingered a half-second longer than he needed to, that same unreadable expression on his face. Like he wasn’t sure what the hell just happened here.

I smirked.

“See you around, Joel.”

His throat bobbed. His hands flexed at his sides. But he didn’t say anything—just gave me one last look before following Sarah out the door.

I watched them go, my body still humming—not just from the show, but from him.

Something told me this wasn’t the last time I’d be seeing Joel Miller.

—

I woke up to a pounding headache, the kind that made me instantly regret every single tequila shot from the night before. The afterparty had been a blur—flashing lights, too many hands grabbing mine, bodies pressed close, music so loud I could still feel the bass vibrating in my bones.

I groaned, rolling over in bed, burying my face in the pillows. My mouth was dry. My limbs ached. And judging by the way my phone was blowing up on the nightstand, I’d missed something important.

I squinted at the screen, ignoring the dozens of notifications, and instead focused on the text from my assistant:

“Contractors are at the house today. They need you to sign off on finishes. Be there by noon.”

I groaned again, rubbing my face. Noon? That might as well have been dawn.

But I couldn’t push it off any longer. The house was almost done, and I wanted to make sure every little detail was perfect before I moved in. So I forced myself out of bed, took the longest shower of my life, and threw on a pair of oversized sunglasses to hide the absolute disaster happening on my face.

By the time I pulled up to the house, it was already hot, the kind of Texas heat that made the air shimmer off the pavement. My head was still pounding as I stepped out of the car, tugging my hoodie up over my messy hair.

Then I saw them.

Two men on the porch, deep in conversation. One was younger, dark-haired, grinning as he gestured toward the house. The other…

Oh.

I froze.

It was him.

Joel.

He was standing there, arms crossed, that same unreadable expression on his face as he listened to the other guy talk. He looked just as solid as he had last night, except now he wasn’t in a dimly lit dressing room—he was in daylight, in his element, wearing a dark t-shirt that clung to the broad planes of his chest, work-worn jeans slung low on his hips. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing forearms dusted with hair, veins prominent beneath tanned skin.

Fuck.

I was hungover. I was in no shape for this kind of thing.

But he turned, catching sight of me, and for a second, I swore I saw something flicker in his expression. Recognition. Amusement. Maybe even something else.

The younger guy—who I was now guessing was his brother—looked between us, raising an eyebrow. “Well, damn. You’re the client?”

I pushed my sunglasses up, smirking. “Surprised?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, something like a chuckle under his breath. He shook his head slightly, looking down before glancing back up at me. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

I stepped closer, my headache momentarily forgotten. “Yeah? You’re not exactly my usual demographic either.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. He shifted his weight, hands resting on his hips. “That what you call it?”

I let my eyes flicker over him—just briefly, just enough for him to feel it. “You tell me.”

His throat bobbed, but he didn’t answer.

His brother, though, was eating this up. He let out a low whistle, grinning between us. “Alright, what am I missin’ here?”

I smirked. “Your brother was at my show last night.”

The younger man lit up. “Oh, no shit.” He turned to Joel, grinning. “Man, you didn’t tell me you were a fan.”

Joel exhaled sharply. “Jesus Christ.”

I laughed, biting my lip, watching the way his jaw clenched. He wasn’t flustered, not exactly. But he was… affected. And I liked that.

“Tommy,” Joel muttered, clearly done with this conversation. “Go check the tile in the kitchen.”

Tommy—who now had a name—was still grinning as he backed away. “Oh, I’ll check the tile, alright.”

When he was gone, I turned back to Joel, crossing my arms.

“So. You do this for a living?”

Joel nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Been doin’ contracting work a long time.”

I let my gaze drift around the house, imagining him working here—his hands on the walls, the floors, every little detail touched by him.

“Guess that means you’ll be around for a while.”

Joel met my eyes, something heavy in his gaze. “Looks that way.”

The air felt thick, the heat between us stretching, pulling, tightening.

I smirked. “Good.”

Then I turned and walked inside, knowing full well he was watching me go.

—

I stepped into the house, my heels clicking on the polished floors, the cool air inside a welcome relief from the heat outside. Joel followed me, his footsteps steady and even behind me, but it was his presence that made the room feel smaller. He was still there, lingering just at the edge of my periphery as I looked around the space.

“So, what do you think?” I asked, motioning to the wide open spaces, the unfinished but impressive features—high ceilings, sleek lines, all of it still a work in progress.

Joel took a slow turn, eyes scanning the room. “It’s big,” he said. “I mean, damn. You’re gonna need a lotta furniture to fill this place.”

I chuckled, shrugging. “I’ll figure it out.” I didn’t mind the emptiness. I liked the potential of it. The house was a blank slate, just like the life I’d started to build here.

“Texas sure knows how to do things big,” he muttered under his breath, walking over to inspect the kitchen island.

I caught the slight surprise in his voice, and it made me pause. “You surprised?”

He turned to face me, his brows raised slightly. “Guess I didn’t expect someone like you to be from here.”

I tilted my head, genuinely curious now. “Someone like me?”

He shrugged, his eyes flickering to mine before he looked back down at the stone countertop, his hands moving slowly over the surface. “I dunno. You’re, uh… different. Thought people from Texas were more…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish the thought.

“More what?” I prodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

He rubbed his jaw, clearly trying to avoid saying something that might come out wrong. “I dunno. More country, maybe. More… traditional.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused. “You think I’m not ‘traditional’?”

Joel shifted uncomfortably. “No, it’s not that.” He looked like he was realizing how much trouble he’d gotten himself into with his words. “I’m just sayin’, Texas is a big place. People think it’s all rodeos and oil rigs and cowboy hats.”

I laughed, walking over to a window that looked out over the land. The sunlight was softer now, casting a warm glow on the fields beyond. The house felt like a fortress here, its high walls keeping out everything I didn’t want. But in Texas, even the wide-open spaces felt like they were mine.

“Well, I grew up here,” I said, looking out at the view, my voice softening a little. “I didn’t think I could build a house anywhere else. Texas is home.”

Joel stayed silent for a moment, the weight of my words hanging in the air. Then, when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I get that. Texas has a way of sticking with you, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, turning to face him. “Yeah. You can take the girl out of Texas, but…” I let the sentence hang, a half-smile on my lips.

He met my gaze then, something almost reflective in his eyes. “But you can’t take Texas out of the girl.”

I let out a soft laugh, relieved that he understood. That we didn’t need to say everything. I’d always known that about Texas—that it was big, that it was loud, but also that it was home in a way I couldn’t explain to anyone who didn’t feel the same pull.

“So, where are you from?” I asked, stepping closer to him, wanting to shift the conversation away from the weight of what I’d said.

He paused, looking down for a second, like he wasn’t sure if he should say. Finally, he met my eyes, his expression shifting to something more grounded. “Came from a small town outside Austin. Grew up on a farm, learned the trade from my old man.”

I smiled. “Sounds like a different world than this.”

“It was,” he agreed. His gaze drifted toward the large windows, his tone thoughtful. “But Texas has a way of making you feel like you belong, no matter where you come from.”

There was something in his voice, something that made me pause. He wasn’t just talking about the land anymore. He was talking about Texas—and maybe even about himself, too.

For a second, the tension between us shifted. It wasn’t just about the house, or the project we were both now a part of—it was about something deeper. Something about us both finding our places, making a home.

I broke the silence, clearing my throat. “Guess that’s what makes it so special. Doesn’t matter how far you go, you always find your way back.”

Joel looked at me, his expression unreadable, but there was something lingering there. Something unsaid. He cleared his throat. “Guess you’re right.”

I smiled, the weight of the moment fading into something lighter, easier.

But as we stood there, looking at each other in the stillness of that unfinished house, I knew one thing for sure—Texas wasn’t just a place. It was a feeling. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave it behind. Not now. Not ever.

—

The days passed in a blur of emails, meetings, and decisions about finishes and fixtures, but my mind kept wandering back to that house. The house that was almost finished, but not quite. Every day, I’d get updates from my manager or the construction crew about progress, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the two men working on it.

Joel and his brother, Tommy.

They were good at what they did—no surprise there.

Every time I visited, I saw them in action, meticulously working on the smallest details. Joel was particularly focused, his movements efficient but thoughtful, like he took pride in making everything just right.

I found myself going there more often than I needed to, and I could feel it—something shifting in the air between Joel and me. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there—the lingering glances, the moments where we found ourselves alone, if only for a few seconds, before either Tommy or one of the other workers came around the corner.

I’d always been good at reading people, and Joel didn’t seem like the type to show much of his cards. But there were times when our eyes met across a room, a long, drawn-out moment where neither of us looked away.

Once, I was standing by the kitchen, debating whether the granite countertops I’d chosen would clash with the cabinets. Joel had been in the other room, but when I glanced over, there he was—watching me. Not just looking, but studying me. The way his gaze lingered made my heart skip a beat, even though I was trying to act like I didn’t notice.

I forced myself to focus on the materials. “What do you think about the backsplash?” I asked, knowing I needed to fill the silence.

Joel shifted, scratching the back of his neck before walking over, his boots thudding softly against the floor. “The tile’s fine,” he said, his voice low. “But I’d go with something a little more subdued. You don’t need to compete with the countertops.”

I nodded, stepping back to look at it through his eyes. “Subdued. Got it.”

I could feel him so close now, his body just a breath away, the heat from him lingering in the space between us. But before I could respond, Tommy rounded the corner, grinning. “You two makin’ progress in here, or just talkin’ shop?”

I shot Tommy a playful smile, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Joel was still standing a little too close, like he didn’t want to walk away. I ignored it, focusing on Tommy instead, but there was no denying the tension simmering beneath the surface.

The next few days felt like that—little moments.

I’d walk through the house, discussing where I wanted certain pieces, and Joel would be there, eyes on me just a little too long. I’d catch his gaze in the reflection of a window, or he’d be watching me from across the room when I wasn’t looking, and when I did catch him, he’d quickly look away.

Tommy, oblivious to the energy between us, was always there too, cracking jokes and making the work feel light. It was clear that he and Joel were close, and I appreciated that—his easygoing attitude balanced Joel’s more serious demeanor.

But still, there were those moments when it was just Joel and me, alone.

Like the time I walked into the garage, planning to check on the paint job in the hallway. Joel had been working on some cabinetry, and when he saw me enter, he set down his tools and wiped his hands on a rag. “Hey,” he said, his voice gravelly, like he hadn’t been talking much today.

“Hey,” I said, trying to act casual, but the moment stretched longer than it should have. I could feel the distance between us closing. He was so close now that I could smell the faint scent of wood and sawdust on his skin, and I couldn’t help but notice how good he looked. It was the kind of ruggedness that worked on him—like he didn’t have to try, but still somehow looked effortlessly put together.

“I was thinking about the flooring,” I started, trying to steer the conversation to something safe as my heart raced in my chest. But the words felt stupid in my mouth when his eyes were on me like that. Like they were seeing right through me.

“Flooring’s good,” he said, leaning against the workbench. He crossed his arms, and his gaze dipped just slightly before meeting my eyes again. “You just need to decide what you want the most. It’s your house.”

His words felt more like a challenge than advice.

I took a slow breath, swallowing hard. “I know. I just… want it to be perfect.”

Joel’s expression softened. “It will be.” He stepped forward then, closer than he had before. So close I could feel his presence in a way that was more than physical. “You’ve got a good eye. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed with anything you choose.”

I could feel my pulse quicken at the way he was looking at me, the weight of the moment too intense for me to shake off. There was an invisible line between us now, a line I wasn’t sure if I should cross, but I couldn’t look away.

Just as the air thickened, the sound of Tommy’s voice came from the other room. “Yo, Joel! We need your help with these measurements.”

Joel exhaled, breaking the spell. He stepped back, his gaze still lingering on mine for just a moment longer before he turned and walked toward the doorway.

“Guess I better get to work,” he said, his voice quieter than before, like it had been touched by something.

I stood there for a beat, trying to compose myself, but my heart was still pounding in my chest. I couldn’t deny it anymore.

The tension between us was undeniable, and I wasn’t sure how much longer we could ignore it.

—

Joel was kneeling by the baseboards, smoothing out the last coat of sealant with practiced precision. The steady scrape of the tool against the wood filled the quiet space, but his attention kept flicking toward me as I sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, flipping through fabric samples for the living room.

“You know,” he said, finally breaking the silence, “I still don’t get it.”

I looked up. “Get what?”

He rested his forearm on his knee, tool still in hand, and nodded toward me. “All this.” He gestured vaguely around the room, but I knew he didn’t mean the house. “You’ve got people screaming your name, selling out arenas… but here you are, sitting on the floor, stressin’ over couch cushions.”

I laughed softly and set the samples down. “Yeah, well… those arenas don’t exactly help me figure out if sage green’s gonna make me regret all my life choices.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. “Still. Must be kinda… wild. All that attention.”

I leaned back on my hands, glancing toward the window where the late afternoon sun poured in, warm and golden. “Yeah. It is. It still doesn’t feel real most days.”

His brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to understand. “What part?”

“All of it.” I shrugged, feeling the familiar wave of disbelief wash over me. “I mean, I was just a kid with a guitar writing sad songs in my bedroom. And now… there are people who know those songs. Who sing ‘em back to me. Who care enough to show up.” I shook my head with a small, disbelieving smile. “It’s insane.”

Joel was quiet for a moment. “You ever get used to it?”

“Not really.” I met his gaze again. “And honestly, I don’t think I want to. I don’t ever wanna stand on stage and not feel completely floored by the fact that people gave me a night of their lives. You know?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes softening. “Yeah. I get that.”

“Like… I’m just grateful, you know? For all of it. The chaos, the weirdness, the fact that I can make music and it actually… matters to someone. It could all go away tomorrow, and I’d still feel lucky that it happened at all.”

His mouth quirked into a faint smile. “Yeah, well… reckon that attitude’s why they show up in the first place.”

My cheeks warmed, and I ducked my head with a laugh. “Okay, stop, you’re gonna make me weird about it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he went back to the baseboards. “Just callin’ it like I see it, superstar.”

“Superstar,” I repeated with a groan. “God, don’t let Sarah hear you say that.”

“Oh, too late,” he said, smirking. “She already thinks you hung the moon.”

I smiled at that. “Yeah, well… don’t tell her, but I think she might be cooler than me.”

He didn’t look up, but his voice softened. “Yeah. She’s got pretty good taste, though.”

And just like that, the air shifted—just a little. And I couldn’t help but wonder if he realized he was included in that.

—

The clock on the wall read 9:42 p.m., and Joel Miller was still here. I could hear the faint scrape of a utility knife coming from the other side of the room, followed by a frustrated sigh.

I padded down the hall, leaning against the doorway to find him crouched near the kitchen island, squinting at something on the floor. His flannel sleeves were rolled up, forearms dusted with sawdust, hair slightly disheveled from the long day.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

Joel exhaled through his nose and sat back on his heels, turning to look at me. “Yeah, just… missin’ a piece I need to finish this trim.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier than before. “I’ll go grab it from the hardware store real quick. Be outta your hair after that.”

I smiled, crossing my arms. “Yeah, you better. Don’t you have a daughter to get home to?”

He huffed a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, yeah. Sarah’ll be fine. She’s probably still on the phone with her friend complainin’ about algebra.”

“Smart girl.” I hesitated for a second before straightening. “You mind if I tag along?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “To the hardware store?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I’ve been cooped up here all day. A quick trip sounds nice. Plus… I’ve never been to a hardware store this late. Kinda curious what kind of characters we’ll run into.”

He chuckled under his breath. “All right, suit yourself. Just don’t blame me when it’s not as exciting as you’re imaginin’.”

The hardware store was exactly as I’d pictured it—rows of tools, pipes, paint cans, and that faint metallic smell that reminded me of childhood. My dad used to drag me to places like this on weekends, letting me pick out paint colors for walls that never actually got painted.

Joel walked ahead of me, eyes scanning the aisles like he’d been born here. I followed, occasionally stopping to run my fingers along unfamiliar tools.

“What’s this?” I held up something that looked like a cross between scissors and a medieval torture devil.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Tin snips.”

“Ah.” I turned them in my hand. “For… snipping tin, I assume?”

“Smart girl.”

I gave him a mock glare. “Watch it, Miller.”

He smirked and kept walking, turning into the next aisle. I followed, catching up just as he crouched down to grab a small package from the bottom shelf.

“There she is,” he muttered, holding it up.

“Thrilling.” I clapped my hands together. “That was… what, a seven out of ten on the adventure scale?”

He chuckled. “More like a two.”

“Well, maybe next time we’ll hit up the plumbing section. Really go wild.”

His eyes met mine, and we both broke into laughter. I felt the warmth of it spread through me, the ease of being around him so simple and effortless. I didn’t notice the kid with the phone a few aisles over, or the faint click of a camera shutter.

Joel’s pov

I had barely managed to get some sleep after the late-night trip to the hardware store with y/n. The drive had been strange, in the best way possible. It was the kind of moment where everything felt familiar and carefree, yet I couldn’t shake the weight of the unspoken tension between us. The way she looked at me last night—so open, so real—made me feel like I was standing on the edge of something I wasn’t sure I was ready for. But I couldn’t ignore the way she made me feel, how easy it was to be around her.

This morning, I had to snap myself out of those thoughts. The quiet of the house was a bit too loud as I stepped into the kitchen, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Sarah was still asleep in her room, thank God. I had a few hours to get myself together before the day really started.

That’s when I heard her.

“DAD!” Sarah’s voice rang out from the living room, startling me. I rubbed my face and made my way down the hall, already bracing myself for whatever was coming.

When I reached the living room, Sarah was standing there, phone in hand, eyes wide with excitement. She was practically bouncing on her heels, her face flushed with energy. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew I wasn’t going to like it.

“Look what I found!” she exclaimed, holding up her phone, the screen pointing directly at me. I squinted at it, immediately regretting the choice.

There was a picture of y/n and me from last night at the hardware store. It was a candid shot—y/n had been laughing, her head thrown back, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. I was standing close to her, my face right beside hers, both of us sharing a moment that, to anyone else, probably looked… well, too intimate. Like we were more than we were.

I could feel my heart rate picking up, my stomach knotting. This wasn’t how I wanted Sarah to see this. I wasn’t ready to explain anything yet, least of all to her. I didn’t want to complicate things between me and Lauren, but now… now it was out in the open, whether I was ready or not.

Sarah’s eyes were wide with excitement, but there was a hint of curiosity too, like she was waiting for me to say something.

“Dad, is that you and… y/n?” she asked, her voice laced with both excitement and surprise. “You guys look like you’re having so much fun. What’s going on? Were you two hanging out last night?”

I felt the heat rising in my face, and I could tell that I was doing my best to hide the anxiety gnawing at me. This was not the conversation I’d planned on having today.

“It’s not what you think, Sarah,” I said, my voice low, trying to keep it casual, trying to keep things under control. “We were just getting somethings for her house. It’s no big deal.”

Her expression didn’t change. She wasn’t buying it. “No big deal?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Dad, you’re literally standing there, like, super close to her. You two look like you’re having the best time. What’s going on? Are you two, like, friends or—”

“Sarah,” I cut her off, trying not to sound too defensive. “I know how it looks, but I swear it’s just a friendly moment. We were just… talking. That’s all.”

But she wasn’t convinced. “Talking? Dad, I’ve never seen you look at someone like that before.”

The weight of her words hit me harder than I expected. I wasn’t sure why it stung so much, but it did. Sarah wasn’t wrong. There was something between me and y/n. I wasn’t blind to it. But this? This was complicated.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to collect my thoughts. “It’s nothing to worry about,” I said, my voice steady, but the truth was that I wasn’t even sure if I believed myself. “She’s just… she’s a friend, Sarah. That’s it.”

But the way she was looking at me told me she wasn’t buying it, not for a second. “Dad, you’re really bad at lying,” she said with a laugh, but there was a sharpness in her tone. “I’m just saying, you’re looking at her like… like you really like her. You should be honest with me.”

It wasn’t the words, but the tone—the way she said it, like she saw right through me—that made me feel exposed. I had always prided myself on being able to manage my emotions, to keep my thoughts locked up tight. But with Sarah, with y/n… it was becoming harder and harder to hide what I felt.

I sighed, trying to soften the tension. “Look, Sarah… I don’t want to get into this right now, okay? Just trust me when I say that nothing’s going on. I care about you, and that’s my focus right now.”

She seemed to consider my words for a moment before giving me a knowing look. “Fine, but just so you know, Dad…” She smirked. “I think you really like her.”

My stomach twisted at her words, but I tried to push the feeling down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice a little too forceful, but I wasn’t ready to dive deeper into this yet.

Sarah looked at me, her eyes narrowing just slightly. She wasn’t giving up that easily, but thankfully, she dropped the subject. “Whatever, Dad. But if you do start liking her for real, you better tell me first. Got it?”

“Got it,” I said, giving her a reassuring smile, though I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring myself or her.

She shrugged and walked off, heading back to her room with the picture still in her hand. My heart was still pounding in my chest. It wasn’t just the photo that had me rattled—it was the truth that I wasn’t sure how to confront yet.

Was I starting to like y/n? The answer was obvious. And yet, as I stood there in the silence of the house, I couldn’t figure out if I was ready to admit it, especially not to Sarah.

The question lingered, unanswered, in my mind. But one thing was clear: this was just the beginning. And it wasn’t going to be easy to figure out where it would go from here.

—

Joel was different the next time I saw him.

He showed up like usual—punctual, focused, still dressed in that same worn flannel and faded jeans. But the easy warmth that usually hung between us was gone. The quiet jokes, the teasing smiles, the way his eyes would linger just a second longer than necessary—none of it showed up today.

He barely looked at me.

I tried to ignore it at first. Thought maybe he was just tired or preoccupied with work. He and Tommy had been running around nonstop to finish the details on the house. But when I brought him a coffee mid-morning and he mumbled a polite “thanks” without even glancing up, my stomach twisted.

Something was wrong. And whatever it was, it had to do with me.

I hovered in the doorway while he knelt by the fireplace, adjusting the custom mantel we’d argued about for a full twenty minutes last week. “Okay,” I finally said, gripping the edge of the doorframe. “What’s going on?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He kept working like I hadn’t spoken at all. I watched the muscle in his jaw tighten as he used his level to check the alignment.

“Joel.” My voice softened. “Talk to me.”

He sighed through his nose, set down the tool, and wiped his hands on his jeans before finally turning toward me. His face was unreadable. “Did you see the picture?”

The picture.

My chest tightened. “What picture?”

His eyes flicked toward mine like he didn’t believe me. “The one from the hardware store.” His voice was low, careful. “The one that ended up all over the damn internet.”

The words hit me like cold water. “Wait. What?”

“You really didn’t see it?”

“No.” My heart started to race. “Joel, I don’t go looking for that stuff. What—what picture are you talking about?”

He rubbed a hand over his face and pulled out his phone. After a few swipes, he turned the screen toward me.

There it was. The photo. Us, standing in that stupid hardware store aisle, laughing like we didn’t have a care in the world. From this angle, it did look… cozy. Familiar. Like we were something we weren’t.

God.

I felt my stomach drop through the floor. “Shit. I—Joel, I had no idea.”

He lowered the phone, his jaw tight. “Yeah, well… Sarah found it this morning.”

I blinked. “Sarah?”

He gave a short nod, eyes hard. “She came runnin’ downstairs with her phone, askin’ me if I was ‘dating a pop star.’ Thought it was funny.” His mouth twisted like the word tasted bitter. “Didn’t feel so funny to me.”

The guilt hit me hard and fast. I took a step toward him. “Joel, I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t know someone took that picture. I didn’t mean for it to—”

“I know you didn’t,” he cut in. His tone was sharp but tired. “But it happened anyway, didn’t it?”

The truth of it settled like a stone in my chest. He was right. Intentions didn’t erase the fact that his life—his daughter’s life—had just been yanked into my world without warning. Without permission.

“Look,” I said, voice cracking slightly. “I can call my manager. Get them to reach out, try to take it down.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Once it’s out there, it’s out there.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating.

I wrapped my arms around myself and swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Joel… I’m really, really sorry.”

He stood there for a long moment, eyes dropping to the floor like he was weighing something.

“I know you are,” he said finally. “But I can’t let Sarah get caught up in all this. I just… I can’t.”

His voice was low, almost gentle, but it still hit like a gut punch.

Because “all this” was me.

And no matter how much I cared about him—how much I liked him, admired him, wanted to be around him—this was the part I could never change. The part I hated. The part where my life bled into someone else’s without permission. Where someone like Joel Miller—normal, grounded, fiercely protective of his daughter—would look at me and realize that whatever this had been?

It wasn’t worth it.

I gave a small nod and forced a weak smile. “Yeah. I get it.”

Joel didn’t say anything else. He just gave a tight nod, turned back to the fireplace, and got back to work.

And I stood there for a few more seconds before heading upstairs, heart heavy, throat burning.

I didn’t cry.

But God, I wanted to.

The next few days passed in a blur.

Joel came and went with Tommy to finish the last of the work on the house, but things between us were different now—strained, distant. He didn’t avoid me completely, but he didn’t go out of his way to talk to me either. No more lingering conversations about the best gas station snacks. No more teasing glances when I asked dumb questions about tools. Just quick, professional exchanges about the house.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

I tried to stay busy. Studio calls, interviews, brand meetings—they all demanded my attention, and I gave it to them. I smiled, answered questions about upcoming music, joked about how I was “just a Texas girl at heart.” But the whole time, the memory of that picture, of Sarah’s name on Joel’s lips, sat heavy in my chest.

It was an accident. I hadn’t asked for it. And yet, somehow, I still felt like I’d broken something.

By the fourth day, I’d had enough.

That evening, just after the sun dipped below the horizon, I heard the familiar rumble of Joel’s truck out front. I didn’t overthink it. I walked downstairs, pulled open the front door before he could reach it, and stepped outside.

Joel stopped short on the porch, toolbox in hand. His eyes flicked to mine, guarded as ever. “Evenin’.”

“Hey.” I crossed my arms, ignoring the way my heart jumped just from standing this close to him. “You got a minute?”

He hesitated. “Kinda gotta finish the bathroom grout—”

“It can wait.”

His brows lifted slightly at the sharpness in my voice. He set the toolbox down with a sigh. “All right.”

I leaned against the porch railing and took a breath. “Look… I’m sorry about that picture. I know it put you in a bad spot with Sarah, and I swear I didn’t know it was being taken. But I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when you’ve barely looked at me all week.”

Joel shifted his weight, rubbing the back of his neck. “I ain’t been avoidin’ you.”

“Yeah, you have.” I tilted my head. “You’ve been avoiding me since the picture thing. And I get it—it sucks. You didn’t ask to get dragged into all that. But I thought we were at least friends.”

He exhaled heavily and looked down at the porch. “We are.”

“Then act like it.” I gestured toward the front door. “I feel like you’ve been treating me like I’m radioactive or something.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Ain’t you, like, a global sensation or whatever? Radioactive sounds about right.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Seriously?”

He finally met my eyes. There was something softer there now, something that chipped away at the tension. “I dunno, y/n,” he said after a moment. “I guess I just… got caught off guard by all of it.”

“The picture?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nah. More like… what it stirred up.”

I froze. “What does that mean?”

He dragged a hand down his face, clearly frustrated. “I mean… I spend most of my time tryin’ to keep life simple. Easy. Predictable. And then I meet you, and suddenly there’s a picture of us floatin’ around the internet, and Sarah’s gigglin’ about it, and Tommy’s givin’ me shit every day about how I ‘can’t handle all that.’” He let out a humorless laugh. “And the worst part is, he’s probably right.”

My heart stuttered. “Why?”

Joel’s eyes caught mine, steady and unguarded for the first time in days. “Because I’ve been in denial about this whole thing since the minute I saw you onstage.”

My breath caught.

There it was. No dancing around it this time. No quiet looks or lingering glances. He’d said it out loud.

“You’ve been… what?” I asked, voice unsteady.

He gave a small shake of his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Pretendin’ it don’t mean anything,” he said softly. “That you’re just some client and I’m just here to finish a job. But I’m lyin’ to myself.”

The air between us thickened. I gripped the railing so tightly my knuckles ached. “Joel…”

“I know,” he said, cutting me off. His voice was rough. “It’s complicated. Sarah, my job… your life, your whole… world.” He huffed out a breath and glanced at me. “I just… needed you to know I ain’t avoidin’ you because I don’t care. I’m avoidin’ you ‘cause I care more than I should.”

The confession knocked the air out of me.

I could’ve kissed him then. Could’ve stepped forward and closed the gap, erased every last inch of distance. But instead, I smiled softly and reached out, brushing my fingers lightly over his forearm. “You think too much, Miller.”

Joel let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “You don’t think enough.”

“Maybe.” I squeezed his arm once before dropping my hand. “But I’m not scared of complicated.”

It was one of those rare moments-those fleeting ones where everything felt like it was shifting into place.

The house was still a mess, not completely finished, but it felt intimate, in its own way. The lights were dimmed, casting a soft glow over the room, and for some reason, everything else seemed to fade away.

The music playing softly from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner was barely audible. It was just us, in this moment, and the world outside didn't matter.

Joel's eyes were on me, steady and intense, like he was studying every inch of my face. There was something in the way he looked at me-something that had been building for weeks, simmering beneath the surface.

I stepped closer, drawn to him. Every part of me wanted to bridge the distance between us, to finally give in to whatever this was, this magnetic pull that had been growing since the moment we met.

"You know," I started, my voice softer than usual,"I'm really glad you're working on my house. It feels... different when you're here."

His gaze flickered down to my lips for a fraction of a second, and that was enough. My heart skipped a beat.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice low, his usual confidence faltering slightly. "I'm glad to be here, too."

I could feel the tension in the air, thick and tangible now. We were standing close, too close, but neither of us was stepping away. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and quick, as if my body was already betraying me, telling me what I already knew.

I could feel the heat from his body, the warmth of his breath, and I knew-we both knew-that something was about to happen.

I took another step forward, my fingers brushing lightly against his arm. He didn't pull away. Instead, he reached up, his hand hovering near my face, like he wasn't sure if he should touch me.

"You're so..." he started, but his words trailed off.

I didn't need him to finish. I could feel it-the pull, the magnetism. I leaned in just a little bit more, my lips barely brushing against his ear as I whispered, "I've wanted this for a while Joel."

The words hung in the air between us, thick and heavy. For a second, I thought I saw his resolve crack. His eyes softened, the sharpness from before blurring into something warmer, something more vulnerable.

He stepped in closer, his breath on my neck sending a shiver through me. His lips were inches away from mine, and I could feel the moment hanging on a thread.

Then, just as our lips were about to meet, the door slammed open.

"Hey, Joel! I need your-" Tommy's voice came booming from the hallway, interrupting everything.

I froze, and so did Joel. His eyes darted away from me, that familiar guarded expression slipping back into place.

He stepped back, like he was trying to pull himself together, but I could see the way his hands were trembling slightly, betraying the tension that had been building between us.

Tommy appeared in the doorway, blissfully unaware of the moment he'd just interrupted. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to... well, yeah, just—" He cleared his throat, clearly sensing the awkward energy. "I need your help with something in the garage."

Joel let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping.

He looked at me, and for a split second, I could have sworn I saw regret in his eyes-like he was frustrated, too.

"Alright, Tommy. Just give me a minute," Joel muttered, walking past me without another word.

I stayed where I was, my body still buzzing from what had almost happened. The connection between us hadn't dissipated-it lingered, humming between us like an electric current.

Tommy was already halfway down the hall before Joel caught up with him, offering me a brief, almost apologetic glance.

I stood there in the dim light of the living room, my heart racing. I didn't know if I was more frustrated or relieved.

But deep down, I knew one thing for sure: this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

—

The next day, the air felt thick with tension, like something had shifted between us and I wasn't sure how to navigate it. I hadn't heard from Joel since last night, but I couldn't stop thinking about that almost-kiss. The way everything felt in that moment-like we were so close to crossing a line that neither of us fully understood. It lingered in my mind, that charged silence, the unspoken words that seemed to hover in the air between us.

I'd tried to go about my day, tried to keep myself busy with meetings and interviews, but all I could think about was Joel. The warmth of his touch, the way his eyes had looked at me as he'd almost kissed me-like he wanted to but couldn't let himself. It was maddening.

Finally, after hours of pretending like everything was normal, Joel showed up at the house. He was here to do some more work with Tommy, but I could tell from the moment he walked through the door that something was different between us.

There was a heaviness to his steps, a tightness in his jaw that made the air feel suffocating.

I was in the living room when he came in, and I knew this was it-the moment where we would either pretend it hadn't happened or face the truth of what had been building between us for so long.

He cleared his throat, a little awkwardly, as he stopped just inside the door.

"Hey," he said, his voice lower than usual, like he wasn't sure how to start. "I... I wanted to talk about last night."

I glanced up from where l'd been sitting, my heart instantly picking up pace. "Yeah?" | tried to keep my voice casual, but there was no hiding the fact that I was still processing everything that had happened.

Joel ran a hand through his hair, clearly uneasy.

"Look, I... I just want to say that what happened-what almost happened-was a mistake. I don't want you to think I'm some kind of... I don't know, some guy who takes advantage of situations like that."

My chest tightened, and I stood up from the couch, crossing the room to face him. "Joel, it wasn't a mistake," I said softly, but firmly. "You don't have to apologize for it."

He looked at me, his brows furrowing, like he was trying to figure out if I was being serious. "Y/n, it was a mistake," he repeated, his voice a little more strained now. "I mean. you're... you're so young, and I'm-"

I cut him off, not wanting to hear him talk down to himself like that. "I'm not a kid, Joel," I said, the words coming out sharper than I meant. "And I don't need you to protect me from myself."

He looked taken aback, clearly not expecting my response, but there was something else in his eyes-something softening, something that told me he wasn't as sure about his apology as he was trying to make it seem.

"I just didn't want you to think I-" he started again, but I took a step closer, interrupting him once more.

"No, Joel. I've been in this world, l've dealt with a lot more than people think. And you..." I paused, looking up at him, feeling the weight of everything that had been building between us.

"You're not just some guy l've been casually seeing. There's something here. I feel it, and I know you do too."

His eyes softened at my words, and for the first time, I could see the walls he'd been building around himself start to crack. He let out a deep breath, his hands running over his face as if he was trying to come to terms with the fact that he couldn't deny what was happening between us anymore.

"Y/n..." He stopped, the words catching in his throat. "I don't know what this is, but I'm trying to figure it out."

"Me too," I whispered, finally closing the last bit of distance between us. "But maybe we don't need to figure everything out right now. Maybe we just need to stop pretending that this isn't happening."

I reached out, my fingers brushing lightly against his chest, and I felt him freeze under my touch. His eyes were locked on mine, and for a long moment, we both just stood there, both of us breathing a little too quickly, both of us waiting for the other to make a move.

Then, finally, Joel spoke in a low voice that made my heart skip. "Are you sure about this?"

I didn't answer with words. Instead, I leaned up slowly, giving him every chance to pull away if he wanted to, but he didn't. And when our lips met, it was like everything fell into place.

It wasn't a slow, tentative kiss this time. It was desperate, passionate-an unspoken release of all the tension that had been building between us for so long. His hands were at my waist, pulling me against him as if he couldn't get close enough.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, feeling the way his body tensed beneath mine, the way he was finally giving in to something he had been holding back for so long.

I could feel the heat between us, the raw energy that pulsed through every touch, every kiss. It was like nothing else mattered in that moment-no fears, no regrets, no questions about what this would mean. There was only him, only us, caught in the rush of something real.

Our lips moved together, urgent and hungry, as if we were both finally acknowledging the truth we'd been dancing around. The kiss deepened, becoming more frantic, our bodies pressing closer together, craving the connection we'd been denying.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless, our chests rising and falling as we tried to catch our breath. I could see the same question in his eyes-the same look of wonder and disbelief, like neither of us could believe what had just happened.

But I didn't need words this time. I didn't need him to apologize again, or explain himself. I just needed him to know that it wasn't a mistake, and that I wasn't backing away from this.

I stepped back slightly, my fingers still tracing his jaw, and I looked up at him, my voice low. "It wasn't a mistake, Joel. It never was."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw him smile-genuinely. It wasn't forced, or awkward, or hesitant. It was real.

And in that smile, I knew. This wasn't over. This was only the beginning.

—

We spent hours together in the quiet of my house. The sound of my music barely registering in the background as we talked, laughed, and touched. There were no real words for the way we fit together—how perfectly we seemed to complete each other. And the way we kissed—God, the way he kissed me—it was like he was marking me as his own, like every kiss was a promise.

One night, after a long day of working on my house, Joel and I found ourselves alone in my bedroom, the door cracked open just enough for the light from the hallway to seep in. He was standing by the window, watching the last slivers of sunlight fade behind the trees. I couldn’t help myself—I walked up to him, standing just behind him, letting my hands brush over his shoulders.

Without turning, he murmured, “You’re always so quiet around me.” His voice was low, almost a growl. He tilted his head slightly, just enough for his lips to graze the side of my neck. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

I closed my eyes, leaning into him. “You know what’s going on,” I whispered back. I slid my arms around his waist, my chest pressing against his back. The warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne mixing with the musk of sweat, was intoxicating. He turned around then, his eyes darker than before, as if he were trying to fight back something deeper inside him.

Joel was always so controlled—always careful with his emotions, with what he let slip. But I knew it was different with me.

His hand cupped my face, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek as if memorizing every inch of me. “You’re makin’ it hard to breathe, darlin’.”

“You make me forget to breathe,” I admitted, my fingers brushing against his chest. I leaned in, the distance between us practically nonexistent. “Don’t fight this. Don’t fight us.”

His lips met mine, urgent and hungry. There was no hesitation this time, no distance between us. The kiss was full of need—years of repressed emotions finally crashing together in one fluid motion. His hands were on me, under me, pulling me closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. My hands found his hair, tangled in the strands as I deepened the kiss, needing to feel him closer. The energy between us was electric, an unspoken connection that neither of us could deny anymore.

We stumbled back toward the bed, not breaking apart for a second. I couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything other than the way his lips moved with mine, the way his body pressed against me. The yearning, the hunger—it was all too much and not enough all at once.

He pulled back for a breath, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. “You sure about this, Lauren?” His voice was rough, like he was fighting against a tide pulling him under.

I nodded, pulling him back toward me, my hands gripping his shirt, desperate for him. “I’m sure. God, Joel, I’m so sure.”

And then there was nothing but us, lost in the pull of one another. Nothing else mattered. Not the noise of the world outside, not the worries that had plagued us both. In that moment, all we had was the now, and it felt like the most powerful thing we could ever give each other.

The night blurred by in a haze of soft whispers, heated touches, and frantic kisses. We explored each other like we had all the time in the world, but both of us knew we were racing against something unspoken. The desire was overwhelming, and every inch of his skin against mine made me ache for more.

When we finally lay in bed together, tangled in the sheets, the silence felt heavier than the night before. I turned to him, running my fingers over his chest, tracing the faint outline of a scar near his ribs.

Joel’s eyes were still dark, a fire burning in them, and his hand rested on my back, his thumb rubbing slow circles. He glanced down at me, his lips curling into that familiar lopsided grin. “You were right, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice husky. “We do get better with practice.”

I smiled, my heart still racing from the intensity of what we had shared. “I’ll take your word for it.”

But deep down, I knew one thing: this was just the beginning. There would be more. So much more between us. And even though it was complicated, even though we were still figuring it all out, I wouldn’t change a thing.

We were finally where we were meant to be.

—

Sneaking around with Joel was a dangerous game.

Not because we were doing anything illegal—but because every glance, every brush of his hand against mine when no one was looking, every stolen moment made me want more. And when it came to Joel, more was a slippery slope I was already tumbling down headfirst.

It started small.

The first time, we were in my kitchen. Tommy was in the living room talking on the phone with some supplier, and I was pretending to organize my spice cabinet while Joel installed a new light fixture above the island. I didn’t need to be in there. I could’ve left and let them work. But when Joel was around, leaving didn’t feel like an option.

He was on the ladder, arms raised as he adjusted the fixture, his shirt riding up just enough to show a strip of tan skin. I didn’t realize I was staring until his voice snapped me out of it.

“See somethin’ you like?” he murmured without looking down.

Heat shot through me. “Yeah. My new light fixture.”

Joel’s shoulders shook with a quiet laugh. He climbed down, stepping close enough that I caught that familiar mix of cedar and sawdust clinging to his skin. “Sure it is.”

Tommy’s voice carried from the other room—loud, oblivious.

Joel’s eyes flicked toward the doorway, then back to me. His hand brushed against mine on the counter. He didn’t grab it. Didn’t lace his fingers with mine. Just… touched. A whisper of contact that sent a shiver down my spine.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Careful, Miller. Tommy’s right there.”

Joel’s thumb grazed mine. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”

And just like that, the light fixture was the least interesting thing in the kitchen.

The next time, we weren’t quite as subtle.

It was late, and Joel was helping me move some furniture in the upstairs guest room. Sarah had just gone to a sleepover, and Tommy had headed home for the night, leaving us blissfully alone for the first time in days.

We’d started with actual work—really, we had. The guest bed was heavy, and the dresser was wedged at an impossible angle against the wall. But somewhere between Joel teasing me about my lack of upper body strength and me calling him “old man” one too many times, things shifted.

I was standing against the wall, still laughing from some joke he’d made, when he caged me in with his arms.

“Still think I’m old, huh?” he asked, voice low.

I swallowed hard. “Well, you did complain about your back twice today.”

His lips twitched. “You’re pushin’ your luck, darlin’.”

“I like pushing it.”

Joel’s eyes darkened. He leaned down and kissed me—slow, deep, his hand slipping beneath my T-shirt to rest against the small of my back. I melted into him immediately, fingers tangling in his hair as he pressed me harder against the wall.

The kiss turned messy fast. He groaned when I nipped his bottom lip, and I gasped when he responded by gripping my hips and dragging me closer. It was the kind of kiss that promised more, the kind that made me forget that the guest room window was cracked open and that sound carried.

The slam of a car door outside brought us crashing back to reality.

We broke apart, breathing hard. Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave me a lopsided, regretful grin. “Guess we should get back to work.”

“Yeah,” I panted. “Totally.”

Spoiler: we didn’t move the dresser for another twenty minutes.

Sneaking around with Joel meant stolen phone calls late at night, when Sarah was asleep and his house was quiet.

It meant me dragging him into my music room one afternoon, away from Tommy’s curious eyes, just to kiss him breathless on the worn-out couch.

It was ridiculous. It was fun. It was dangerous.

And neither of us could stop.

—

One afternoon, Tommy caught us almost-red-handed.

I was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs dangling, Joel standing between my knees with his hands on my thighs. We weren’t kissing—not yet—but we were definitely standing too close to be discussing drywall.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” Joel muttered.

“You love it.”

He grinned and squeezed my leg. “I do not.”

Before I could argue, the front door creaked open.

“Joel? You still here?” Tommy’s voice echoed from the entryway.

Joel jumped back so fast I nearly fell off the counter. I caught myself just in time, schooling my face into what I hoped was an innocent expression.

Tommy stepped into the kitchen, eyes flicking from me to Joel. His brows lifted. “Interrupt somethin’?”

“Nope,” Joel said quickly. “Just—uh—talkin’ about the backsplash.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

Tommy didn’t buy it for a second. He smirked and shook his head. “Yeah, all right. You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Joel turned bright red. I couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

Sneaking around wasn’t sustainable. We knew that.

But every time I caught Joel looking at me across the room when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, every time his hand brushed mine on purpose, every time we kissed like we didn’t care who saw…

I knew one thing for certain.

When we finally stopped sneaking, the fallout was going to be worth it.

It had been a slow, steady build-up—every stolen glance, every touch, every quiet moment. But in the heat of the moment, I didn’t realize how obvious we were being until Tommy walked into the living room and caught us.

We were standing by the couch, Joel’s hands tangled in my hair, his lips pressed against mine with a desperation neither of us was trying to hide anymore. It was like the world outside that room ceased to exist—until it didn’t.

Tommy’s voice broke through the air like a cold slap. “Well, this is… something.”

Joel pulled away instantly, eyes wide, and his hand shot up as if to ward off the inevitable. “Tommy, wait—”

But it was too late. Tommy was already leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smug grin on his face. He raised an eyebrow, looking from Joel to me and back again. “I’m just gonna go ahead and assume this isn’t the first time this has happened.”

I opened my mouth to explain, but Tommy cut me off, his grin widening. “Y’know, I’ve been tryin’ to avoid this. But now that it’s right in front of me—” He looked down at his shoes with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “I gotta admit… I owe Sarah so much money.”

Joel froze, his face going red. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Tommy uncrossed his arms and looked at Joel with amusement. “Sarah. She bet me you two were already messin’ around.”

Joel’s jaw dropped, and I felt my face burn. “No way,” he muttered. “She—she bet you? Seriously?”

“Yep. She’s been on my case about it for weeks. Figured I owed her that money anyway, so I’m glad to be rid of it.” Tommy’s tone was casual, but there was a hint of something else there—a mix of mischief and, maybe, a little concern.

I looked at Joel, trying to process what was happening. “So, she knew?”

“Of course she knew. She’s not as oblivious as you two seem to think,” Tommy teased, before his expression shifted to something a little more serious. “But… y’all didn’t want her to know, right?”

Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking like he was suddenly about to burst from the pressure. “Not yet,” he said, voice low. “We’re still trying to figure this out. I haven’t even had the chance to take her out on a real date, man. Everything’s… messy.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah? Messy, huh? You two sure look like you’ve got everything figured out.”

“Not exactly,” Joel muttered, rubbing his face in frustration. “But we’re not ready to deal with it. Not yet.” He met Tommy’s gaze, tone more serious now. “Can you keep it quiet? Just until we figure out what the hell this is?”

Tommy paused, then grinned. “I can keep quiet. But this is gonna be fun to watch.” He held up his hands, like he was surrendering. “No promises, though. I’m still Team Sarah on this one.”

Joel shot him a look that could’ve frozen water. “You better not say anything to her, Tommy. I’m serious.”

Tommy held up his hands in mock surrender, laughing. “I won’t. For now, anyway.” He pushed off the doorframe and gave us a knowing smile. “But, you two better figure it out quick, because Sarah’s gonna want to know why her dad is sneaking around with her favorite pop star.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Joel grumbled, clearly still uneasy, but Tommy had already turned and left, muttering something under his breath about needing a beer.

I turned back to Joel, heart still racing from the confrontation. “So… this is really happening, huh?”

Joel ran a hand over his face again. “I guess so. But we gotta take it slow, y/n. We owe it to Sarah… and to ourselves.” He stepped toward me, his expression softening. “Let’s not rush into this. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I can promise I’m not running away.”

I nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. “We’ll figure it out. No pressure.”

Joel’s lips curved into a small, tentative smile. “Good. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Me neither.”

The tension in the air had shifted, but it wasn’t over. Not yet. We had a lot of questions left unanswered. But for the first time, I felt like maybe we were on the same page.

We still had a long way to go—but at least we were taking the first step together.

—

Being with Joel felt different than I expected—easier in some ways, harder in others. It wasn’t like the whirlwind relationships I’d had before, the ones that burned hot and fast before fizzling out. Joel was steady, deliberate. The kind of man who made sure things were built to last.

Once we stopped pretending we didn’t want this, everything changed. He was still his gruff, no-nonsense self, but now his touch lingered when he brushed past me. Now his eyes softened when they met mine across a room. Now he kissed me slow and deep when no one was watching and sometimes even when they were.

But being with Joel also meant being with Sarah and Tommy.

Sarah, of course, was ecstatic. The morning after we finally made things official, she nearly tackled me in the kitchen, eyes bright with excitement.

“I knew it,” she practically yelled, grinning. “I mean, I bet on it, so I really knew it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Bet on it?”

Sarah’s grin widened, and that’s when Tommy strolled in, smirking.

“Don’t tell her, Sarah,” he said, pouring himself coffee. “I ain’t got the cash yet.”

Joel groaned from where he stood by the fridge. “Y’all gambled on my love life?”

“More like invested,” Tommy shot back, winking at me.

Sarah wiggled her eyebrows. “So, do I win the pot, or…?”

I laughed, but Joel just shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face like he was seriously reconsidering his life choices.

Being with Joel meant stolen moments in between my hectic schedule. It meant late-night dinners when I got home from rehearsals, sitting on the kitchen counter while he cooked something simple, rolling his eyes when I tried to help. It meant quiet mornings, wrapped in his arms, pressing sleepy kisses against his jaw before slipping out of bed to get ready for the day.

It also meant dealing with the outside world.

We had kept things quiet for a while, but people caught on fast. A blurry picture here, a leaked story there, and suddenly, headlines were calling me the pop star dating a Texas contractor, which was ridiculous and not even remotely close to who Joel actually was.

I expected him to hate it, but surprisingly, he handled it well.

“Ignore it,” I told him one night, lying on the couch with my head in his lap as he scrolled through his phone.

“Didn’t say nothin’,” he murmured, but his jaw was tight.

I reached up, running my fingers along his beard. “If it really bothers you—”

“It doesn’t,” he said, looking down at me, expression softening. “Long as we’re good, I don’t give a damn what anyone else says.”

And we were good. Better than good.

One night, after a show, I came backstage to find Joel leaning against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for me.

“Took you long enough,” he said, smirking.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re just mad ‘cause Tommy and Sarah dragged you here early.”

“They did,” he admitted, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. His voice lowered as he murmured, “Worth it, though.”

I smiled, reaching up to fix the collar of his shirt. “Yeah?”

Joel didn’t answer with words. He just pulled me in, his lips brushing against mine—slow, steady, full of promise.

It was still surreal sometimes, having this life—the fame, the lights, the chaos—and him all at once. But as long as I had Joel, I had something real. Something worth holding onto.

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oldsoul007 · 2 months ago

Text

somewhere in northern italy

older!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: A summer in the heart of Tuscany rekindles an unexpected connection between y/n, a spirited traveler with Italian roots, and Joel, an enigmatic older man from her past, as love blooms amidst sunlit vineyards, secret ambitions, and the allure of second chances.

a/n: I miss summer, reader speaks Italian, Joel’s business man, this is all fluff, kissing

joel miller masterlist

There was something about summers in Italy that made me feel like I was living in a dream. Maybe it was the slow mornings spent sipping cappuccinos in the sun or the way the golden light bathed everything in warmth. Or maybe it was just the way life felt simpler here, quieter, like I could finally breathe.

Nonna always said I belonged here more than anywhere else. “Sei come me, y/n. Il tuo cuore è italiano.” You’re like me, y/n. Your heart is Italian.

Maybe she was right.

It was another warm evening when I saw him.

I had just left the market, a bag of peaches cradled in my arms, when I caught sight of someone who looked so entirely out of place that I almost didn’t believe it.

Joel Miller.

For a second, I thought I was imagining things.

He didn’t belong here. Not in the way the locals did, with their easy smiles and the familiarity in their movements. He stood apart—too refined, too polished. His clothes were simple—dark slacks, a crisp button-down with the sleeves rolled up—but they fit him too well, like they had been made just for him. And then there was the watch. Sleek. Understated. Expensive.

But it wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he carried himself. Relaxed, but deliberate. Like a man used to being in control.

I should have kept walking.

But then he looked up, and our eyes met.

Something in my chest tightened.

His brow creased slightly, and he glanced at his phone before looking back at the buildings around him.

I slowed. “Ti sei perso?”

Joel’s head snapped toward me, his gaze sharp before recognition flickered across his face. Then came the smirk—slow and knowing.

“Well, hell,” he muttered.

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you lost?”

He exhaled a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Somethin’ like that.”

I shifted the bag in my arms, studying him. “What are you doing in Tuscany?”

His smirk didn’t fade, but something about his expression changed, like he was waiting to see how I’d react to whatever he said next.

“Work.”

Interesting. Joel looked like a man who worked with his hands, but he didn’t carry himself like a businessman either. Not the kind who sat behind a desk all day, at least.

“What kind of work?” I pressed.

A pause. “Business.”

Vague. Purposefully so.

I hummed, but let it go—for now.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect an interrogation when I stopped to ask for directions.”

I smiled. “Fine. Where are you trying to go?”

He glanced at his phone, then back at me. “Some restaurant—uh, Trattoria del Sole?” His pronunciation was terrible.

I laughed. “You mean this Trattoria del Sole?” I turned and pointed to the restaurant just across the piazza.

Joel followed my gaze, then exhaled another quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Well, hell.”

I bit my lip to hide my smile. “Guess you were lost.”

Joel looked at me for a long moment, like he was still trying to piece together how, out of all places, I was standing in front of him.

“You always spend your summers here?” he asked.

“Yes and no,” I said, adjusting the bag in my arms. “My grandmother lives here. I grew up coming to visit.”

He nodded, considering.

Then, after a beat, “Join me for dinner.”

It wasn’t a question.

I studied him, weighing the offer.

Joel had always been like this—straightforward, sure of himself. It wasn’t arrogance, exactly, but he wasn’t the kind of man who expected to be told no.

I liked that. But I liked keeping him on his toes more.

I raised an eyebrow. “You always invite old acquaintances to dinner?”

Joel smirked, slow and lazy. “Only the ones who used to babysit my kid.”

A laugh bubbled up in my throat. “That was a long time ago.”

His eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Still happened.”

I exhaled, shifting the bag of peaches in my arms. “Alright,” I said finally. “But only because I’m curious.”

“About what?”

I stepped past him, toward the restaurant, glancing back just enough to catch the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“About you.”

And just like that, dinner became the start of something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

The restaurant was warm and intimate, the kind of place where locals lingered over wine and spoke in hushed, easy tones. Golden candlelight flickered against the stone walls, and the scent of garlic and fresh basil filled the air.

Joel sat across from me, one arm draped over the back of his chair, fingers lightly tapping against the wood. He looked at ease, but I could tell he was studying me, the way I moved, the way I spoke. Like he was trying to figure me out.

I let him wonder.

The waiter approached, speaking to me in rapid Italian. “Acqua naturale o frizzante?”

I glanced at Joel. He looked completely lost.

Biting back a smile, I turned back to the waiter. “Naturale, grazie.” Then, I glanced at Joel again. “Still need a translator?”

He smirked. “Workin’ on it.”

I hummed. “You should work faster.”

Joel let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Somethin’ tells me you like havin’ the upper hand.”

I tilted my head. “Maybe.”

The waiter returned with the water, and we placed our orders—well, I did. Joel simply glanced at me and said, “Order for me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You trust me with that?”

His lips twitched. “Reckon I do.”

Interesting.

I ordered us both pasta—something simple, fresh, the kind of meal that let the ingredients speak for themselves. When the waiter left, I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand.

“So, Joel,” I said, tasting his name on my tongue, watching the way his expression flickered when I said it. “What kind of business brings you to Italy?”

His gaze held mine for a beat, unreadable. Then, he exhaled, leaning back. “Investments.”

I considered him. “Not exactly a vacation, then.”

“Not exactly.”

I twirled the stem of my wine glass between my fingers. “You don’t stay in one place long, do you?”

Joel’s jaw ticked slightly. “Depends on the place.”

Something in his tone made my stomach flip.

Outside, the night had deepened, the piazza quieter now, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlamps.

Joel walked beside me as I led him through the winding streets. His pace was slow, deliberate, like he was in no rush to leave.

I stopped at a small bridge overlooking the canal, leaning against the stone railing. He stood beside me, close but not touching.

“You enjoyed yourself,” I said, watching the water ripple below.

He smirked. “That obvious?”

I turned to face him. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who does things he doesn’t enjoy.”

Joel exhaled, his gaze drifting over my face, pausing just briefly at my lips before meeting my eyes again.

“You’d be right,” he murmured.

I should go.

But then his fingers grazed my wrist, settling lightly against my skin. Not pulling, not demanding. Just… there.

I could have stepped away.

But I didn’t.

I should have walked away sooner.

That was the smart thing to do—leave before I got too comfortable, before the pull between us became something I couldn’t ignore.

But when Joel’s fingers grazed my wrist, lingering just enough to make my breath hitch, I knew I was already in trouble.

Still, I smiled softly and pulled away. “Goodnight, Joel.”

He didn’t stop me. Didn’t try to convince me to stay.

But as I walked away, I could feel his eyes on me, the weight of his presence still thick in the warm summer air.

And for the first time in a long time, I left someone behind and actually wished I hadn’t.

—

I didn’t expect to see him again.

Tuscany was big enough for two people to never cross paths twice, but small enough that fate sometimes had other plans.

It was three days later when I spotted him again, standing near a vineyard just outside of town, speaking with a man I recognized as one of the local winemakers. His sleeves were rolled up again, exposing strong forearms, and his brows were furrowed as he listened, nodding at whatever was being said.

I should have kept walking.

But something made me stop.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something else.

I stepped closer, tilting my head with a smirk. “You still lost?”

Joel turned, his expression shifting from mild surprise to something softer, something unreadable.

“Well, if I was, reckon you’d enjoy that too much,” he said, that slow drawl making me bite back a smile.

“Maybe,” I admitted. “You’re fun to mess with.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

The winemaker excused himself, leaving us alone.

Joel watched me, that same way he had the night we met—like he was still trying to figure me out.

“You stickin’ around long?” I asked, arms folding over my chest.

“For a little while,” he said.

A beat of silence stretched between us. The midday sun was high, casting long shadows over the vineyard.

Then, I made a decision.

“You’ve only seen the surface of Tuscany,” I said. “The tourist spots. The places people write about in guidebooks.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “And you know better?”

I smirked. “I know the good places.”

His lips twitched. “That so?”

I took a step back, tilting my head toward the narrow road leading away from the vineyard. “Come on, Mister Miller. Let me show you the real Tuscany.”

Joel exhaled, shaking his head slightly—like he couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this—but he followed.

And just like that, our summer began.

—

I didn’t give him the tourist tour.

I took him through the narrow alleys tourists never found, past crumbling walls where wildflowers spilled from cracks in the stone. We ducked into the tiny bakery run by Signora Valli, where Joel nodded politely as she scolded me for staying away too long.

“She likes you,” Joel said when we stepped back into the sun.

“That was her being nice,” I said, breaking off a piece of warm cornetto and handing it to him.

He chewed thoughtfully. “So, what’s she say when she’s mean?”

I grinned. “You don’t want to know.”

We wandered down to the olive groves, where the cicadas hummed and the sun turned the leaves silver-green. I showed him where the best figs grew, and when I pointed to the twisted old tree near the stone wall, Joel surprised me by stepping forward and tugging a ripe fig from a low branch.

“Didn’t think you’d climb a tree,” I said as he handed it to me.

He shrugged. “Didn’t have to. Got you to do all the hard work.”

I shot him a glare and bit into the fig, sweet juice dripping down my wrist. His eyes followed the movement, dark and intent. I didn’t wipe it away.

By late afternoon, we ended up at the old stone bridge overlooking the vineyards. I leaned against the warm stone, watching the distant figures move between the vines. Joel stood beside me, arms crossed, gaze on the horizon.

“You really spend every summer here?” he asked after a while.

“Every one I can.” I smiled faintly. “Nonna likes having me around. Says I keep her young.”

Joel huffed a laugh. “Don’t reckon she needs help with that. She looks like she runs the place.”

“She does,” I said, grinning. “The whole village’s scared of her.”

He smirked but didn’t respond. The breeze tugged at the hair curling against his temple, and I caught myself staring.

I glanced away. “What about you? You’re supposed to be working, aren’t you?”

His jaw shifted. “Yeah.”

“That convincing?”

He shot me a sidelong glance. “No.”

I waited, but he didn’t offer more. I should’ve been annoyed, but it was hard to be when he stood there like that—solid and unyielding, like the bridge itself.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of rosemary and cypress. I rubbed my thumb along the stone. “So, is Tuscany what you expected?”

Joel’s eyes flicked to mine. “Didn’t expect Tuscany.”

The air thickened between us. His gaze didn’t waver.

I felt it again—that pull, familiar now but no less disorienting. Like standing at the edge of a step you didn’t know was there.

I opened my mouth to deflect with a joke, but Joel shifted closer, his arm brushing mine. The warmth of it sank through the fabric of my dress, solid and steady.

The sun dipped lower over the vineyards, painting the sky in soft strokes of orange and pink. We sat on the low stone wall at the edge of the hill, our legs dangling over the side. The breeze carried the scent of wild thyme and warm earth, and somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang.

Joel stretched his legs out in front of him, his boots scuffed against the old stones. His hand rested beside mine on the wall—close but not touching this time. The warmth of it still lingered from when he’d held it earlier. I couldn’t quite decide if I missed it or if I was relieved he’d let go.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence, “did you ever think you’d run into me here?”

Joel huffed a laugh. “Didn’t think I’d run into anyone I knew. Tuscany ain’t exactly down the road from Austin.”

I smiled faintly. “Yeah, well. You never know where Texas will follow you.”

He grinned, and the sight of it hit me harder than I expected. I wasn’t used to seeing him like this—relaxed, amused. It made him look younger. Less weighed down.

“you ever miss it in summer?” he asked after a beat.

“Texas?” I considered, tilting my face toward the sun. “Sometimes.”

“Like what?”

I tapped my fingers against the stone. “Summer storms,” I said after a moment. “The ones that roll in out of nowhere. The smell of rain on hot pavement. And barbecue. God, I miss barbecue.” I sighed dramatically, and Joel chuckled. “What about you?”

His eyes softened. “Yeah. Miss the little stuff. Mornin’s on the porch with a cup of coffee. That first cold snap in October when the air actually feels different. And the stars.” He exhaled. “Stars here are nice, but…ain’t the same.”

“Yeah,” I agreed softly. “Not like home.”

The word slipped out before I thought about it. My cheeks warmed, but Joel didn’t say anything. He just nodded, like he knew exactly what I meant.

The cicadas buzzed louder in the trees.

He didn’t press me for more. Joel was good at that—giving me space to say what I needed without pushing.

Instead, he reached down and picked up a stray pebble, rolling it between his fingers. “Sarah still talks about you, y’know.”

That surprised me. My chest tightened. “She does?”

Joel smiled faintly. “Yeah. Told me the other day she still remembers when you made her those chocolate chip pancakes with the smiley faces.”

I laughed, the memory sharp and clear. “I did that every time I babysat her. She used to insist on extra chocolate chips for the eyes.”

“She still does.” His voice was soft. “You were good to her.”

“She was easy to be good to.”

Joel didn’t respond right away. His thumb traced the edge of the pebble, eyes distant. I wondered if he was thinking about Sarah, or maybe her mom, or maybe something else entirely.

“I remember when you first showed up to babysit,” he said eventually. “You were what—twenty?”

“Barely.” I smiled wryly. “And nervous as hell. Your daughter had more confidence than I did.”

“She liked you right away.” His mouth curved slightly. “Kept askin’ when you were comin’ back.”

My chest warmed. “She was always the sweetest.”

Joel nodded, but his expression turned more thoughtful. “Didn’t expect to see you here, though. In Italy, I mean.”

I arched a brow. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Back then, you were always talkin’ about Texas like you never wanted to leave.”

I laughed softly. “Yeah, well. Life has a way of surprising you.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to mine. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It does.”

The weight of his gaze settled over me, heavy and warm. My pulse stuttered. I wanted to look away, but something held me there, locked in place.

The sun dipped lower. The cicadas hummed. And Joel Miller, the man I never expected to see outside of Texas, sat beside me like he’d always belonged here.

I cleared my throat, breaking the moment. “Anyway,” I said, forcing a teasing lilt into my voice. “How does it feel to have a Texan showing you around Italy?”

Joel chuckled, the tension easing just slightly. “Humblin’,” he said, straight-faced.

I snorted. “Yeah, right.”

He turned his head to look at me again. “Nah. I mean it.”

My smile faltered. “Why?”

Joel shifted slightly on the stone wall, his shoulder brushing mine. “’Cause I know how much you love this place,” he said after a beat. “And you don’t share it with just anyone.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. He wasn’t wrong.

But the realization that he knew that—that he saw me like that—hit harder than I was ready for.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled faintly and bumped my shoulder against his. “Don’t get a big head, Miller. I’m just making sure you don’t embarrass Texas while you’re here.”

His eyes twinkled. “Too late.”

I laughed, and the tension shifted. But later, when we walked back down the hill toward the village, Joel let his hand brush mine again.

This time, I didn’t pull away.

—

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the villa and everything it touched. The heat of the day was starting to settle in, the warm air wrapping around us as I walked barefoot toward the pool. The sound of the water was calming, a gentle lapping as it caught the sun’s reflection, sparkling with every movement.

Joel was already in the pool, his figure cutting through the water with ease. He had his arms resting on the side, looking up at me as I approached. His eyes twinkled with that easy smile he wore so often, but there was something different about his expression today—something a little more intent.

I didn’t hesitate, peeling off my sundress and stepping into the water, the coolness of it a perfect relief from the heat. The water lapped against my skin, and I felt weightless, free. I swam toward Joel, the soft splash of my movements the only sound between us.

He reached out, taking my hand as I neared, his grip warm and firm, guiding me closer. “You look like you’re enjoying the summer,” he said, his voice low and steady, a slight teasing note beneath it.

I grinned, the warmth of the sun on my skin mixing with the coolness of the water. “I am,” I replied, letting my fingers brush against his. “It’s hard not to when you’re surrounded by this.”

He studied me for a moment, his eyes dark and intense as they locked onto mine. There was a quiet moment, a small shift in the air between us. I could feel the pull, the way everything seemed to slow down when we were near each other, the way the world felt a little bit more alive in his presence.

I swam a little closer, not breaking eye contact, until I was standing just in front of him, the water lapping gently at our waists. My heart was beating faster now, not from the swim, but from the closeness between us. The tension that had been building in little moments over the past few weeks was palpable now, the air thick with it.

Joel’s hand gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as if memorizing the feel of my skin. His touch sent a shiver down my spine, the connection between us undeniable. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, and before I could even think about it, his lips brushed softly against mine.

The kiss was slow, a gentle exploration of what had been building between us for days, weeks even. The water seemed to heighten everything—the way his lips moved against mine, the way his hand slid down to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as the world seemed to fade away.

My hands found their way to his shoulders, and as I leaned in deeper, the kiss became more intense, more desperate. His breath mingled with mine, and I could feel his heart beating just as fast as mine. Every moment felt electric, like the entire summer was being condensed into this one perfect second.

Joel pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath coming in short bursts. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough.

I smiled, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, savoring the feel of him, the warmth of his body against mine. “I think you do the same to me,” I whispered back.

There was something in his eyes, something vulnerable and open, as he looked at me. It was as if we both knew this moment was more than just a kiss, more than just a summer fling. The intensity was undeniable. But for now, there was no need to rush—everything felt right in this suspended moment.

We lingered there, our faces close, letting the soft splashes of the water and the warmth of the sun settle around us. He kissed me again, this time deeper, a kiss that spoke of longing, of something unspoken but understood between us.

I closed my eyes, leaning into him, feeling the pulse of the water around us as I pressed my body closer to his. The coolness of the pool mixed with the heat of our skin, creating a contrast that only made the moment more intoxicating.

For a moment, nothing else existed but the two of us, lost in the water, in the sun, in the quiet intimacy of the summer. It was a perfect kind of peace, the kind that wrapped itself around you and made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And as we pulled away once more, his hands resting on my waist, I knew—whatever happened when the summer ended, this moment, this connection, was something that would stay with me. Something that I would carry long after the warmth of the sun had faded.

—

The night was calm and peaceful, the kind of evening that made you feel like you could stay outside forever. My grandmother’s villa was perched on a small hill in Tuscany, and the view from the terrace was breathtaking—endless fields of green, the soft glow of street lamps below, and the distant hum of a town that was slowly quieting down for the night.

Joel and I sat across from each other at the dinner table, my grandmother beside us. The meal was simple but delicious—fresh pasta, roasted vegetables, and a glass of red wine that had already started to loosen our tongues.

Joel looked more relaxed tonight, his smile easy and natural. Every so often, his eyes would linger on me, but he didn’t say anything outright. We had danced around it—the unspoken pull between us—but neither of us was ready to admit what was happening. It was as if we were both waiting for something to tip the balance.

My grandmother, who was always a bit of an enigma, sat across from us, watching with an air of amusement. She didn’t press us with questions, but I knew she could tell something was different. She always knew.

“So,” she said casually, cutting a piece of chicken, her eyes flicking between the two of us. “Joel, I hear you’re enjoying your time here in Tuscany.”

Joel smiled, taking a sip of his wine. “I am. It’s… beautiful here.”

My grandmother nodded. “Ah, Tuscany. It’s magical. But the most magical part is the company.” She paused for a beat, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Especially when you find someone who makes you feel like you’re living in a dream.”

I nearly choked on my wine, coughing lightly as I caught her meaning. She had said it with such ease, but the double entendre was clear. I shot her a look, but she only winked at me, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Joel raised an eyebrow, sensing something in the air, but didn’t press it. Instead, he turned to me with a grin. “I think she’s got a point, y/n. It is magical here. The whole experience.”

I smiled, trying to hide the blush creeping up my neck. “Yes, it’s beautiful. But I think Nonna just likes to talk about love, even if it’s not quite the right time for that conversation,” I said with a teasing tone.

My grandmother gave a short, knowing laugh, then shifted in her seat. “Sì, y/n, parli troppo poco di amore,” she said in half Italian, half English. (Yes, y/n, you talk too little about love).

I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what she meant, and shot Joel an apologetic look. “Ignore her,” I said, but there was no mistaking the glint of mischief in my grandmother’s gaze.

“Ah, love,” she continued, tapping her fingers on the edge of her wine glass. “It has a way of finding you when you least expect it, no?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. “A volte più tardi, a volte più presto—sometimes later, sometimes earlier.”

Joel chuckled, taking it all in stride. “Sounds like good advice.”

“Wise words from a very wise woman,” he said, glancing at me with a playful smile.

My grandmother smirked but didn’t say anything more, letting the conversation flow naturally. It wasn’t that she didn’t notice the tension between us; she just wasn’t pushing it. She knew how to let things unfold at their own pace, and that’s what I admired about her.

The night passed by quietly, the air cooling as we continued our meal. My grandmother, despite her subtle jokes, was content to let us be. She didn’t need to say much to let us know that she saw what was happening between Joel and me. It was written all over us. But tonight, there was no pressure, no rushing—just the gentle, unspoken bond that had begun to form.

When we finished eating, my grandmother stood up, her hands smoothing down her dress. “Well, I think it’s time for me to get some rest. You two—” she glanced at us with a playful smile, “—don’t stay out too late. Va bene?” (Alright?)

I nodded, a soft laugh escaping me. “Va bene, Nonna.”

Joel stood as well, offering her a polite smile. “Thank you for the wonderful meal. It was delicious.”

“You are welcome, Joel,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Good night.”

As she disappeared into the house, I turned to Joel, my fingers instinctively brushing against his under the table. There was a comfortable silence now, a quiet tension that hummed between us but didn’t feel overwhelming.

“So,” I said, my voice a little quieter, “what did you think of her?”

Joel smiled, his gaze never leaving mine. “I like her. She’s… sharp. But she knows how to make you think.”

I chuckled softly. “That’s one way to put it.”

His smile softened, and he reached for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’s right, though, you know. About love, I mean.”

I raised an eyebrow, meeting his eyes. “How so?”

Joel leaned in just a little, the soft glow of the moonlight casting shadows on his face. “Sometimes later, sometimes earlier… maybe we don’t always get to decide when we find something worth holding on to.”

I swallowed, his words hanging in the air between us. It felt like the weight of everything unsaid, everything still untold, was starting to settle into something real.

“I think we’re both figuring that out,” I whispered, my hand still in his.

And for the rest of the evening, we didn’t need to say anything more. The quiet between us said everything that needed to be said.

—

The mornings after we got together were my favorite.

Italy had always been beautiful, always been magic—but now it was different. Warmer. Softer. Like the sun rose just for us, spilling gold across the hills and sneaking through the cracks in the wooden shutters of our small apartment. The air smelled like coffee and jasmine, and the sheets were tangled around us, skin against skin, heart against heart.

Joel wasn’t much of a morning person, but he never complained when I woke up first and ran my fingers along his jawline, tracing the scratch of his stubble. He’d just hum low in his throat, eyes still closed, and tighten his arm around my waist to pull me closer.

“You’re starin’,” he mumbled one morning, voice rough with sleep.

“You’re pretty when you sleep.”

His lips twitched. “Don’t lie to me this early.”

I laughed, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Okay. Handsome. Ruggedly handsome.”

His eyes cracked open then, dark and lazy, and he shifted just enough to roll me beneath him. The mattress dipped under his weight, and I grinned up at him as he braced himself with one arm beside my head.

“Better,” he said.

The mornings blurred into days spent wandering cobblestone streets and driving through the countryside with the windows down. The radio crackled with Italian ballads, and Joel tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as I translated the lyrics with a grin.

“She’s singing about her lover who promised her the moon and left her with nothing,” I said once, over-exaggerating the drama of it with a hand over my heart. “Ti ho amato fino alla fine! I loved you until the end!”

Joel smirked. “That so?”

“It’s very tragic.”

“Guess I better not leave you, then.”

My breath caught, and I turned toward the window, biting back a smile.

At sunset, we took our glasses of wine to the balcony and watched the sky bleed pink and orange over the rooftops. Joel leaned against the railing beside me, his arm brushing mine.

“Nonna used to sit out here every night,” I said softly. “Said the sky looked like a painting God left just for her.”

Joel’s gaze didn’t leave the horizon. “Smart woman.”

The silence stretched, comfortable and familiar, before he shifted closer. His hand found mine, warm and solid. I squeezed it and exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that settled in your chest like peace.

“Never thought I’d be here,” he said after a while.

“In Italy?”

Joel shook his head. “Here. With you.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “Never thought it’d feel like this.”

“Like what?” I asked, voice quieter than I meant it to be.

His jaw flexed, eyes softening when he met my gaze. “Like I can breathe again.”

My throat tightened, and I stepped into his arms without a word. He held me there, against his chest, the world fading into nothing but the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.

Later that night, after the city quieted and the moon rose, we danced barefoot in the kitchen while pasta boiled on the stove. The record player crackled in the corner with an old Italian love song, and Joel’s hand pressed against the small of my back, guiding me in slow circles across the tile.

I sang along under my breath, the lyrics instinctive and familiar. Joel didn’t know the words, but he didn’t need to. His eyes never left mine.

“Sei il mio destino,” I whispered as the music slowed.

“You’re my destiny,” he repeated softly.

I smiled and kissed him, tasting wine and forever.

—

The beach was quiet, secluded, the kind of place only locals knew about. I had taken Joel there a few times now, and even though he pretended to be indifferent, I knew he loved it just as much as I did.

Today, he had stretched out on a towel beneath the shade of an olive tree, a book in his hands, looking as unbothered as ever.

I, however, had other plans.

Grinning to myself, I sauntered over, still damp from my last swim, droplets of water trailing down my skin. Joel didn’t even glance up as I hovered over him, too engrossed in whatever he was reading.

I huffed. “You’re really going to spend the afternoon reading instead of enjoying the water?”

He turned a page, the hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Ain’t stoppin’ you from enjoyin’ it.”

I narrowed my eyes before dropping down on top of him, effectively pinning him to the towel.

That got his attention.

His book tipped slightly as he peered down at me, an amused exhale escaping his lips. “You tryin’ to suffocate me?”

I smirked, resting my chin on my hands as I lay against his chest. “If that’s what it takes to get you in the water, then maybe.”

Joel sighed, but there was no real protest in it. His free hand found the small of my back, resting there like it belonged, his thumb grazing my skin absentmindedly.

“You’re trouble, you know that?”

I grinned. “You love it.”

He exhaled, shaking his head before looking back at his book. I watched as his eyes skimmed the words, waiting, waiting—then I reached up and snatched it right out of his hands.

“Y/n,” he warned, reaching for it, but I was faster.

I sat up, holding the book above my head. “The book or the water, Miller. Pick one.”

He squinted up at me, like he was actually considering his options.

I laughed. “Unbelievable.” Then, before he could argue, I bolted.

Joel let out a gruff damn it before chasing after me. I ran straight into the waves, squealing as the water hit my skin, my victory short-lived because in a matter of seconds, his hands were on me, lifting me right off my feet.

I yelped. “Joel, don’t you—”

Too late.

I was tossed into the sea with a splash, the cool water swallowing me whole.

When I resurfaced, gasping, hair plastered to my face, Joel was standing there, arms crossed, watching me with a smug expression.

“Happy now?” he drawled.

I lunged, grabbing his arm and yanking him toward me.

He stumbled, cursing as he splashed into the water, the smugness wiped clean from his face.

I burst into laughter.

Joel pushed his wet hair back, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else.”

I grinned, swimming closer. “You love it.”

This time, he didn’t argue.

Instead, he pulled me flush against him, the warmth of his body stark against the cool waves.

And when he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, I decided that maybe, just maybe, I had won this round after all.

—

The night was thick with summer heat, the air scented with lavender and salt from the distant sea. We had spent the evening wandering through the hills, ending up at my favorite hidden spot—a quiet overlook where the world stretched endlessly before us, rolling green and gold beneath the moonlight.

Joel stood beside me, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He had been quieter than usual tonight, but not in a way that made me uneasy. More like he was thinking about something, rolling it around in his mind, trying to decide whether or not to say it out loud.

I turned to him, smirking. “You’re thinking too hard.”

His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed on the view.

“That obvious?”

I nodded. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. But he still didn’t look at me.

That wouldn’t do.

So I stepped closer. Just enough that my shoulder brushed against his, just enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

“Joel.” My voice was softer now. “What is it?”

He hesitated. Then, finally, he turned to me.

And for the first time since I met him, he looked uncertain.

Something shifted between us then—something unspoken, something inevitable.

I swallowed, my pulse quickening.

I had never been nervous around him before.

But now, standing this close, his gaze fixed on mine, the weight of the moment settling between us like something fragile and delicate—I suddenly felt everything.

My breath hitched as he reached up, brushing his fingers against my jaw. It was the lightest touch, barely there, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

“You make it real hard not to fall for you,” he murmured.

My heart stopped.

Then, before I could overthink it, before I could talk myself out of it—I closed the distance.

Our lips met, soft and slow, hesitant for only a second before the hesitation disappeared entirely.

Joel exhaled against my mouth, his hands finding my waist, pulling me closer. I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his shirt, the warmth of him overwhelming, grounding.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.

It was something deeper. Something dangerous.

Something that made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t going to be just a summer after all.

—

The soft evening light spilled across the stone steps as we sat there, our glasses of wine nearly forgotten between us. The air was warm, with a cool breeze now and then that made the leaves rustle above our heads. The soft hum of life from the villa seemed distant, almost nonexistent in this quiet moment we were sharing.

Joel had been unusually quiet, his gaze often drifting to the horizon, his fingers lightly tapping against the glass. I knew what was on his mind. The conversation about the end of the summer hadn’t been the easiest one, and it lingered in the air between us like a weight neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

“I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about what happens after,” Joel said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. His eyes were still distant, but his hand shifted toward mine, his fingers brushing over my skin, making my heart skip a beat.

I met his gaze, my throat tight. “Me too,” I said, swallowing the lump that had formed there. “It’s hard to imagine going back to my life without… this. Without you.”

He glanced down at our hands, which had somehow ended up intertwined, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a comforting, almost absent way. “It’s the same for me,” he murmured. “But… it’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to leave someone behind.”

I frowned, not fully understanding. “What do you mean?”

Joel sighed, shifting slightly on the steps to face me more directly. “I travel a lot for work,” he said, his voice low. “I’m never in one place for too long. Even when I’m home, it’s for a short time before I have to leave again.”

I blinked, surprised by the revelation. “I didn’t know that,” I admitted. “You never really talked about your job.”

“I know,” he said, and there was a slight hesitation in his voice. “I don’t talk much about it. It’s… complicated.” He gave a small shrug, almost like he didn’t want to elaborate further. “But… that’s why I try not to get attached to anyone. It’s easier this way. No long-term ties, no complications.”

I nodded slowly, absorbing what he was saying. “I get it,” I replied quietly. “You have your life, your responsibilities. But it still doesn’t make this easy.”

Joel met my eyes, his gaze softening. “No, it doesn’t. But it’s not like I’m going to forget about you, y/n. This summer—” He trailed off, his hand still resting on mine, his fingers gently tracing the lines of my palm in an almost hypnotic pattern. “What we have… it’s real. Even if it’s only for now.”

I shivered slightly from the way his fingers moved, the light touch making me feel like his hands were drawing on more than just my skin. He was tracing me, memorizing me. His fingers sketched over the curve of my wrist, down to the delicate curve of my elbow, as if he was drawing something in the air only he could see.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not good at… saying how I feel, at letting people in.”

I nodded, understanding that more than I wanted to. I wasn’t exactly good at it either. But something about the way he spoke, the way he touched me so gently, made it feel like he was letting me in, bit by bit.

“Maybe we don’t need to figure it all out right now,” I said softly, my free hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe we can just… be here. Together.”

Joel looked at me with a tenderness that almost broke me. Then, his fingers moved to trace the line of my jaw, then down the side of my neck, his touch light, deliberate. His hand was warm against my skin, and his eyes followed the path of his fingertips, as though he were painting a picture of me in his mind.

“I like that,” he said, voice thick with something deeper. “I like just being with you.”

His hand lingered on my neck, his thumb grazing the soft skin there before moving back to trace the curve of my collarbone. The intimacy of the gesture, the way he was touching me as if I was something precious, made my heart race.

“Does it ever scare you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “The idea that you won’t be here after the summer?”

Joel’s hand paused, his fingers resting lightly on my skin, and he met my gaze with a mixture of sadness and understanding. “It does,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t think we should let fear stop us from living the moments we have now.”

I swallowed, feeling that familiar ache deep in my chest. “I don’t want to say goodbye,” I whispered.

Joel’s gaze softened, and he leaned closer, his lips brushing the side of my cheek in a tender kiss. “We don’t have to say goodbye yet,” he murmured, his voice warm against my skin. “We still have time.”

I nodded, closing my eyes as his hand moved to cup my face, his thumb gently brushing over my lips. “I want to make the most of it,” I whispered, my breath shaky.

And there, under the fading light of the evening, we stayed close, letting the silence speak for us. Joel’s hand rested on my neck, his fingers slowly moving down again, tracing the lines of my body with an intimacy that felt so natural, so right, despite the uncertainty of what was to come. It was a language we spoke without words—one touch, one breath, one shared moment at a time.

323 notes · View notes

oldsoul007 · 2 months ago

Text

Collide

older!joel miller x singer!reader

summary: a famous pop star and a reserved contractor find an unexpected connection when their paths cross at a concert, leading to a complicated and intense relationship despite their vastly different worlds.

here it is

238 notes · View notes

oldsoul007 · 2 months ago

Text

kiss me

grumpy!joel miller x reader

summary: Joel despises the superficiality of Valentine’s Day, and you, a hopeless romantic who adores love in all its forms, find your friendship tested when you spend Valentine’s week together as single friends, only to discover unexpected feelings that blur the line between friendship and love.

a/n: a little valentine story for yall 💞

joel miller masterlist

Valentine’s week was my favorite time of year. Everything felt lighter, softer—like the world was wrapped in a warm, pink haze. Even if most people thought it was cheesy, I loved it. Love letters, heart-shaped candies, couples holding hands—it made me believe that love, real love, was still out there.

Joel Miller didn’t share that belief.

“Don’t even start,” Joel grumbled the moment he picked up my call, his deep, tired voice crackling through the phone.

I grinned, curling up on my couch with a cup of coffee. “Start what?” I teased, already picturing the irritated look on his face. “I was just calling to check on my favorite Valentine’s Grinch.”

He let out a long sigh, and I bit back a laugh.

“What do you want, y/n?”

“Well,” I drew out the word, knowing exactly how much he’d hate what I was about to say. “We’re both single this year. Why don’t we spend Valentine’s week together?”

There was a beat of silence. I imagined him blinking in disbelief.

“You’re joking.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” I insisted. “Movies, takeout, no pressure. And who knows? Maybe I’ll even convince you that love isn’t as terrible as you think it is.”

“Not happening,” he muttered, but I heard the faintest smile in his voice.

“Is that a yes?” I pressed, holding my breath.

Another long sigh, then—“Fine. But don’t expect me to wear anything pink.”

I laughed, my heart fluttering. “Deal.”

The next few days felt like walking a tightrope.

We spent almost every moment together, but never crossed the line. We did all the things couples do—late-night drives with music humming softly in the background, sharing breakfasts at the little diner on Main Street, walking through the park while I pointed out every couple holding hands just to watch Joel roll his eyes.

But neither of us said it. Neither of us dared to admit what was simmering beneath the surface.

“This is exhausting,” Joel muttered as we sat on a park bench, sipping coffee.

“What is?” I asked, smiling into my cup.

“All of this. People pretending for a week that they’re in love.”

I nudged his shoulder playfully. “Not everyone’s pretending, you know.”

He scoffed. “Name one couple that ain’t puttin’ on a show.”

I didn’t even have to think. “My grandparents.”

Joel raised an eyebrow.

“They’ve been together for 53 years,” I said softly, my smile turning wistful. “They met in college. My grandpa still brings her flowers every Friday. And she still laughs at all his bad jokes.”

Joel let out a low hum, like he wasn’t sure if he believed me.

“I’m not saying it’s common,” I added, reading his mind. “But just because it’s rare doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

He glanced at me then, his gaze lingering a little too long, a little too soft. My breath caught, but I looked away before my feelings betrayed me.

One afternoon, we ended up in the bookstore downtown, wandering through the aisles. Joel found himself in the history section, while I was drawn to the romance novels, of course.

“You’re really gonna read one of those?” he asked, leaning against the shelf with a teasing smirk.

“Yes, Joel,” I shot back, holding up a book with a dramatic cover. “It’s called escapism. You should try it sometime.”

“I’ll stick to the real world, thanks.”

“Where love doesn’t exist?” I teased.

“Exactly.”

I sighed dramatically, shaking my head. “You’re hopeless.”

As we walked out, I couldn’t help myself. I nodded toward an older couple sitting on a bench, their hands intertwined, lost in their own little world.

“Look at them,” I whispered. “Don’t tell me that’s not real.”

Joel followed my gaze, but said nothing. I wished I knew what he was thinking.

It started with a simple plan—cook dinner, keep things light, pretend my heart wasn’t on the verge of bursting every time Joel Miller looked at me.

I wasn’t exactly a gourmet chef, but I knew my way around a kitchen well enough to whip up something decent. Joel sat at the counter, watching me with an amused expression, a beer in hand.

“You sure you’re not gonna burn the place down?” he teased.

I shot him a playful glare. “I’m perfectly capable, thank you very much.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world. I, on the other hand, was trying not to melt under the weight of his gaze.

I turned on some music to fill the silence, letting the soft strum of a guitar filter through the room. And then it happened—one of my favorite love songs started playing. A soft, sweet melody that made my chest ache.

“Uh-oh,” Joel muttered, already sensing what was coming.

I grinned, turning to face him. “Dance with me.”

“Y/n…” he warned, shaking his head.

“Please?” I stretched out the word, giving him my best pleading eyes. “For me?”

He let out a long sigh, but when I reached out my hand, he took it without a fight.

His hand was warm as he pulled me close, his touch gentle despite the roughness of his calloused fingers. We swayed in my tiny kitchen, the smell of dinner forgotten, the music weaving around us like a secret only we knew.

“This is ridiculous,” he whispered, but there was a softness in his voice, in the way his hand rested on my waist.

“Maybe,” I whispered back, resting my head lightly on his shoulder. “But it’s nice, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. I could feel it—the way his grip tightened ever so slightly, the way his breath hitched when I leaned in closer.

For a moment, it felt like we weren’t pretending anymore. Like the feelings we never spoke about were real, tangible.

When the song ended, Joel pulled back slowly, his eyes lingering on mine. The air between us crackled with something unspoken.

“Dinner’s gonna burn,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he stepped away.

I laughed softly, but my heart still ached.

Because even when we danced around our feelings, I knew the truth.

Valentine’s Day arrived quietly, the way it always did.

I felt like I was losing my grip. Every smile, every lingering glance, every time Joel’s hand brushed against mine felt like it was unraveling me.

When I opened my apartment door that morning to find Joel standing there—grumpy expression firmly in place—holding a small bouquet of wildflowers, I froze.

“Uh… these are for you,” he mumbled, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

I stared at the flowers, then at him, trying to process the fact that Joel Miller—the man who swore up and down that Valentine’s Day was nothing but a commercial scam—was holding flowers for me.

“Is this a joke?” I teased, even though my heart was racing.

“Do you want ‘em or not?” he grumbled, shoving them toward me.

I laughed softly, taking the bouquet from his hands. “They’re beautiful, Joel. Thank you.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just… you like this kinda thing. Figured you deserved somethin’ nice.”

My chest tightened at his words. Joel Miller, who claimed not to believe in love, had just done something more thoughtful than any grand gesture ever could be.

That night, we ended up back at my apartment, a bottle of wine between us, laughing over old memories.

“I don’t get it,” Joel said, leaning back on the couch, his voice quieter now. “You got your heart broken—bad—and you still believe in all this love stuff.”

I swallowed hard, the memory of my past relationship still a dull ache. “Because I know what it feels like to be loved, Joel. Even if it wasn’t forever. And I know what it feels like to be alone, too.”

He looked at me then, something unreadable in his eyes. “You’re not alone,” he whispered.

And for a moment, I let myself believe him.

The night felt endless, every moment stretching out between us like a question neither of us wanted to answer.

I could feel Joel beside me, the weight of his presence grounding me, but also unraveling me. The flowers he’d given me sat on the table, delicate and unexpected, just like him.

“Joel,” I whispered, barely able to hear my own voice over the pounding of my heart.

He turned to me, eyes darker than usual, something unreadable flickering in them.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but before I could, Joel was already moving.

His hand cupped my face, rough fingertips trailing along my jaw, and then his lips were on mine.

This wasn’t a tentative kiss. This wasn’t careful. This was Joel Miller finally giving in, finally letting go of every wall he had built around his heart.

His mouth pressed urgently against mine, and I melted into him, my hands gripping his shirt as if holding on for dear life. His other hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.

I felt everything in that kiss—every unspoken word, every moment we’d danced around our feelings, every piece of him he’d kept hidden from the world.

When we broke apart, breathless, Joel rested his forehead against mine, his voice rough and low.

“I can’t fight it anymore,” he whispered. “I don’t want to.”

I swallowed hard, my heart aching in the best way. “Then don’t.”

He kissed me again, softer this time, but with the same intensity, the same longing that had always been there—waiting for us to finally stop pretending.

In that moment, I knew. Joel Miller didn’t just care for me.

He loved me.

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oldsoul007 · 2 months ago

Text

somewhere in northern italy

older!joel miller x younger!reader

A summer in the heart of Tuscany rekindles an unexpected connection between y/n, a spirited traveler with Italian roots, and Joel, an enigmatic older man from her past, as love blooms amidst sunlit vineyards, secret ambitions, and the allure of second chances.

here it is

187 notes · View notes

oldsoul007 · 2 months ago

Text

save a horse

cowboy!joel miller x cowgirl!reader

summary: what started as a frustrating, never-ending rivalry with Joel Miller—his reckless riding, his cocky smirks, his infuriating ability to get under your skin—turned into something else entirely. Something you couldn’t control, couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried. Because beneath all the fighting, the competition, and the stubborn pride, there was heat. And once you gave in to it, there was no turning back.

a/n: “rivals” to lovers, banterrr, cocky Joel, suggestive scenes, heavy kissing, Joel calls reader princess and darlin’

joel miller masterlist

There’s a fine line between love and hate, and Joel Miller lived on the other side of that line—just far enough to keep me from crossing it. Every time I saw him, it felt like that line was being tested, stretched tighter and tighter, as if we were both stuck in some kind of wild tug-of-war.

I had my life all planned out. The pristine, polished world of show jumping and barrel racing was where I thrived. Clean, controlled, the kind of competition where technique and precision mattered more than the mess. I rode with grace and poise—everything about me screamed class and focus.

Then there was Joel.

Joel was the kind of cowboy who thrived in the dirt. The rougher, the better. He was known for his wild, reckless rides—bareback bronc riding, calf roping, and the like. He didn’t care about the mess. He thrived on it. He loved the mud, the sweat, the adrenaline of it all. He reveled in the chaos, and I couldn’t stand it.

We met at a local rodeo competition one fateful evening. I was there for the barrel race, wearing my pristine boots and jacket, my hair perfectly styled beneath my hat. Joel was competing in the rough stock event, his face covered in dust and grit, his clothes stained with sweat. He had the audacity to walk past my stall just as I was prepping my horse.

“Hope you’re not planning on getting too dirty in that competition,” he smirked, his voice low and mocking. “This ain’t your kind of rodeo, y/n.”

I shot him a sharp look, barely containing my irritation. “I don’t think I asked for your opinion, Joel.”

He chuckled, leaning in a little closer, his eyes glinting with something I couldn’t quite place. “You’re a little uptight, aren’t you? I’d hate to see you get all flustered in the dirt. You’ll never make it through the next round.”

I could feel my pulse quicken with a mix of anger and something else—something I definitely didn’t want to acknowledge. “Maybe you should stick to your rough events. Let the classy riders handle the rest.”

He leaned back, eyes narrowing, his lips curling into a smirk. “Classy, huh? Well, you better hope you can handle a real challenge when it comes your way.”

I was ready to snap back, but I didn’t have time. The announcer called for the next round, and I needed to focus. I shot him a glare before walking away, but I could feel his gaze on me the entire time.

The competition was intense. Every part of me focused on executing each turn, each jump, with perfection. I had trained for years, and it paid off. My time in the barrel race was top-notch—clean, precise, with every second of the run perfectly controlled.

But as I crossed the finish line and the crowd erupted in applause, I spotted him again. Joel was in the middle of his calf roping event, the exact opposite of what I’d just done. His horse was galloping full speed toward a runaway steer, and I couldn’t help but watch. He was all muscle and grit, moving with an ease that looked almost reckless. His rope flew through the air, securing the steer in one fluid motion, and the crowd went wild.

I hated that it was impressive. I hated that it made my heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the competition.

Afterward, I found myself near the stables, cooling down my horse when Joel appeared again, this time covered in more dirt than ever. His shirt was half undone, his hair sticking out in every direction.

“You know,” he said, walking up to me, “you were pretty impressive out there.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to remain composed. “You’re just trying to be nice because you lost.”

He laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent an unexpected shiver through me. “I didn’t lose. But I’ll admit, you made it look easy.”

I couldn’t help myself. “Well, I don’t roll around in the dirt for a living.”

Joel’s eyes glinted. “I’ve never been afraid to get dirty. Guess that’s what makes me better at what I do.”

I looked him up and down, shaking my head. “You’re just a mess, Joel. There’s no finesse in what you do. It’s all chaos.”

“Chaos is how things get done,” he said, stepping closer. “Everything has to be perfect for you though, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what makes me a winner.”

He cocked his head to the side, his lips twisting into a grin that made my stomach twist in a way I couldn’t control. “Funny. I think we both know it’s not always about perfection.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my cool. “Maybe. But at least I’m not playing around with danger and risk every second. I’d rather be classy than reckless.”

Joel’s smile faltered, and for a second, I thought he might actually take offense. But then he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “You know, y/n, maybe one day, I’ll show you how much fun it can be to throw caution to the wind. You might surprise yourself.”

I shook my head, pushing him back with a firm hand on his chest. “Don’t hold your breath, Miller.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the tension between us palpable. The air crackled with something that wasn’t hate, but it wasn’t quite attraction either. It was something in between, something that neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

“Alright, princess,” Joel said, his voice softer this time. “You keep riding your pretty little circles. I’ll keep riding the rough stuff. But don’t forget—when you’re ready for a real challenge, you know where to find me.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I turned, leading my horse back to the stables, trying to ignore the heat in my cheeks and the pulse of excitement that had nothing to do with the competition.

Joel Miller was chaos. He was everything I wasn’t. But somehow, despite myself, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were both waiting for the inevitable clash. And when it came, it was going to be one hell of a ride.

I don’t know what it was about Joel Miller that set my blood boiling—maybe it was the way he always had to have the last word, or maybe it was the fact that he rode like a reckless idiot and still managed to win. Whatever it was, I couldn’t stand him.

And yet, I couldn’t seem to avoid him either.

“Careful, princess,” Joel drawled one afternoon as I tightened Maple’s saddle before practice. “Wouldn’t want you breakin’ a nail before your big fancy event.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose, forcing myself to keep my focus on the leather strap in my hands. “And I wouldn’t want you falling off your horse and bruising that oversized ego of yours,” I shot back sweetly.

Joel smirked, leaning against the stall with that insufferable confidence. “Darlin’, I don’t fall.”

I finally turned to look at him, crossing my arms. “No, but you sure like to run your mouth.”

He grinned. “And you sure like to pretend you don’t like it.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“Yeah? Then why do you always find me?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You find me, Miller.”

He took a step closer, that damn smirk still plastered on his face. “Right. And you’re always right here, ready to argue.”

I hated that he was right. I hated that he knew exactly how to get under my skin, knew exactly what buttons to push.

And worst of all, I hated that I liked it.

Every run-in with Joel was like this—an endless cycle of back-and-forths, teasing jabs that always left me flushed, irritated, and on edge. He was rough and reckless, all dirt and sweat and wild confidence, while I was polished, precise, and disciplined. We weren’t supposed to mix.

But that didn’t stop the tension from simmering beneath every argument, every too-long glance, every time he leaned in just a little too close, like he was daring me to cross that line.

And maybe, just maybe, I was getting closer to doing exactly that.

—

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the rodeo grounds, the smell of dirt and hay thick in the air. Most of the competitors were unwinding before the next round, tending to their horses or grabbing something to eat.

I had been brushing down Maple when I heard a small voice nearby.

“Can I pet him?”

I turned, curiosity piqued, and spotted a little boy standing a few feet away from Joel and his horse, Ford. The kid couldn’t have been older than six, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, rocking on his heels like he was nervous.

Joel, who had been adjusting Ford’s saddle, turned to look at him.

For a second, I expected him to wave the kid off. He wasn’t exactly known for being warm.

But instead, Joel crouched down to his level, resting his forearm on his knee. “Yeah? You like horses?”

The boy nodded eagerly. “He’s big.”

Joel chuckled. “Yeah, he is.” He reached up, giving Ford a firm pat on the neck. “But he’s a good boy. You wanna sit on him?”

The kid’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Joel nodded. “C’mon.”

The boy practically bounced in excitement as Joel lifted him up with ease, settling him gently on the saddle. He kept a firm hand on the kid’s back, making sure he was steady, while Ford stood still, completely unfazed.

The boy grinned wide, gripping the horn of the saddle like he was ready to take off. “I’m a cowboy now!”

Joel chuckled, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it. “That’s right, little man.”

And damn it if my heart didn’t melt right there.

I had seen Joel Miller in plenty of ways—cocky, infuriating, reckless.

But this?

This was new.

He was gentle. Patient. And watching him interact with that kid, making his whole day with nothing more than a simple ride, did something to me that I really didn’t want to think too hard about.

I must’ve been staring too long because suddenly, Joel’s eyes flicked up and locked onto mine.

The smirk came back instantly, like he could sense the effect he had on me. “What?”

I rolled my eyes, quickly turning back to Maple. “Nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

“Shut up, Miller.”

But as much as I tried to ignore it, the image of Joel smiling up at that kid, looking so damn soft, was burned into my mind.

And for once, I didn’t hate it.

—

The day was winding down, the sun sinking lower in the sky, and the arena was quiet except for the faint rustling of hooves and the occasional call from the crowd. The final competition was just around the corner, and I was out on the practice field, determined to get in some last-minute work before everything went down tomorrow. Maple was calm as always, and I was focused, running the barrels with precision and grace. Every turn was tight, every motion measured. I was in control, just like I always was.

But the world has a way of throwing curveballs when you least expect it.

I had just completed my last run when I heard a sudden, sharp sound from the far side of the arena. At first, I didn’t think much of it—until I saw the flash of a calf breaking through the fencing, charging across the field at full speed, clearly startled and out of control.

I instinctively pulled on Maple’s reins, trying to guide her out of the way, but she was spooked, her head shooting up as she began to buck and rear. The calf was moving fast, its hooves pounding the earth, and Maple, already skittish, couldn’t seem to calm down.

“Maple, whoa, easy girl!” I shouted, trying to get her back under control, but the harder I tried, the more she panicked. I was losing my grip, my heart racing as I struggled to hold on. The cow was heading straight for us now, and Maple was getting more and more frantic.

“Shit!” I cursed under my breath, pulling harder on the reins, but nothing worked. I was completely out of control, the adrenaline surging in my veins as Maple bolted, jerking me to the side. I could feel the ground beneath me shift, my grip slipping, and then—without warning—Maple’s leg caught on something, and she pitched forward, throwing me off.

I hit the ground hard, the air knocked from my lungs as pain shot through my back and shoulder. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. I tried to push myself up, but my body wouldn’t respond, the pain paralyzing me as I gasped for air.

“Y/n!”

I heard a voice—Joel’s voice—shouting through the haze.

Before I could even react, I felt the ground shift beside me. Joel was there, dismounting Ford and rushing over to me, his face a mask of concern, his eyes wild.

“Stay still,” he said, his voice rough as he kneeled beside me. His hands hovered over me, unsure of where to touch, and I saw the rare flicker of concern in his usually confident gaze.

I tried to push myself up, the pain from my shoulder shooting through me. “I’m fine,” I lied, gritting my teeth. “I don’t need your help.”

Joel’s expression darkened, and his hands moved to my shoulders, gently forcing me back down onto the ground. “Don’t move. You’re not fine.”

I glared at him, the frustration bubbling up again. “I said I’m fine, Joel. Just… just go away.”

“Please just stop being so damn stubborn.” His voice was harsh, almost angry, but not with me—more with the situation, with how I was refusing help when I clearly needed it. He wasn’t joking now. “I’m just trying to help you.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the pain in my shoulder was too much, and I winced, the sharp sting cutting off my words. My breathing was labored now, my heart still pounding in my chest from the chaos of the moment. For a few seconds, we just stared at each other, me lying in the dirt, Joel kneeling beside me, both of us breathing hard from the rush of adrenaline.

“Look, I don’t need you playing the hero,” I managed to mutter, trying to sit up again, but Joel gently pushed me back down.

“I’m not playing anything, y/n. You can’t even move. I’m not going to leave you out here alone just because you’ve got too much pride to admit you’re hurt,” he said, his tone firm, but underneath, I could hear the edge of concern. “If you don’t stop fighting me, I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

I glared at him, but the frustration I felt earlier melted into something else—a mix of embarrassment and anger. He wasn’t wrong. I had to admit, I had overestimated myself, and now I was paying the price.

“Fine,” I muttered, still struggling to sit up, but feeling the weight of the pain in my body. I could barely lift my arm without it aching. “I guess you’re right. But don’t think I’m going to thank you for it.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk returning, but it wasn’t as cocky as it usually was. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just making sure you don’t make it worse by being stubborn.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but another wave of pain shot through my shoulder, making my breath catch. I grimaced, closing my eyes. “I’m not stubborn,” I managed to mutter, my voice strained. “I just don’t like being treated like I can’t handle things.”

Joel’s expression softened, just slightly, and for a moment, I saw something else in his eyes—something genuine, not the usual teasing or arrogance. “I get it. But sometimes you need help. And it’s okay to accept it.”

I swallowed hard, the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck, but I couldn’t argue with him. I was hurt. I couldn’t handle everything on my own, and right now, I really did need him.

“Just help me up,” I finally muttered, my voice quiet, but there was a hint of surrender in it now.

Joel didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, carefully pulling me into a sitting position, his hand firm on my back as he steadied me. “Easy,” he said, his voice soft now. “We’ll get you back to the stables and make sure you’re okay.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, the rush of the competition, the pain, and Joel’s unexpected calm all mixing together in a way I wasn’t sure how to process. I hated needing help. I hated showing weakness, especially in front of someone like Joel. But as he gently helped me up and guided me back to safety, I couldn’t bring myself to be angry anymore.

Maybe, for once, it was okay to let someone else take charge. Even if that someone was Joel.

Joel guided me carefully back toward the stables, his arm lightly supporting my back as I limped along beside him. Every step sent a jolt of pain through my shoulder, and I was starting to realize just how badly I had underestimated the situation. Maple had finally calmed down, now tied to the post a few yards away, but my head was still reeling from the chaos, the fear, and the sharp ache that spread from my shoulder down my side.

Joel’s grip on me was steady, strong, but not intrusive—just enough to keep me from stumbling. He kept his pace slow, making sure I could keep up, his brow furrowed in concentration. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a seriousness that felt oddly comforting in the midst of everything.

When we reached the stables, he led me to a bench just outside, carefully helping me sit. His hand lingered on my shoulder for a moment, the touch gentle yet reassuring. I looked up at him, surprised by how quiet he was. Usually, he would’ve been making some sarcastic comment or teasing me for getting hurt, but now he seemed… concerned. In a way I hadn’t expected.

“Stay put,” he said, his voice softer than usual as he crouched down to inspect my shoulder. “I’m going to grab the first aid kit. You’ll be fine.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t so sure about that. The pain had dulled a bit since I sat down, but it still throbbed with every movement. I wanted to argue, to tell him I could take care of myself, but at this point, it seemed pointless. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was stubborn just to prove some point.

Joel disappeared into the nearby barn and returned a few minutes later with a first aid kit in hand. He knelt down in front of me, his eyes scanning my shoulder, and I could see him evaluating the injury carefully. There was no arrogance now, no cocky humor. He was all business.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” he muttered, gently lifting my arm to get a better look at the injury.

I winced, trying not to flinch, but the pain was undeniable. “It’s nothing,” I said, forcing my voice to sound dismissive. “Just a little bruise. I’ll be fine.”

Joel didn’t buy it. “You’re lucky you didn’t break anything. This could be worse than it looks.” He carefully started cleaning the area around the bruise, his touch light but deliberate, making sure he didn’t aggravate the injury. “You always act like you don’t need anyone’s help. But it’s okay to admit when you’re in trouble.”

I gritted my teeth at his words, but there was no edge to his tone—just quiet honesty. I didn’t want to admit that he was right, that maybe I had been pushing myself too hard lately, that maybe I had been too proud to ask for help. But it was hard to keep up the act when he was standing there, so close, so damn calm.

“I don’t need a lecture, Joel,” I muttered, trying to shift my position slightly.

His hand paused as he looked up at me, his eyes catching mine. “I’m not lecturing you. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t make it worse. You can’t keep pretending like you’re invincible. You’re not.”

The words hung in the air between us, and for the first time, I felt a wave of vulnerability wash over me. I didn’t want to feel like this. I didn’t want to admit that maybe I had been running on empty for far too long, that maybe I didn’t have it all figured out. Not with him, not with anyone.

“You’re right,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t know what happened back there. It’s like I lost control for a second.”

Joel didn’t respond immediately. He finished cleaning the cut and then started wrapping it in gauze, his movements methodical and practiced. I had expected him to make some quip, to tease me for showing weakness, but instead, he was quiet—focused.

When he finished, he finally looked up, his expression softer now. “It happens to the best of us. You got scared, and that’s okay. But you don’t have to do this alone, y/n.”

I met his gaze, the weight of his words settling in the pit of my stomach. His sincerity was something I hadn’t expected, and it threw me off more than I cared to admit.

For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The only sound was the quiet rustling of the wind and the distant hum of the rodeo grounds. I could feel the tension between us, still hanging in the air, but now there was something different about it—something that wasn’t just about competing, or winning, or proving who was stronger.

“Thanks,” I said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “I didn’t expect you to… actually help.”

Joel gave me a dry chuckle, sitting back on his heels. “Don’t go thinking this means I’ve gone soft, darlin’. I’m still gonna beat you tomorrow.”

I couldn’t help but smile, the familiar banter easing the weight of the moment. “You’re still insufferable, you know that?”

His grin returned, that cocky edge creeping back into his voice. “And you’re still stubborn. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. Makes the competition interesting.”

I shook my head, but this time, there was no animosity behind it. Despite everything, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something—maybe even gratitude—for the way he’d handled this.

“Just don’t think you’re getting an easy win,” I shot back, feeling a hint of the old spark return. “I’m coming for you.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, his eyes glinting with the usual challenge. “Bring it on. I’ve been waiting for you to step it up.”

For a moment, I let myself enjoy the lightness between us, the rivalry still there, but tempered by something new. Something I didn’t quite understand, but I was starting to admit I didn’t mind.

Joel stood up, offering me a hand. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the bed and breakfast and take it easy for the rest of the night. You’ve got a competition to win tomorrow.”

I hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, letting him help me up. The steady warmth of his grip was comforting, and I couldn’t ignore the way my pulse quickened with his touch. There was something about Joel—something that pushed all my buttons, something that made me want to keep fighting and keep running, but also, maybe, something that made me want to stay.

I brushed off the thought, refusing to let it linger as I walked beside him back to the stables. There was still a competition to prepare for, after all, and tomorrow, I’d make sure he knew that I wasn’t going down without a fight.

The morning buzzed with the smell of fresh coffee and bacon as I walked into the small dining room of the bed and breakfast. Most of the rodeo crowd was already there, gathered around wooden tables, chatting between bites of biscuits and gravy.

Still half-asleep, I grabbed the nearest cowboy hat from the rack by the door and plopped it onto my head without thinking.

I didn’t realize my mistake until I felt the weight of a stare burning into me.

Slowly, I looked up—right into the amused eyes of Joel.

He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, that damn smirk creeping onto his face. “Mornin’, princess.”

I blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Joel tapped his fingers on the table, clearly enjoying himself. “That your hat?”

I frowned, reaching up to tug it down more firmly—only to freeze when I realized it wasn’t mine.

It was his.

I had grabbed Joel’s hat.

Before I could rip it off my head, he tilted his head, voice dropping just enough for only me to hear. “You know what they say…” His smirk turned downright sinful. “Wear the hat—“

“Don’t.” I yanked the hat off my head and smacked it against his chest before he could finish that sentence.

Joel just chuckled, gripping the hat with ease, his fingers brushing mine for a split second longer than necessary. “Hey, no need to be shy about it. Could’ve just told me you wanted—”

“Don’t even start.” I huffed, grabbing a cup of coffee and heading straight for the other side of the room, ignoring the way my face burned.

“Hey, wait,” Joel called after me, and despite every bone in my body telling me to keep walking, I paused.

His voice was quieter now, a little more serious. “How’s your shoulder?”

I blinked, surprised. “What?”

“Your shoulder,” he repeated, leaning forward with that same familiar, cocky grin, but his eyes—there was something softer there. “Y’know, after that little run-in with the calf yesterday. Didn’t want you to use it as an excuse when I beat you later.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the unexpected flutter in my chest. “It’s fine. Barely hurts.” I squared my shoulders just to prove the point. “And I’m still competing, so don’t get your hopes up.”

Joel chuckled, tipping his hat. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”

Even with my back turned, I could feel his eyes on me.

And worse?

I wasn’t sure I hated it.

Competition day always had a certain energy to it—electric, tense, buzzing with anticipation. The early morning sun cast long shadows across the rodeo grounds, the air thick with the scent of dust, horses, and sweat. The crowd was already gathering, and the announcer’s voice echoed through the arena, calling out the lineup for the day’s events.

I should have been focused. I needed to be focused. But, of course, Joel was making that impossible.

“You nervous, princess?” His voice came from behind me, slow and smug as I checked Maple’s saddle one last time.

I exhaled, gripping the leather a little tighter before turning to face him. “Not in the slightest.”

Joel grinned, standing there with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, looking like he hadn’t lost a wink of sleep over today’s competition. Unlike me, he didn’t believe in overpreparing or second-guessing. He just rode, wild and free, as if the rules didn’t apply to him.

“You sure?” he pressed, tilting his head. “You’ve been triple-checking that saddle for the last five minutes.”

“Maybe I just like to be thorough,” I shot back.

Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, walked up just in time to witness our usual back-and-forth. He clapped Joel on the shoulder, shaking his head with a grin. “Man, do y’all ever stop?”

“Nope,” said another voice—Kailen, my best friend, who had been standing nearby, watching with barely concealed amusement. She raised a brow at me. “You know, for two people who claim to hate each other, you sure spend a lot of time talking.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the announcer’s voice rang through the speakers, calling up the tie-down roping competitors—Joel’s event.

Joel shot me a wink. “Guess we’ll have to finish this conversation later.”

“Can’t wait,” I muttered as he strolled off, exuding nothing but confidence.

Joel went first. I watched from the sidelines as he rode out with Ford, moving like they were one body. He chased down the calf, lassoed it with effortless precision, and leapt from his saddle in one fluid motion.

The crowd roared as he finished his tie-down in record time, standing back with that damn smug expression as if he knew he was the best.

Tommy whistled from beside me. “Damn, he’s gonna be impossible to deal with after that one.”

Kailen nudged me. “You good?”

I forced myself to unclench my fists. “Fine.”

I wasn’t.

Because the second Joel met my gaze from across the arena, his smirk turning into something slower, something challenging, I felt my stomach flip in a way I really didn’t need before my own event.

It was my turn.

The crowd was still buzzing from Joel’s performance, but I didn’t let it distract me. I mounted Maple, adjusting my grip on the reins as we trotted into the arena.

I took a breath. Blocked out the noise. Focused.

Then, at the sound of the buzzer, we flew.

Maple moved with power and grace, muscles coiling and releasing as we weaved around the barrels with razor-sharp precision. The turns were tight, the speed unmatched. Every movement was calculated, controlled—until the last barrel.

Just as I rounded it, I saw a blur of movement from the corner of my eye. Something—someone—was too close to the fence. Maple spooked, just a fraction of a second’s hesitation, but it was enough to cost me.

We crossed the finish line fast, but not fast enough.

I let out a breath, my heart hammering as I slowed Maple to a trot.

Second place.

Not first.

Not him.

As I dismounted, frustration burned in my chest. I had been so close.

“Hell of a ride,” Joel’s voice came from behind me, and I turned to find him standing there, Ford’s reins in hand, watching me with that unreadable expression. “Shame about that last turn, though.”

I gritted my teeth, yanking off my riding gloves.

“What?” His lips twitched. “I’m just sayin’—”

“You’re gloating.”

Joel stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “You mad ‘cause you lost, or mad ‘cause you lost to me?”

I shot him a glare, my skin still buzzing from the adrenaline. From the way he was looking at me. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re predictable,” he murmured, his eyes flickering down to my lips before meeting my gaze again. “Always so desperate to be perfect. Always so scared to just let go.”

I hated that he could see through me. Hated that he knew how much this got under my skin.

But most of all?

I hated how much I wanted him to kiss me right then and there.

“Y/n!” Kailen called, jogging up before I could say—or do—something stupid.

I tore my eyes away from Joel, breathing out sharply. “Coming.”

Joel leaned in just a little, voice low in my ear. “We’re not done, darlin’.”

I turned my head, meeting his gaze with a challenge of my own. “Not even close.”

The rodeo wrapped up as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everything in a hazy golden glow. The smell of sweat, dust, and leather lingered in the air as competitors packed up for the night, some celebrating, some nursing bruised egos.

I should have been happy with second place. It was a solid run, and I knew Maple and I had given it everything. But standing there watching Joel grin and drink a beer like he hadn’t just walked away with a damn trophy made my blood boil.

And worse? It made something else simmer beneath my skin.

Kailen nudged my side, her gaze flicking between me and Joel, who was leaning against the fence with Tommy, talking and laughing. “You look like you either want to murder him or fuck him.”

I scoffed. “Try murder.”

“Sure,” she said, dragging out the word like she didn’t believe me for a second. “You gonna pretend you weren’t watching him the whole time?”

I turned sharply toward her. “I was not—”

“You totally were.” She smirked. “And he knows it.”

I glanced back at Joel, and sure enough, his eyes were already on me, like he’d been waiting for me to look. The second our gazes met, he lifted his beer bottle slightly, that damn smirk never leaving his face.

Cocky asshole.

I tore my gaze away and turned to Kailen. “I need a drink.”

She grinned. “Now that I can help with.”

Later that night, most of the rodeo crowd had gathered around a bonfire outside the bed and breakfast. Someone had set up speakers playing old country music, and the smell of barbecue mixed with the smoke from the fire.

I sat on a hay bale, nursing a beer, trying to shake the way Joel had been in my head all damn day.

But of course, he had to make it worse.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Joel’s voice drawled from behind me.

I exhaled slowly before turning to look at him. “Why? Thought I’d be too busy polishing my second-place ribbon?”

Joel chuckled, taking the spot next to me like he belonged there. “Nah. Just figured you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near me after today.”

I scoffed, taking a sip of my beer. “I don’t.”

“Yet, here you are.”

I turned to him, narrowing my eyes.

He leaned back, propping an arm on the hay bale, looking so damn relaxed it made me want to shove him off. “You always this fun at parties?”

I set my drink down and faced him fully. “What is it you want?”

He studied me for a second, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he shrugged. “Just wonderin’ how long you’re gonna pretend you don’t feel this.”

My breath caught, but I covered it with a laugh. “Feel what?”

Joel tilted his head, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before flicking back to my eyes. “This,” he said, voice lower now. “The thing between us.”

I swallowed, suddenly hating how warm the fire felt against my skin. “There is no thing.”

Joel just smirked, like he could see right through me. “Right.”

The tension was thick—too thick.

I should have left, should have walked away before I did something stupid.

But Joel, of course, had to push.

“You mad ‘cause I won, or mad ‘cause you know I’m right?” he asked, leaning in slightly.

And just like that, my patience snapped.

“God, you are so insufferable!” I huffed, standing up abruptly.

Joel followed, rising to his full height, his body inches from mine. “And you are so damn stubborn.”

“Because I don’t fall for your stupid games?”

“No, because you pretend you don’t want this!”

My jaw clenched. “I don’t.”

Joel let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”

I pushed at his chest, more out of frustration than anything, but he barely moved. “You are the last person I’d ever—”

Before I could finish, he grabbed my wrist, tugging me forward. “Then tell me to stop.”

I froze.

The bonfire crackled behind us, voices and laughter distant, drowned out by the pounding of my own heart.

Joel’s eyes searched mine, his breathing heavy, his grip firm but not unkind. “Tell me to walk away, y/n.”

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Joel's grip on my wrists tightened, his eyes burning with a fury that mirrored mine. "I'm talking about the fact that I can't stand you, y/n. I can't stand watching you shut me out, push me away, acting like you've got everything figured out."

I blinked, stunned by the words he'd just said.

"You can't stand me?" The words stung, more than I wanted to admit, but I was too furious to back down now.

Joel's jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah. I can't stand how you make everything so damn hard. I can't stand how you act like I'm some kind of joke. But I can't stop thinking about you either. You don't get it, do you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, the raw emotion there now, the heat between us intensifying with every word. "I want you, y/n. I want you so fucking much, and I can't stand it."

The words hit me like a slap, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, staring up at him, realizing that everything l'd been fighting— everything I thought I knew-was coming to a head. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, the heat and the desire that had been simmering beneath our constant bickering now breaking free in an overwhelming wave.

Without thinking, I pushed myself up onto my toes, crashing my lips into his with all the pent-up frustration, desire, and raw emotion I'd been holding back. His hands immediately moved to my back, pulling me flush against him, and the moment our lips met, it was like everything exploded. His kiss was demanding, urgent, filled with everything we hadn't said before-the anger, the passion, the need.

I tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of his body against mine, the way our breaths mingled as we kissed like it was the only thing that mattered. I could feel the way his muscles tensed under my fingers, the rawness of him, the way he was losing control just as much as I was.

"Y/n," he murmured between kisses, his voice low and raspy. "I can't stop... can't stop thinking about you."

I pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, my chest heaving with breathless anticipation. "Then don't," I said, my voice shaky but full of conviction. "Stop fighting it."

Joel groaned against my mouth, his arms wrapping around me in an instant, pulling me flush against him. The kiss was rough, urgent, months—years—of tension exploding all at once.

He backed me up until my back hit the fence, his hands gripping my hips like he was afraid I’d pull away. But I wasn’t going anywhere.

The kiss deepened, urgent, messy, full of everything we had been avoiding. I felt his hands running down my back, pulling me even closer as if he couldn't get enough, as if everything we had been holding back was finally being released in the fire between us.

My hands slid under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his muscles flexed with every move. I pulled him closer, his breath coming fast and shallow as he kissed me harder.

I didn't think about the competition. I didn't think about the risks or the consequences. All I could focus on was the heat between us, the passion that had been building for so long, finally bursting open in a wave that left us both breathless and lost in the moment.

When we finally broke apart, both of us gasping for air, Joel rested his forehead against mine, his hands still gripping me tightly.

"Shit," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That was-"

I didn't let him finish, pulling him back into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, more deliberate.

Joel's grin spread, a familiar cocky smirk returning, but now there was something more beneath it-something real, something that neither of us could deny.

We made it back to the bed and breakfast and I wasn't sure what I expected after everything— after the anger, the lust, the feeling of crossing some line l'd never been able to cross before-but in that moment, none of the thoughts I had before made sense anymore.

Joel's lips were still on my skin, his hands brushing against my body with a familiarity that felt too natural. I couldn't quite process it all-the way my heart raced, the way he moved so confidently, but also with that trace of hesitation like he was waiting for me to push him away. And I could feel the shift, the change, that had come with everything.

I could feel it in the way he touched me now-so gentle, but deep with a hunger I hadn't expected.

His lips trailed over my neck, down my jaw, slowly, like he was savoring every second. It made my breath catch, my pulse quicken as I let myself fall into the feeling, into him.

"Y/n..." he whispered, his voice rough, barely above a breath. "I didn't think it would be like this. But damn, I can't stop..."

He didn't finish the sentence, and I didn't need him to. I knew exactly what he meant. It was the same thing I was feeling, the same pull, the same want.

I wasn't thinking anymore. I wasn't thinking about the competition, about the rivalry, about all the reasons we shouldn't be here, doing this.

I reached up, pulling him into a kiss, my fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if somehow that would make it all make sense. His hands slid under me, lifting me slightly, and I could feel him shift, his body pressing against mine with a desperate kind of intensity.

We couldn't keep our hands off each other. His touch was scorching, a contrast to the cool sheets beneath us. My hands roamed over his chest, feeling the taut muscles there, the heat radiating from him.

He groaned softly when my fingers brushed his collarbone, his lips parting in that same quiet desperation.

I could tell he was holding back-like he was giving me a chance to stop him, to pull away. But I didn't want to. I couldn't stop him.

When his hands found their way down to my waist, pulling me even closer, I couldn't stop the soft gasp that escaped me. And that was it. He kissed me again, this time rougher, the pace of his movements picking up, pushing me deeper into the moment.

I wanted him. God, I wanted him more than I wanted to admit.

Joel's mouth found mine again, his hands now working to tug my shirt off, and I wasn't stopping him. I didn't care anymore. All the walls, all the resistance, all the history between us—it melted away, and the only thing that mattered was what we were doing right now.

We were giving in. We were no longer fighting it.

My body responded instantly, moving against his, matching the intensity of his kiss, the roughness of his hands. He was relentless, his kisses growing deeper, more urgent, as if he couldn't get enough.

And I couldn't either.

The way he touched me made everything else feel irrelevant. The way his lips trailed down my body sent sparks of heat that burned away every other thought I had, until all I could think about was him.

It felt so right, but at the same time, so completely new.

Every touch, every movement, was a revelation. He wasn't the same man l'd been arguing with all day. He was someone else now-someone raw, someone real. Someone who was finally, finally, showing me all the things he'd been holding back.

And I realized, in that instant, I wasn't the only one letting go. He was too.

His body pressed against mine, heat radiating off him, as if he was saying everything he couldn't with words. His kiss was hungry, fevered, but there was something more to it-something soft, something almost... gentle.

I felt his hand on my back, guiding me, moving me closer, as if there was no space between us, as if we were meant to be tangled up in this moment, in this feeling. We were no longer the same stubborn, competitive people. We were two people who had finally let go of everything and just given in.

And I couldn't bring myself to stop.

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oldsoul007 · 2 months ago

Text

save a horse

cowboy!joel miller x cowgirl!reader

what started as a frustrating, never-ending rivalry with Joel Miller—his reckless riding, his cocky smirks, his infuriating ability to get under your skin—turned into something else entirely. Something you couldn’t control, couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried. Because beneath all the fighting, the competition, and the stubborn pride, there was heat. And once you gave in to it, there was no turning back.

here it is

139 notes · View notes

oldsoul007 · 2 months ago

Text

Guess

older!joel miller x brat!younger!reader

summary: Joel never asked to be saddled with you—wild, reckless, and always testing his patience—but what started as a favor turned into something he couldn’t ignore, and by the time he realized he was in far too deep, it was already too late.

a/n: I never got over brat summer, forced proximity, tension, banter, kissing, suggestive scenes

joel miller masterlist

The first time I see Joel Miller, he’s scowling.

Like, really scowling. Deep line between his brows, mouth set in a firm, unimpressed line, arms crossed over his chest like he’s already exhausted before I’ve even said a word.

And that just makes me want to push his buttons.

He was older—forty-five, maybe—but damn if he didn’t wear it well. Tall, broad, built like a man who knew hard work and even harder days. The kind of man who didn’t waste words or time on things he thought weren’t worth it.

“Y/n,” Tommy grins, throwing an arm around me, “meet my older brother, Joel.”

Joel gives me a once-over, slow and deliberate. I feel his eyes drag over me, taking in my short dress, the bare skin, the slight smirk tugging at my lips. And just for fun, I shift my weight, tilting my head, letting my smile turn just a little more smug.

Tommy, oblivious, keeps talking. “Figured you two should finally meet since you’re always hangin’ around.”

Joel sighs, clearly already over this interaction. “Yeah. Great. Nice to meet you.”

I raise a brow. “Wow. So warm. So welcoming.”

Tommy snorts. “Don’t take it personal. He’s always like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, tilting my head, eyes flicking back to Joel.

Joel just stares at me, like he’s debating whether or not to entertain me. Finally, he mutters, “Serious.”

I grin. “And I’m guessin’ Tommy here told you I’m the opposite?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but the way his jaw flexes tells me enough.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

I step a little closer, watching him carefully, waiting to see if he pulls back. He doesn’t—just watches me, unimpressed, unreadable, but I don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, like he’s restraining himself.

“You got somethin’ against fun, Miller?” I tease.

Joel exhales through his nose. “Just don’t got patience for trouble.”

I grin. “Good thing I ain’t trouble then.”

His eyes flick down to my lips for half a second before snapping back up. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

Tommy laughs, clapping Joel on the back. “She’s a handful, huh?”

Joel shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before looking back at me. “You always this much of a pain in the ass?”

I beam. “You always this grumpy?”

His jaw tightens. I know I’m getting to him. And I love it.

Something about Joel Miller tells me he’s the type to resist—to hold himself back, to act like he doesn’t want.

But the way he’s looking at me now?

Yeah. He wants.

I never planned on ending up at Joel Millers house.

But life has a funny way of screwing with me.

One busted pipe in my apartment—water everywhere, maintenance useless, and suddenly, I had nowhere to stay. Tommy was out of town, and before I could even think of booking a motel, he was already on the phone, talking to Joel.

“Just for a few days,” Tommy had said. “Joel’s got the space.”

Joel, who was already looking at me like I was a problem before I even stepped foot in his house.

Now, standing in his doorway, duffel slung over my shoulder, I give him my best grin. “Miss me?”

Joel just sighs, running a hand down his face. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

“No promises.”

His jaw tightens, like he knew I was gonna say that.

I step past him, into his space, and the second the door shuts behind me, something shifts. It’s one thing to tease Joel out in the world, to push his buttons when there’s always somewhere else to go. But here? His house?

There’s nowhere to run now.

And by the way his eyes flicker over me—quick, sharp, like he already regrets agreeing to this—I can tell he’s thinking the same damn thing.

The first night at Joel’s place is… tense. In a way that has nothing to do with the fact that my apartment is currently unlivable and everything to do with him.

He didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat when Tommy volunteered him to take me in. He just grunted, muttered something about “just for a couple nights,” and now here we are.

Joel’s house is simple. A little messy but lived-in. It smells like sawdust, coffee, and whatever soap he uses. I shouldn’t be noticing those things, but I do.

“You got a spare bedroom, or do I gotta fight you for the bed?” I ask, dropping my bag by the couch.

Joel gives me a look like he’s already regretting this. “Spare room’s down the hall. Not much in there, but it’s got a bed.”

I smirk. “A bed and a grumpy host? Wow, I’m spoiled.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand over his beard like he’s trying to summon patience. “You need anything, just… don’t.”

I grin. “Don’t what?”

He glares. “Don’t push it.”

Oh, but that’s my favorite thing to do.

—

It’s late when I finally settle in. The house is too quiet, too still, and I can’t sleep. Not used to this place, not used to him just a room away.

I pad down the hall, oversized t-shirt hanging off me, socks silent against the wood floor. The lamp in the living room is still on, and Joel’s sitting on the couch, looking lost in thought.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, leaning against the doorway.

He looks up, eyes flicking to me—just for a second, just long enough to make me feel barely covered. He exhales, looking back at his floor. “Didn’t expect you to be the quiet type at night.”

I snort, walking over to perch on the arm of the couch. “Bet you thought I’d snore or talk in my sleep.”

Joel shrugs. “Still debatin’ it.”

I watch him for a moment, the way the lamp casts shadows over his face, the way he looks at everything except me. There’s something charged in the air, something neither of us want to acknowledge.

“You don’t like this, do you?” I tease, nudging his knee with my foot. “Having me here.”

Joel takes a slow look up at me. “Ain’t about likin’ it. It just is.”

I hum, watching him closely. “You’re so bad at lying.”

Joel’s jaw flexes.

And I know, I know, if I keep pushing, I’ll get something out of him. But for once, I don’t.

Instead, I stand, stretching dramatically. “Alright, Miller. I’ll stop bugging you. For now.”

Joel huffs. “Doubtful.”

I grin, heading toward the hallway. But just before I disappear into the dark, I hear him mutter—just low enough that I almost miss it.

“Sleep tight, trouble.”

And damn it, that shouldn’t make my stomach flip. But it does.

—

The thing about living with Joel? It’s too easy to mess with him.

I’ve been here for three days now, and I swear, every time I walk into a room, he looks like he’s debating whether or not to strangle me or throw me out. And honestly? I love it.

Like right now.

He’s standing in the kitchen, coffee in one hand, flipping through the mail like it personally offended him. His shirt is still wrinkled from sleep, hair a little messy, eyes heavy with whatever dreams he never talks about. And I? I’m perched on the counter, swinging my legs, eating the last piece of toast he made for himself.

Joel notices. His eyes flick to the empty plate in my hand, then to his own very empty hands, and then—then—he exhales so sharply it’s almost funny.

“Really?” he grumbles, setting the mail down with way more force than necessary. “You ain’t got hands to make your own damn food?”

I grin, taking a slow, deliberate bite. “Yours just looked better.”

Joel mutters something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like a curse, and turns to pour himself more coffee.

“Y’know,” I continue, voice sweet, “for a man who claims he doesn’t like me being here, you sure do take good care of me.”

Joel tenses. His grip on the coffee pot tightens.

“Wouldn’t have to if you took care of yourself,” he mutters, taking a sip.

I smirk. “Aww, Joel. You worried about me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just glares over the rim of his mug like he’s daring me to push him further.

So, of course, I do.

I hop off the counter, stepping closer, my bare feet silent against the floor. Joel watches me warily, like I’m a stray cat that might bite. I stop just in front of him, tilting my head.

“You sure you don’t like having me here?” I tease, my voice dropping just a little, just enough to make his fingers twitch.

Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. But his eyes darken just enough to make my stomach flip.

“You really wanna test me this early?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The challenge sends a thrill down my spine. I grin, leaning in just a fraction, enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Maybe,” I whisper. “Depends on what happens if I do.”

Joel huffs a laugh—one of those deep, frustrated, you’re-gonna-be-the-death-of-me laughs. Then, suddenly, his turn to get close. He leans down, voice right against my ear.

“You keep pushin’,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin, “you ain’t gonna like what happens.”

My pulse jumps. My smirk falters—just for a second.

Joel sees it. And the bastard smirks.

Then he pulls back, grabbing his coffee, walking away like he won this round.

I exhale sharply, watching him go, my skin still tingling.

I really need to stop underestimating him.

—

I know he’s awake the second I step through the door.

The lights are dim, but Joel’s still sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a half-empty beer. He looks relaxed—pretends to be, anyway—but his eyes flick to me the second I walk in.

I smirk. “You waitin’ up for me, Miller?”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Just happened to be up.”

Uh-huh.

I ignore him, walking into the kitchen, feeling his eyes drag over me as I move. The dress I’m wearing is short, tight, and backless—very backless. My tattoo is on full display, the black ink running across, teasing the dip of my lower back.

I reach for a glass, pouring myself some water, letting the silence stretch, letting him look.

Finally, I hear him shift behind me. “Where the hell were you?”

I take a slow sip. “Out.”

“With who?”

I glance over my shoulder, raising a brow. “Didn’t know I had to check in with you, dad.”

Joel clenches his jaw. His fingers flex on his knee. “Y/n.”

I turn fully now, leaning against the counter, glass in hand. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” The lie is so blatant, so immediate, that I almost laugh.

I take another sip, watching him. “You sure about that?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks lower, over the curve of my back, the exposed skin, the ink. His jaw tenses even more—like he’s mad. Like the tattoo itself is personally offending him.

I set my glass down, smirking. “Something wrong?”

Joel exhales, drags a hand down his face. “You got no damn shame, you know that?”

I grin, stepping closer, closing the space between us. “And you got no damn claim,” I say, tilting my head. “So what’s your problem?”

Joel watches me, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

I lift a finger, tracing a slow, teasing line down my own spine, over the tattoo he won’t stop staring at. “You like it?” I ask, voice low.

His nostrils flare. His fists clench.

Then—just like always—he forces himself to lean back, to put space between us, to shove all that tension down deep.

I take my time walking past him, making sure he gets a real good look at what’s been driving him crazy all night. I can practically feel the heat of his stare burning into my skin, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Not yet.

Instead, I reach for my water again, taking a slow sip, just to draw this out a little more. Joel exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to keep himself calm.

I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

“You always go out dressed like that?” His voice is low, rough, like he’s forcing himself to sound casual.

I smirk against my glass. “You always staring at me?”

Joel lets out a sharp breath, but he doesn’t deny it.

I finally turn, leaning back against the counter, crossing my arms so my dress shifts even higher up my thighs. His gaze flickers, betraying him for half a second before he locks it back on my face.

“I just don’t get why you feel the need to—” He waves a hand vaguely at me. “—put everything on display.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Everything?”

Joel rubs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “You know what I mean.”

I grin. “What, you don’t like my tattoo?”

He clenches his jaw. “Ain’t about the tattoo.”

I tilt my head, watching him closely. “Then what’s it about?”

He doesn’t answer.

I push off the counter, closing the space between us, slow and deliberate. “Is it the tattoo, or is it the fact that other people got to see it?”

Joel tenses. Just a flicker. Barely noticeable. But I see it.

And I know.

I smirk. “That’s it, isn’t it?” My voice drops, just above a whisper. “You don’t like that someone else got to look at me like this.”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his fists clenched at his sides. “Go to bed, y/n.”

I step even closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the faded whiskey and aftershave clinging to his skin. “Make me.”

His jaw flexes. His hands twitch. For a second, I think he might actually do something, might finally snap and grab me, kiss me, claim me like we both know he wants to.

But then—

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before turning away from me. “You’re a damn brat, you know that?”

I grin, victorious. “And you love it.”

Joel mutters something I don’t catch, shaking his head, still refusing to look at me.

I lean up on my toes, just enough to whisper near his ear. “Sweet dreams, Miller.”

Then I turn and head toward my room, my steps slow, unhurried, knowing damn well he’s watching.

Knowing damn well he won’t sleep tonight.

Not yet, anyway.

—

Joel is a walking contradiction.

Always looking out for me, always acting like I’m some damn problem he’s gotta fix. But then, when he thinks I’m not paying attention? He watches me.

Like right now.

I’m sitting on the tailgate of his truck, sipping a gas station soda, swinging my legs while he loads up the last of the supplies he picked up. The summer heat is thick, sticking to my skin, making me feel slow, lazy.

Joel, meanwhile, looks like he’s one deep breath away from losing his patience.

“Where’d you run off to last night?” he asks, not looking at me.

I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

That gets me. I raise an eyebrow. “You are keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel exhales, setting down a case of water a little harder than necessary. “Just know when you start trouble.”

I grin. “Who says I started trouble?”

He gives me a look.

Fair enough.

I take another sip of my drink, watching him work, the way his shirt clings to his back, damp from the heat. My stomach tightens, and I blame it on the weather.

“You got somethin’ to say?” he mutters, not turning around.

I smirk. “Nope.”

“Then quit starin’.”

I laugh, kicking my feet against the truck bed. “Oh, that’s rich.”

His jaw tightens. “What’s that mean?”

I tilt my head. “Means I see you lookin’, too.”

Joel freezes.

It’s quick. A small thing. But I notice.

For the first time, he actually looks at me, really looks. And there’s heat there, burning under all that restraint.

I set my drink down, hopping off the tailgate, stepping close—too close.

“You ever wonder what’d happen,” I murmur, “if you stopped pretendin’ you don’t want me?”

Joel’s breath is slow. Measured. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t move.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he says, voice low, gruff.

I tilt my head, biting back a grin. “Maybe I do.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Something dangerous.

For a second, I think maybe—maybe—he’s gonna snap. Gonna grab me by the waist, drag me in, let all that tension finally break.

Instead, he just exhales, long and slow, before stepping back.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters.

I grin. “You like trouble.”

Joel shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath as he turns away.

But his hands? They’re clenched into fists.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

—

Joel’s been trying to ignore me all damn day.

Which, honestly? Fair. I’ve been making it real hard for him.

I’m leaning against the counter in his kitchen, the space between us just enough for me to feel that slow, simmering tension that’s been building up all afternoon, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of—well, that’s the game, isn’t it?

Joel walks in, fresh from a shower, hair damp, t-shirt clinging to his chest just enough to make me look. He barely glances at me as he grabs a water from the fridge, pretending I’m not there.

Like I’ll just let him get away with that.

“You ever gonna put on some damn clothes?”

I smirk, not even looking up. “I am wearing clothes.”

Joel exhales sharply, taking a long sip of water. “Not enough.”

That makes me grin. Gotcha.

I stretch, letting the hem of my shirt ride up just a little. “Oh, relax. It’s just a t-shirt.”

Joel scoffs, finally looking at me. His eyes flicker down, slow, then back up, jaw tightening. Yeah, he noticed.

“Guess,” I say suddenly, watching him.

His brow furrows. “What?”

I sit up, tilting my head. “Guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

Joel exhales, shaking his head. “Not playin’ this game, y/n.”

“C’mon.” I stretch, making sure the hem of my shirt lifts just enough to tease. “Just one guess.”

“Clothes.”

I grin. “Not much of ‘em.”

That does it. His grip tightens on the bottle, jaw going stiff. He still doesn’t turn around, but I see it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath goes a little heavier.

But then, to my surprise, he plays along.

Joel finally turns, slow, lazy, eyes dragging over me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

Slow. Controlled. Like he knows exactly what this is doing to me.

And I feel it—his presence filling the space, the heat between us thick and undeniable. Joel stops just a breath away, too close for comfort, but I don’t move. I won’t.

“You’re awful pushy tonight,” he mutters, eyes dark as they settle on me.

I tilt my head, not backing down. “You’re awful curious for someone who doesn’t wanna play.”

Joel’s eyes drag over me, deliberate and slow, as if he’s taking in every inch, every detail. Then, like he can’t help himself, he leans in a little more—close enough that I feel the warmth of his body, the weight of his presence.

His breath hits my cheek, and I’m sure my heart skips a beat. I freeze, barely able to keep my focus.

The space between us is thick with something heavy, something that has my pulse racing, but Joel’s not moving. He’s standing there, looking at me like he’s debating something—maybe whether or not to keep playing. I keep my eyes locked on his, deliberately challenging, just to see how long he’ll stand there before he breaks.

I know he can feel it too—the weight of the air between us. It’s thick. Electric.

But I’m not the one to crack first.

I lean back a little, letting my hands slide across the cool counter, trying to act casual, like I’m not aware of every inch of space between us, of how close he’s standing now.

Joel doesn’t say anything for a while. He just watches me—his eyes intense, like he’s studying every move I make, waiting for me to slip up.

And then, in one smooth motion, he steps forward, close enough that I feel his presence without him even touching me. Just the weight of his gaze, the pull of his body.

I freeze for a second, breath catching in my throat. Damn it.

He doesn’t rush—he never does. Joel’s always deliberate, calculating. But I can see it now, the way his lips press together, the faintest twitch of his jaw like he’s trying to hold something back.

Without saying a word, his hand moves slowly to the bottom of my t-shirt. His fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing the skin of my thigh. The touch is light—almost too light—but it still sends a shiver through me.

I stay still, even though every part of me is aware of what he’s doing, of the way his hand hovers, teasing, as if he’s testing my patience.

“Alright,” he drawls, voice lower now. “Guessin’ you want me to say somethin’ like… lace?”

My mouth goes dry.

Oh.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I recover fast, tilting my head. “Maybe.”

Joel takes a slow step closer, his eyes locked on mine, like he knows he’s caught me off guard. Like he’s finally flipping the script on me.

“Red?” he guesses, voice all deep and rough.

I swallow. “Wrong.”

“Black, then.”

I press my lips together, refusing to react.

“Bet they even have a little bow”

Joel just huffs a quiet laugh, taking another slow sip of water, looking way too satisfied with himself.

I narrow my eyes, sitting up. “You think you’re real smooth, huh?”

He just shrugs. “Ain’t that hard, darlin’. You’re an open book.”

And then, just as I’m about to respond, he shifts again—moving in, just enough to make the back of his hand brush mine. The contact is so light, but I feel it like a damn spark.

His lips are so close to my ear now, and I know he’s teasing. He’s testing me, waiting to see what I’ll do.

But I don’t move. I hold my ground, staring up at him, willing myself not to let the heat get to me.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “but you ain’t nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

I try to keep my cool, but there’s a hitch in my breath.

Joel steps back then, like it’s nothing. But I can feel the pull, the weight of what just happened. I know he’s not done with this—not by a long shot.

—

Joel is pissed.

I see it in the way his shoulders tense as he shoves open the bar door, his grip firm around my wrist, dragging me outside like I’m some wayward kid in need of a lesson. The humid Texas night air wraps around us, thick and sticky, but it’s nothing compared to the heat burning between us.

“What the hell was that, y/n?” Joel snaps, letting go of my wrist just to turn and face me, standing toe-to-toe like he’s ready for a fight.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “I was having a drink, Joel.”

“You were flirtin’ with every damn guy in there,” he growls, his hands landing on his hips like he’s holding himself back.

I smirk, tilting my head. “Oh, that’s what this is about? Didn’t realize you were keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel huffs, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head. “I am keepin’ tabs on you. Tommy asked me to keep an eye on you, and you—” He gestures toward the bar behind us, exasperated. “You don’t make it easy.”

I laugh, the alcohol warming me but not enough to dull the way my pulse spikes at his words. “I’m twenty-five, Joel. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“Well, you sure as hell act like you do,” he shoots back, eyes dark and burning with frustration.

That gets me. My spine straightens, my chin tilts up, and suddenly, I’m really not in the mood for this conversation.

“Excuse me?” I take a step closer, poking a finger against his chest. “I don’t belong to you, Joel. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Joel exhales sharply, like he’s trying to get a grip, but it’s useless because I can see it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flex at his sides, the way his eyes flicker down to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

Oh, he hates this.

Hates that I push him.

Hates that I get under his skin.

Hates that he wants me.

“I didn’t say you belonged to me,” he mutters, voice lower now, rougher.

“But you sure as hell act like it.” My voice is quieter too, the space between us shrinking, the air crackling.

Joel clenches his jaw, breathing hard, and for a second, I swear he’s about to say something—admit something. But instead, he just lets out a frustrated growl, dragging a hand down his face.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters.

I grin, stepping even closer, my chest nearly brushing his. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel goes still.

I see it—the moment something shifts between us, the way his breathing changes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to grab me, pull me closer, do something about it.

But instead, he just exhales sharply, turns away, and runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake me off.

“Get in the damn truck.”

I laugh, but there’s something breathless about it, something shaky. Because if he had made a move—if he had snapped—I don’t know if I would’ve stopped him.

Hell, I know I wouldn’t have.

But for now, I just smirk, walking past him with a slow sway in my step, knowing damn well he’s watching me.

And as I climb into his truck, I wonder just how long it’ll take before Joel Miller finally breaks.

—

Sometimes, Joel does the dumbest shit, and I can't help but laugh at how he digs himself deeper without even realizing it. I've been pushing him all night, just little jabs here and there, watching him get more and more frustrated. It's my favorite game-seeing how long I can mess with him before he finally cracks.

But this time? This time, he really crossed a line.

He thinks he knows what’s best for me, and the way he treats me like some helpless kid? It drives me insane. I’m 25, not a teenager, but he always acts like I need someone to babysit me. It’s honestly infuriating.

But I guess he just couldn’t let it go anymore.

I’m standing there, crossing my arms, staring him down as he tries to come up with something to say, but all he can do is look at me like I’ve broken his favorite damn toy. He’s so damn stubborn, but right now, there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—guilt.

Then, out of nowhere, Joel drops to his knees in front of me.

What the hell?

For a moment, I just stare at him, caught off guard.

I'm not even sure what he's doing, but the way he looks up at me-like he's some kind of punished dog-throws me off balance. He's trying to make a statement, I can tell. He's not embarrassed, but he's also not letting this go.

"I messed up," Joel says, his voice gravelly, as he slowly slides his hands up to rest on my thighs.

I blink at him, not sure how to react. The tension is different this time-this isn't about him giving in; this is something else entirely. There's no fear in his eyes. No submission. He's still the same stubborn bastard he's always been, but there's something else there too-something challenging.

He wants to make things right, but he's doing it on his terms.

"You're not sorry enough for this to work," | tease, holding back the grin that's threatening to break free.

He smirks, eyes flicking up to meet mine. He's still got that damn cocky attitude, even with me standing over him, and I don't know whether I want to slap it off him or kiss him.

Maybe both.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his hands tightening on my thighs, but there's no hesitation in his voice. "But I'm not getting off my knees until you know I'm serious."

I let out a laugh, not backing down, my body giving off every signal that I'm in control. "And what's that supposed to mean? You think this is gonna impress me?"

His grip on my thighs tightens, pulling me in closer, and now I can feel the heat of him through the fabric. But instead of giving me an inch, he's still staring up at me with that damn challenge in his eyes.

"You want an apology? You got it," he says, voice low and steady. "But l'm not some puppy you can just command. Don't think for one second you're gonna play me like that."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. I was expecting him to grovel, to at least try to show some weakness. But Joel? Joel doesn't do weakness.

"I never said you were a puppy," I murmur, looking down at him with a smile that's too smug for my own good. "But you are on your knees."

His eyes darken as he holds my gaze, not backing down, not even a little. "Yeah, and I'm here because you deserve the apology, not because I'm asking for permission."

The heat between us shifts again, and it's not the playful teasing anymore. It's something more-something a little darker, a little more real. He's not going to give in, but he's also not letting me win either.

"So, what do you want?" l ask, my voice almost a whisper, the challenge still there but mixed with something else.

Joel doesn't hesitate. "I want you to stop testing me and accept that I'm not going anywhere."

And for just a moment, it feels like he's got me right where he wants me.

But then, I realize-he's not the only one who knows how to play this game.

"Well, if you're so eager to apologize," | start, running my fingers through his hair, "maybe you can make it up to me in a way I actually want."

Joel looks up at me, his hands still gripping my thighs as his breath catches. There's a flicker of something in his eyes-something wild, but also totally surrendered.

"Name it."

The words land between us with the weight of a promise. And for the first time, I feel the air between us change completely. I step back, my body a little off balance from how suddenly he's shifted everything.

But damn, if that doesn't make my heart race.

And then—

His hands are on me.

Gripping my waist, dragging me in hard, pinning me against the wall like he can’t hold himself back another second.

“You happy now?” His voice is low, rough, wrecked. His breath is hot against my lips, his hands firm, possessive on my hips.

I grin, breathless. “Ecstatic.”

And then he’s kissing me.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s everything he’s been denying himself—all the tension, all the frustration, all the goddamn hunger crashing down on us at once.

I moan into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He groans, deep and low, like he needs this, like he’s craved this for so long it’s driven him mad.

His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly against him. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as my back presses harder against the wall, his body solid and hot against mine.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls, dragging his lips down my jaw, my neck, biting just enough to make me gasp.

I laugh breathlessly, tugging his head back up, eyes locked on his. "Took you long enough to admit it."

Joel glares at me, but there's something wild behind it now, something dangerous. "You got no idea what you just started."

I smirk, running my fingers down his chest, feeling the way his breath shudders at my touch.

"Then don't stop," | whisper.

And he doesn't.

—

It’s like once we started, we couldn’t stop.

Every touch, every look, every little moment of tension we used to ignore? Now it’s all fire.

It starts in the kitchen. I brush past Joel to grab a glass of water, my fingers barely skimming his arm, and I swear I hear his breath hitch. It’s subtle, but I know him. I know how much I get under his skin.

And then, before I can even turn around, he’s on me.

One hand grips my waist, the other presses into the counter beside me, caging me in. His body is warm against my back, his breath hot against my ear.

“You do this on purpose,” he mutters, voice low, rough, like he’s barely holding himself together.

I smirk, tilting my head slightly, just enough that his lips graze my neck. “Do what?”

Joel exhales sharply, his fingers tightening on my waist. “Brat,” he murmurs, but it sounds wrecked, like he’s already given in.

And he has.

Because in the next breath, he spins me to face him, pressing me against the counter. His hands grip my hips, his body hot against mine, and I can feel the tension rolling off him.

“You’re playin’ with fire,” he warns, lips barely an inch from mine.

I grin, dragging my fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Joel groans, kissing me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like every ounce of restraint he had is just gone. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly close, gasping into his mouth when his fingers dig into my skin.

We barely make it to the hallway before he grabs me again, pressing me against the wall, his mouth never leaving mine.

“You just can’t help yourself,” I murmur against his lips, breathless.

Joel groans, his forehead pressing to mine, his grip firm like he's staking a claim. "Neither can you."

And he's right. Because the second we're alone again, I'm on him-hands in his hair, pulling him down, both of us too far gone to stop now.

Because now that we've started?

We're never stopping.

—

I leave the bathroom door open on purpose.

And the glass shower door? Yeah, that stays cracked, too.

The hot water cascades down my body, steam curling through the air, fogging up the glass just enough to blur the edges but not enough to hide me. I know Joel’s home. I know he’ll walk past. And I know he won’t be able to help himself.

It takes a minute, but then—there he is.

I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye, the way he pauses in the doorway. I can’t see his face through the steam, but I know that look—the one where his jaw tightens, where his fists clench like he’s fighting every urge in his body.

I smile to myself and tilt my head back, letting the hot water pour down my neck, dragging my hands slowly over my skin.

Joel exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ, y/n.”

I bite my lip. Bingo.

There’s a beat of silence, thick with tension. And then—I hear him move. The rustle of fabric. The soft clink of a belt buckle. The sound of a shirt being pulled over his head.

My pulse spikes.

The shower door swings open wider, and suddenly—Joel is there.

Steam clings to his skin, droplets forming against the hard planes of his chest, his broad shoulders.

His eyes are dark, locked on mine, his expression somewhere between exasperation and something dangerous.

“You really are a damn brat,” he mutters.

Before I can reply, his hands are on me, gripping my waist, pushing me gently but firmly against the cool tile. His body is hot, solid against mine, his breath warm against my skin as he leans in.

“You left that door open on purpose,” he accuses, voice rough, wrecked.

I smirk, fingers sliding up his arms, feeling the tension there. “Maybe.”

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” But there’s something else in his eyes now—something wild, something hungry.

His hands grip my hips, fingers pressing hard into my skin, and he kisses me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like he’s been waiting for this, like every ounce of restraint he’s ever had just snapped. I moan into his mouth, pressing up against him, feeling the heat of his body, the way his hands roam, gripping, claiming.

"You gonna keep playin' games, sweetheart?" he mutters against my lips, his voice rough with need.

I grin, breathless, pulling him closer. "Always."

Joel groans, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath heavy, his fingers digging into my skin like he needs this.

And then he kisses me again.

And this time, neither of us stop.

—

The first night back in my apartment should feel good. Should feel like a breath of fresh air. No more waking up to Joel grumbling in the kitchen, no more stolen flannels, no more him lurking in doorways like he’s just waiting for me to do something reckless.

But it doesn’t feel good.

It feels wrong.

I don’t like waking up alone. I don’t like the quiet. I don’t like that Joel just let me go without a damn word.

So I do what I always do. I go looking for trouble.

And I find it at his doorstep.

Joel barely reacts when he opens the door and sees me standing there, arms crossed, wearing one of his shirts I forgot to return. His face is unreadable, but I know him. I see the way his shoulders tighten, the way his jaw clenches.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, voice low, cautious.

I step inside without waiting for an invitation, brushing past him like I belong there. Because I do.

“I dunno,” I say, throwing myself onto his couch. “Figured I’d see if you missed me.”

Joel exhales sharply, closing the door, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s already tired of this conversation. “Y/n—”

“—You didn’t even call me.” I cut him off, watching him carefully.

He shakes his head, pacing like a man who’s got too much in his head and no idea how to get it out. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

I scoff, leaning back against the cushions. “Bullshit.”

Joel stops pacing, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters something under his breath.

“What?” I push, sitting up. “Go on. Say it.”

“You know why,” he says, finally looking at me. His eyes are tired. Guilty. “I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did.”

I laugh. A short, bitter thing. “Let things go as far as they did? You mean you finally gave in? You finally admitted you wanted me?”

Joel clenches his jaw, turning away, but I’m already off the couch, already closing the distance between us.

“You do want me,” I say, softer now. “You just don’t want to let yourself have me.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, looking like a man at war with himself.

“You think it was a mistake?” I ask, my voice steady even though my chest feels tight.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. And that silence? It kills me.

Finally, he exhales, voice rough. “I think it ain’t fair to you.”

I stare at him, disbelief creeping in. “Fair? That’s what you’re worried about? Jesus, Joel, I’m not some kid you need to protect. I know what I want.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it,” I snap. “I waited for you to stop fighting it. I waited for you to stop treating me like I’m too young, too reckless, too much for you. And the second you let yourself have me, you run?”

Joel’s breathing is heavy now, his hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I ain’t runnin’—”

I step closer, forcing him to look at me. “Then what the hell do you call this?”

His face twists, something breaking behind his eyes. “I call it tryin’ to do right by you.”

My chest aches. God, he’s so damn stubborn.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, softer this time. “You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

Joel looks at me, looks through me, and I see it—that need, that longing, that war inside him.

But I won’t beg.

So I take a slow step back, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Fine,” I say, voice carefully even. “You wanna push me away? Go ahead. But don’t you dare pretend it’s for my sake.”

I turn, heading for the door, my heart hammering in my chest.

And I wait.

I wait for him to stop me.

But the door closes behind me, and Joel lets me go.

—

I should slam the door in his face.

I should.

But I don’t. Because it’s Joel. And even after everything—even after he let me walk out that door without a fight—I still want him.

And the bastard knows it.

He stands there, looking rough around the edges, like he hasn’t slept. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet, like he doesn’t know how to say whatever it is he came here to say.

“I fucked up,” he says, finally.

I snort, arms crossed. “No shit.”

Joel exhales, glancing down for a second before his eyes meet mine again. They’re dark, tired, but honest.

“I was scared,” he says, voice lower now. “Ain’t used to wantin’ something this bad. Ain’t used to thinkin’ maybe I could have it.”

That stops me.

Because this? This is new. This isn’t Joel pushing me away, telling me I’m too young, too much, too reckless. This isn’t him trying to convince himself he doesn’t need me.

This is him admitting that he does.

I swallow, my throat tight. “You can have it, Joel. But not if you keep pulling this shit.”

He nods, like he knows, like he’s been sitting with that realization since the second I left.

I should make him work for it. Make him suffer a little. But then he steps closer—slow, cautious, like he’s making sure I don’t shut him out first.

And when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse.

“Come back.”

It’s not a demand. Not a plea. Just Joel laying it all out, raw and real, for me to decide.

I let out a slow breath, studying him, making him wait.

Then I step forward, just enough that I can tilt my chin up and brush my lips against his—light, teasing, cruel.

His breath hitches. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s dying to touch me.

And I smirk. “Took you long enough.”

Joel groans, grabs me, and finally—finally—kisses me like he’s making up for every second he wasted.

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