Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August

Autumn in Jackson smelled like wood smoke and damp earth, like something settling in before the frost. Maybe that was why it always felt like a fresh start. Or maybe it was because school began then, and with it, the quiet thrill of sharpening pencils, smoothing out worn pages, and watching young minds spark to life.

The air carried a crisp bite in the mornings, warming just enough by midday to make the schoolhouse feel less like a drafty old cabin and more like a place where something good could grow. You tried to hold on to that feeling now as you stood in the small room, surveying the meager stack of books on the shelf. Five. That was it. Five stories to last an entire year.

Maria did what she could—she always did—but Jackson could only provide so much. Food, shelter, safety. The essentials. Books, though? Books were sacred.

The kids deserved more. They deserved to get lost in stories, to hear unfamiliar words roll off the tongue, to dream beyond the walls of this town. And right now, all you had were the same five dog-eared volumes, ones that had already been read so many times the kids could recite them back to you. They needed more.

You’d mentioned it offhand, a passing comment to Maria or Tommy. How the kids were running out of new books to read, how their little library shelves were looking thinner by the week. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

Maria had brought it up to Joel once in passing, maybe while handing out patrol assignments or over dinner at the hall. Though he didn’t say much in response—just a slow nod, a quiet grunt of acknowledgment—he’d kept it tucked away.

After that, every time he rode beyond the gates, rifle slung across his back, he started looking. Not just for threats. Not just for supplies.

For books.

For the kids, at least. That’s what he told himself.

When Maria stopped by the schoolhouse, a small stack of books cradled in her arms, she set them down on your desk with a satisfied smile.

“Look what turned up,” she said, brushing the cold from her sleeves.

Your eyes widened as you reached for the top one—a hardcover copy of Charlotte’s Web, its edges worn but still intact. Beneath it, a few dog-eared paperbacks, pages yellowed with time but still readable.

“Oh, Maria,” you breathed, running a hand over the covers. “Where did you find these?”

She waved a hand. “You mentioned needing more. Figured I’d keep an eye out.”

You smiled, touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”

Maria didn’t correct you. Didn’t mention the real reason those books were here. Just shot you a knowing look before heading back out into the cool autumn breeze.

That day, you watched as the kids excitedly flipped through the pages, some still having to share, but none of them seemed to mind. Their little fingers traced over faded words, their voices rising with excitement as they pored over the “new” books. It was worth it, seeing them light up like that.

A few days later, more books appeared.

Five of them were stacked neatly on the steps outside the schoolhouse. No note. No explanation. Just left there in the quiet of the early morning.

You glanced around, expecting someone to step forward, maybe one of the townsfolk who had extras lying around. But no one lingered nearby, no one waiting to be thanked.

Possibly, Maria had found more books, but something about it didn’t sit right.

Then it happened again and again.

Every few days, another small pile of books—some more battered than others, their covers soft with age, spines cracked, but pages still intact. Someone was going through a lot of trouble to bring them here.

And you were determined to find out who.

“Maria?” You called as you spotted her walking through town one Saturday afternoon, bundled up against the lingering chill in the air.

She turned, offering you a polite smile. “What’s up?”

You fell into step beside her, arms crossed. “How have you been finding all of these books?” Your voice was casual, but your curiosity slipped through.

Maria blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “Oh,” she shook her head, a little amused, a little knowing. “I didn’t find them.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then who—”

“Actually, Joel has—”

You stopped mid-step. “Joel?”

Maria’s smirk deepened, but she didn’t add anything else, just gave you a meaningful look before continuing on her way.

Joel.

You found him fresh from patrol that afternoon, just as he was tying off his horse near the stables. His jacket was dusted with dried mud, his knuckles scuffed like he might’ve had to wrestle something or someone on the way back. And slung over his shoulder, nestled in his pack, you could just make out the edges of another book.

You crossed your arms and cleared your throat. “So… you wanna tell me why you’ve been sneaking books onto my porch like some kind of storybook bandit?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he unbuckled the saddle. “Ain’t sneakin’,” he muttered. “Just droppin’ ‘em off.”

You stepped closer, tilting your head. “And where exactly are you finding all of these?”

He grunted, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure why this was even a conversation. “Out there.” A vague nod toward the gate. “Old houses. Shops. Whatever’s left.”

You studied him, trying to piece it together. Joel wasn’t the type to go out of his way for things that weren’t necessary. He took care of what needed to be done—patrols, keeping Jackson safe—but this? This was something else.

His fingers flexed against the strap of his pack, like he was debating whether to keep holding it or shove it into your arms and walk away.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said softly.

Joel finally looked at you then, eyes flickering with something unreadable. He swallowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Kids need somethin’ to do,” he muttered. “Better than runnin’ around causin’ trouble.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You sure it’s just for the kids?”

His gaze dropped for half a second, just long enough for you to notice.

Then he shook his head, pulling the pack from his shoulder and thrusting it toward you. “Got more in here,” he said, clearing his throat. “Figure you’ll know what to do with ‘em.”

You took it, fingers brushing his. His hand was warm, rough from years of work, and the moment lingered longer than needed.

“Thank you, Joel.”

His lips parted slightly, like maybe he had something to say. But instead, he just gave a short nod, stepping back, putting space between you.

As he turned to go, you could’ve sworn you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Just the slightest hint of a smile.

September

You’d slowly worked your way into Joel’s life. Not that he’d admit it—not out loud, anyway.

It had started with the books, but there had always been something about him that intrigued you, even before that. He carried himself and spoke quietly, measuredly, like he only said what was worth telling. He seemed made of sharp edges, but had the softest touch when it came to the people he let in.

The books had just given you an excuse to talk to him.

And once you started, you didn’t want to stop.

You made a habit of waving when you passed him in town, throwing a casual ‘ Hey, Joel’ over your shoulder as you carried on with your day. At first, all you got in return was a nod. Maybe a grunt.

Then, one day, he actually said ‘ Hey’ back.

After a while, he started stopping when you stopped.

He never lingered long, always busy with something: fixing the fencing near the sheep pen, hauling supplies, heading out on patrol. But he let you talk to him, and that was something.

Small talk at first—how the kids were doing, whether the new batch of patrol recruits were worth a damn, what Jackson needed more of before winter hit. Nothing special. But the more you spoke, the more he softened. You saw it in how he lingered a little longer when you crossed paths, how his gaze didn’t dart away as quickly, how his nods turned into real answers.

Like today.

“I love this time of year,” you said one afternoon, adjusting the lesson plans in your arms as you passed Joel near the hall.

Joel glanced up from where he was adjusting his pack, one brow raised. “Why’s that?”

“It’s the beginning of autumn,” you said, shifting the stack of papers against your hip. “The air gets crisp, the leaves start turning.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “Or maybe I’m biased.”

His gaze lingered for a second longer than usual. “Biased how?”

“Well…” You hummed, pretending to think. “It’s my birth month.”

Joel let out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “Yeah, see, that explains it.”

You grinned. “And what about you? What’s your favorite month?”

“Don’t have one,” he answered too quickly.

You raised a brow. “No favorite month? No favorite season?”

“They’re all the same,” he muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Just depends how miserable the weather wants to be.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, well, what about the worst month?”

“September,” Joel said immediately, shifting his pack on his shoulder. “It’s forgettable.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause.

Not because of the words, but because of how his jaw tightened, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Like the answer had been waiting at the surface, ready to slip out the second you asked.

Forgettable, he’d called it.

The way he said it made your stomach twist. Like he wasn’t talking about the month at all.

You didn’t push. Just nodded, shifting the papers in your arms. “Huh.”

Something about the way he said it didn’t sit right. Like, he didn’t mean September was forgettable. Maybe he meant he was.

And that’s when it clicked.

You kept your expression neutral, storing the information away. If you were right—and you had a feeling you were—his birthday was coming up.

Joel exhaled through his nose like he was already done with the conversation. “You need help with those?”

You blinked. It was the first time he’d ever offered.

“Nah, I got it,” you said, watching as he gave a small nod and started walking away.

You let him go because even if Joel Miller hated his birthday, you already knew you wouldn’t let it pass unnoticed.

You found out from Tommy that Joel’s birthday was September 26th.

He hadn’t meant to tell you—just an offhand comment, muttered between sips of coffee as he patched up a tear in his glove. But the second the words left his mouth, Tommy went stiff, like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to.

“He don’t like to talk about it,” he warned, his voice quieter now. “Lost Sarah...”

Joel had lost his daughter that same day.

Its weight sat heavy in your chest that night, curled under a too-thin blanket, staring at the ceiling. You wanted to do something, but how did you celebrate a day that only brought him pain? The thought tightened your throat, eyes burning as you buried your face in the pillow.

You couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t take away the hurt.

Maybe you could give him something that didn’t feel like a celebration, but still meant I see you .

The answer came sooner than expected.

It was a chilly afternoon when you spotted Joel walking toward you, his shoulders hunched against the wind. His usual scowl was in place, but something was different.

He was carrying something.

“Hey,” you greeted, shifting the basket in your arms as he stopped before you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, his gaze flicking away like he was already second-guessing himself. Then, without a word, he reached into his pack and pulled out a small, wrapped bundle.

Rough brown paper, tied with twine.

He held it out. “Here.”

You blinked. “What’s this?”

Joel sighed, looking somewhere over your shoulder like this whole thing was deeply inconvenient for him. “You said September was your birthday month.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You carefully took the bundle from his hands, fingers grazing his rough, calloused, warm hands even in the cold. You pulled the twine loose and peeled back the paper.

A mug.

Not just any mug. Sturdy ceramic, a little chipped at the rim, but glazed in a deep, autumn gold. You could tell it was old but well-made, like the kind you’d find in a house that had once been a home.

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat. “Joel…”

He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured you might need one,” he muttered. “See you haulin’ coffee to the school every mornin’. Thought… well. Just thought.”

Your fingers curled around the handle. It fit perfectly in your palm.

It was nothing grand. Nothing fancy, but it was thoughtful .

You looked up at him, warmth spreading through your chest. “Thank you.”

His ears tinged pink. He gave a stiff nod like he wasn’t sure what to do with your gratitude.

Your heart pounded. Now or never.

“Actually…” You hesitated. “I have something for you too.”

Joel’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing slightly. “For what?”

You bit your lip, gripping the mug a little tighter. “For your birthday.”

Something passed over his face—quick, fleeting. His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides.

He shook his head. “You don’t gotta—”

“I know,” you cut in softly. “I know you don’t like your birthday. But… I still wanted to do something for you.”

Joel went quiet.

You let the words settle between you, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way his mouth pressed into a firm line like he wanted to argue but couldn’t quite find the words.

Then, finally, he exhaled, slow and measured. “What is it?”

You smiled. “Come by my place later and find out.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. He hesitated. Then, after a long pause, he gave a small nod.

That evening, there was a knock at your door.

Joel stood there, arms crossed, looking like he wasn’t sure if he regretted showing up or not.

You grinned. “Come in.”

He did, stepping inside cautiously, gaze sweeping over the cozy space—books stacked in uneven piles, a blanket draped over the couch, the faint scent of something warm in the air.

You grabbed the package from the table and turned to face him. “Here.”

He stared at it. Then at you.

Slowly, he reached out and took it.

He unwrapped it carefully, his calloused fingers quickly working the twine. The paper fell away, and Joel went still.

A flannel shirt.

Dark green, lined with soft fleece on the inside. Thick enough to keep him warm on patrol, but not too heavy. Well-made, just like the one he always wore—the one you knew had been patched up more times than you could count.

His fingers smoothed over the fabric quietly.

You shifted on your feet. “I noticed yours was getting pretty worn,” you murmured. “Thought you could use another.”

Joel swallowed, still staring at it.

For a long moment, you thought maybe you’d overstepped. He’d shake his head, shove it back at you, and mutter about how he didn’t need it.

Instead, he surprised you.

He cleared his throat. “It’s… nice.” A pause. “Thank you.”

Your chest ached at how hesitant he sounded. Like he wasn’t used to someone thinking about him, let alone for him.

You smiled. “Happy early birthday, Joel.”

He looked at you then. He really looked, and for the first time, he didn’t seem quite so uncomfortable with its weight.

October 

October had settled into Jackson with crisp air and golden leaves crunching underfoot. The town buzzed with preparations for Maria’s fall festival: strings of lanterns hung between buildings, tables were set up with baked goods, and the faint scent of cinnamon and apples drifted through the streets.

Joel had tried to ignore the whole thing. Tried .

But then you’d mentioned it offhand, casually.

“You’re coming, right?” You’d asked, tilting your head at him as you straightened a pile of books in the schoolhouse.

Joel had grunted, which you took as hesitation.

You just smiled. “C’mon, it wouldn’t kill you to have a little fun.”

And somehow, he’d found himself agreeing.

Now, Ellie sat across from him at the dinner table, stabbing at a slice of pie with unnecessary force, a wicked glint in her eye.

“I’m so excited for the dance,” she said, too loud, flashing Joel a knowing grin.

Joel grunted, trying to appear disinterested as he scooped up another bite of stew. “Mhm.”

Ellie’s grin widened. She was a shark who had scented blood.

“Is your girlfriend gonna be there?” she asked, dragging out the word obnoxiously.

Joel nearly choked on his food. He shot her a glare. “She ain’t my girlfriend.”

Ellie gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like she’d been personally wounded. “Wow. Harsh.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his spoon down with too much force. “I ain’t havin’ this conversation with you.”

“Oh, you so are .” Ellie leaned in, elbows on the table, smirking. “You’ve been actin’ all weird lately. Like, more than usual.”

“I don’t act weird.”

“You so do.” She started counting on her fingers. “You’ve been nice to people. Like, actually talking to them instead of just grunting. You suddenly care about how you look before you leave the house—”

Joel scoffed. “The hell I do.”

Ellie ignored him, grinning wider. “And the other day? You were smiling. Like, a real, actual smile.”

Joel picked up his spoon again, pointing it at her. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Ellie kicked her feet up on the chair beside her, completely undeterred. “Oh, but I do. You like her.”

Joel tensed, his jaw ticking. Ellie just sat there, smirking, waiting for him to deny it.

He didn’t.

Instead, he focused on his food, muttering under his breath, “Eat your damn pie.”

Ellie beamed in victory.

“Can’t wait to see you two at the dance,” she sang, hopping up from the table and grabbing her plate. “Gonna be so romantic.”

Joel groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

What the hell had he just agreed to?

The hall had been transformed. Twinkling lanterns hung from the rafters, casting everything in a warm golden glow. The tables were lined with mismatched candles, their tiny flames flickering against the cool draft from the open doors. The scent of cider and baked apples filled the space, blending with the sound of laughter and the soft strum of a guitar from the corner.

You stood near the refreshment table, hands wrapped around a warm mug, watching couples twirl across the wooden floor. It was almost normal .

For a moment, it was easy to pretend the world wasn’t broken. That beyond Jackson’s walls, there weren’t infected lurking in the shadows, waiting to take all of this away.

You shifted on your feet, smoothing a hand over your dress—nothing fancy, just something simple, warm enough for the crisp autumn night, paired with your trusty boots. The fabric swayed gently as you moved, and you felt a little lighter, a little more… hopeful .

Then, the door swung open, and your breath caught, causing your heart to do a stupid little flutter at the sight of him.

Joel’s hair was combed back—not slicked , not perfect, just neater than usual, like maybe he’d actually put in some effort. He wore a deep green flannel, the one you’d given him for his birthday, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He wore jeans, boots, and his usual belt. Still very much Joel , but softened somehow.

Beside him, Ellie smirked up at him, clearly impressed.

“Damn, look at you,” she teased, elbowing him as they stepped inside. “Who knew you could clean up this nice?”

Joel shot her a look. “I ain’t cleaned up.”

Ellie snorted. “You so are.” Then, as if just noticing you, her smirk widened. “Ohhh, I see now.”

Joel followed her gaze, his eyes landing on you. His movements slowed, just for a second.

Then he exhaled through his nose, shifting on his feet like he was suddenly self-conscious.

You smiled. “You made it.”

He grunted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. You asked.”

Ellie gasped, loud and exaggerated. “Wait. Wait —did Joel Miller just admit he came here for you ?” She turned to him, grinning. “That’s, like, the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Joel shot her a withering look. “Go away.”

Ellie only cackled, grabbing a cup of cider from the table. “Nah, I think I’ll stick around and see how this plays out.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Be nice, Ellie.”

Ellie snorted. “I am being nice. You should’ve seen him before we left—kept grumbling about how this was a waste of time. And yet, here he is .”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear to God—”

You stepped closer, tilting your head up at him. “You do look nice, though.”

Joel’s hand dropped. His gaze flickered to yours, something unreadable behind it.

A slow breath. Then—so soft you almost missed it—“You too.”

A warmth spread through you, settling deep in your chest.

Ellie groaned , dramatically rolling her eyes. “Oh my God, just dance already.”

Joel scowled. “Ain’t happenin’.”

Ellie grinned. “We’ll see about that.”

You chuckled, taking a slow sip of your cider, already scheming.

Ellie, ever the troublemaker, smirked one last time before making a half-hearted excuse and disappearing into the crowd, leaving you and Joel alone.

You turned to him, offering a fresh cup of cider. “Here.”

Joel hesitated momentarily before taking it, his fingers brushing against yours, warm and rough.

“Thanks,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor like the damn woodgrain had something interesting to say.

You smiled, watching him. Seeing him here was strange—out of place but present, the usual tension in his shoulders just a little looser. The lantern light flickered over his face, casting soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, catching the silver in his hair.

Then, the band struck up a new tune.

Your breath hitched—that song.

An old favorite, one you hadn’t heard in years—something soft and slow, the kind of melody that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

You set your cider down, turning to Joel with a grin. “C’mon.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

Joel stiffened, shifting on his feet like you’d just asked him to recite poetry in front of the whole town. “Nah.”

You sighed dramatically. “Joel.”

“Nope.”

You took a step closer. “It’s just one dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“You do .”

“I don’t.”

You arched a brow. “Not even back in the day?”

Joel huffed, eyes darting to the side like he was contemplating an escape route. “That was different.”

Your lips twitched. “Different how?”

He exhaled sharply, tilting his head back before looking at you again. “You ain’t lettin’ this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Joel stared at you for a long moment. You could see the war in his eyes—the reluctance, the hesitation.

Then you reached for his hand, and he let you.

His palm was broad, calloused, fingers twitching slightly under yours. You squeezed gently, giving him an out if he wanted it.

He didn’t take it.

With a quiet sigh, Joel let you lead him toward the dance floor, moving stiffly at first, like his body had forgotten how this worked.

“You’re gonna be fine,” you teased softly, placing his free hand at your waist.

He swallowed. “You say that now.”

You started to sway, guiding him with slow, easy steps. After a beat, he followed.

The tension in his shoulders faded gradually, his grip firm but careful, like he wasn’t sure how much space to leave between you. You took the liberty of closing the distance just a little more, your body brushing against his as the music hummed around you.

He smelled like worn leather and cedarwood. It made you feel safe.

His hand at your waist flexed slightly. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the fabric of your dress, barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You tilted your head up to look at him. His gaze was already on you.

Something unreadable passed between you.

“You’re not bad at this,” you murmured.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Not sayin’ I like it.”

You smiled. “Sure, Joel.”

He huffed, but his fingers curled tighter at your waist, holding you closer. His grip wasn’t hesitant anymore.

“You’re a…” He started, his voice low, rough.

You grinned. “Pain in your ass?”

Joel exhaled sharply, something close to a laugh—not quite, but enough to make your stomach flutter.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Was gonna say somethin’ else .”

You tilted your head up at him, eyes bright with mischief. “Oh? Like what?”

Joel’s jaw tightened, like he was debating whether or not to take the bait. His gaze flickered away for a brief second before landing back on you, something unreadable in those deep, hazel eyes.

“You’re persistent,” he finally said.

Joel let out a quiet grunt, but there was no real bite behind it. His thumb brushed absently along your waist enough to send warmth curling through you.

“You always this difficult?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You hummed, swaying a little closer. “Only with you.”

Joel’s fingers twitched against your waist. His eyes held yours, something shifting in them, something softer than before.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered, but his voice had no frustration. If anything, he sounded almost… amused.

You grinned. “You’re gettin’ used to me, though.”

He shook his head, but his lips twitched just enough for you to notice. “Don’t know ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

December

Autumn was long gone, swept away with the last golden leaves. Winter had settled into Jackson with an unforgiving grip—bitter winds, thick snowfall, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore.

Today was no different.

Snow fell in the early afternoon, dusting the rooftops and piling in soft drifts along the streets. By the time class ended, the steady flurries had thickened into something heavier, swirling outside the schoolhouse windows.

Most of the kids had already rushed out the door, eager to get home before the worst of it hit, but a few lingered behind, helping you straighten chairs and gather up scattered lesson papers.

Then, the door creaked open, and cold air followed Joel Miller inside.

He stomped the snow from his boots, shaking his head as he pulled the scarf around his neck. A familiar worn satchel was slung over his shoulder, and he made his way toward your desk, setting a small stack of books down with a quiet thump.

“Found these on patrol,” he muttered, glancing at you before shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure if he should linger.

You brushed your hands off on your skirt and stepped closer, fingertips trailing over the covers. “You’re making a habit of this,” you mused, looking up at him.

Joel grunted, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You smirked with an expression that read— Sure, Joel.

Before you could tease him further, the wind outside howled, rattling the old windowpanes. One of the kids—Lucy, a bright-eyed girl no older than seven—paused while stacking the bookshelves.

“Sounds bad out there,” she murmured.

Another gust of wind shrieked against the schoolhouse walls. The fire in the woodstove crackled, but a draft crept in beneath the door, chilling the air. You frowned, moving to peek outside.

Your stomach dipped.

The gentle snowfall from earlier had turned into a full-blown storm, causing white-out conditions. The streets had already disappeared under a thick, shifting blanket of snow, and the wind howled through town, sharp and biting.

Joel came up behind you, close enough that you felt his warmth. “Storm’s settin’ in fast,” he muttered, voice low.

You turned to the kids, trying to keep your voice calm. “Alright, looks like we’re stayin’ put for a bit.”

Lucy’s little brother, Daniel, fidgeted. “For how long?”

Joel crossed his arms. “’Til it clears up enough to walk home safe.”

The words weren’t unkind, but Daniel’s face still fell. His lip trembled, and he blinked up at Joel, eyes wide. “But what if it doesn’t stop?”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. You could see the exact moment he caved, the hard lines in his expression softening just slightly.

Kneeling, he met Daniel’s worried gaze head-on. “Ain’t the first storm I’ve seen, kid,” he said, voice gentler now. “Won’t be the last. Nothin’ to do but wait it out. We’re safe here.”

Daniel sniffled but nodded.

You hid a smile, glancing at Joel as he stood back up. He caught you looking and huffed. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently.

He narrowed his eyes, but before he could press, another voice piped up.

“What do we do now?” Lucy asked, shifting on her feet.

Joel glanced at you. You both knew the worst thing to do was to let the kids sit silently, stewing in worry.

You clapped your hands together. “We make the best of it.”

A few skeptical looks.

“Ever had a snowstorm sleepover?”

Lucy perked up. “Like… camping?”

“Exactly like camping,” you said brightly. “Except warmer.”

Joel snorted. “Debatable.”

You ignored him. “We’ve got books, a warm fire, and if we’re lucky…” You shot a glance at Joel. “Maybe some stories?”

Joel sighed, already shaking his head. “I ain’t—”

“C’mon, Joel,” Ellie’s voice suddenly called from the doorway.

You turned just in time to see her waltz in, brushing snow from her shoulders. “Oh, hell yeah,” she grinned, glancing around at the kids. “We havin’ a storm party in here?”

“You shouldn’t be out in this,” Joel muttered, but no real heat was behind it.

Ellie shrugged, flopping onto a chair. “Relax, old man. I barely had to walk a block.”

She turned to the kids, nodding toward Joel. “Y’know, he’s real good at tellin’ stories. Bet if you bug him enough, he’ll spill a good one.”

Joel scowled. “Ellie.”

Ellie grinned, leaning back. “What? Just sayin’.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Guess it’s unanimous, then. Looks like you’re up, Miller.”

Joel exhaled sharply, glaring at Ellie before looking back at you. For a second, he seemed like he might refuse. Might grumble something about how this was your problem, not his, but then Daniel looked up at him again, eyes still a little wary, still searching for reassurance.

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Fine.”

Cheers erupted from the kids. Ellie whooped, shooting you a smug look.

You smiled, settling in as Joel pulled up a chair.

He leaned back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the small group before him like he was still debating whether this was worth his time. But then Lucy wiggled forward eagerly, Daniel tucked himself into the corner of the worn-out couch, and even Ellie leaned in slightly, clearly expecting a show.

Joel sighed, as if he was already regretting this, and then he started talking.

You leaned against your desk, watching him, hanging onto every word.

At first, you were just listening, like everyone else. But then, your focus started to shift—not just to what he was saying, but how he was saying it.

The way his deep, low voice wrapped around the words, rich and slow, his Texan drawl stretching certain syllables, dragging out vowels in a way that sent a shiver up your spine.

God.

How had you never noticed it before?

His voice wasn’t just rough—it was warm, like whiskey on a cold night, settling deep into your bones. There was a cadence to how he spoke, how his gravelly tone smoothed over certain words and sharpened on others.

The fire flickered beside him, its glow catching the silver in his hair, casting deep shadows along the strong cut of his jaw. He wasn’t a performer, wasn’t trying to be—but he had the room in the palm of his hand, his voice steady, sure, filling the space between the crackling woodstove and the howling wind outside.

You swallowed, fingers gripping the edge of your desk.

Shit.

This was bad.

You’d always liked Joel. Always found him intriguing in that quiet, rough-around-the-edges way. Now it was something deeper.

You had it bad.

The worst part? You weren’t even sure when it had happened. Maybe it was the books or how he always looked out for the kids. Maybe it was the rare, reluctant smirks he sent your way or how his hands lingered a second too long when he handed you something.

Or maybe it was just him? Joel Miller. A man made of sharp edges, quiet kindness, steady hands, and a voice that had somehow curled itself around your heart without you realizing it.

“You listenin’ or just starin’?”

Your eyes snapped up.

Joel was looking right at you, brow raised, mouth twitching at the corners like he already knew the answer.

Heat rushed to your face. “I—I’m listening.”

Joel hummed, unconvinced. His gaze flickered down, just for a second, before returning to yours. His fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair.

“Y’look real deep in thought over there,” he mused. “Somethin’ you wanna share with the class?”

Ellie perked up immediately. “Ohhh, yeah, what were you thinkin’ about?” She shot you a wicked grin. “Wait—were you staring at him?”

Joel groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “I was not staring.”

Ellie snickered. “Sure.”

Joel just shook his head, exhaling sharply. “You gonna let me finish this story or what?”

“By all means,” you said, biting back a smile.

Joel held your gaze for a second longer, something unreadable flickering behind those deep brown eyes. He leaned back again, clearing his throat.

But this time, when he kept talking, you noticed something different.

His voice dipped slightly lower, and his fingers curled tighter around the chair. His eyes found yours between sentences, like maybe he was thinking about you, too.

After two long hours, the snow finally stopped, the sky clearing just enough for the late afternoon sun to peek through the heavy clouds. Its weak rays glinted off the thick blanket of white outside, already softening at the edges and turning to slush where footprints had trampled paths.

Joel stood near the door, arms crossed, watching Lucy and Daniel rush past him, their boots thudding against the wooden floor. Ellie was right behind them, already packing a handful of snow.

“Last one outside’s a rotten egg!” she called, shoving her way through the door with a laugh.

The kids shrieked, disappearing into the bright afternoon, their voices echoing down the street.

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Told ‘em I’d walk ‘em home.”

You smirked, stepping beside him, watching the kids tumble into the fresh snow. “Think they’ll be okay without you?”

Joel scoffed. “Barely.”

You chuckled, shifting slightly—and that’s when you realized.

It was just the two of you now.

The schoolhouse was quiet. The fire in the stove had died down to embers, casting a dim, flickering glow against the walls. Outside, Jackson stirred back to life after the storm, but in here, it felt like time had slowed.

Joel hadn’t moved. He still stood beside you, close enough that his warmth reached you, despite the cold creeping through the gaps in the door.

You cleared your throat, turning toward him. “Guess that means you don’t have an excuse to run off now.”

Joel arched a brow. “Wasn’t plannin’ on runnin’.”

Your lips quirked. “That so?”

His gaze flickered to yours, steady, unreadable. Then, so subtly you almost didn’t catch it—his fingers twitched at his side, like he’d thought about reaching for something but thought better of it.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of every little thing. The way his hand hovered just inches from yours. The roughness of his knuckles, the calloused pads of his fingertips, how easy it would be to close the space and—

You shook the thought away.

Joel shifted, glancing toward the table where the stack of books he’d brought still sat. “Y’gonna take those home?”

“Probably.” You moved past him to gather them up, but the moment your fingers brushed the top book, another hand beat you to it.

Joel’s.

Your breath hitched.

For a second, neither of you moved. His hand had settled over yours, warm, solid fingers barely curling against your skin. A beat passed. Then another.

You glanced up.

Joel didn’t pull away.

His gaze met yours, something flickering behind those deep brown eyes—something unreadable, something waiting . The air felt different, heavier, like the storm had never really left.

Then, he cleared his throat and pulled back, grabbing half the stack and tucking it under his arm like nothing had happened.

“C’mon,” he muttered, heading for the door. “Ain’t lettin’ you haul all these by yourself.”

You blinked, heart still racing, then let out a breathless laugh. “Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

Joel rolled his eyes, holding the door open for you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

You grinned, brushing past him, close enough that your shoulder bumped his. “Too late.”

Joel huffed. But as you stepped outside, boots crunching in the fresh snow, you caught that small, almost imperceptible tug at the corner of his mouth.

And you knew.

He wasn’t regretting it at all.

February 

“Alright, make sure not to eat the glue sticks,” you warned, hands on your hips, though you couldn’t keep the laughter out of your voice.

A few giggles erupted around the classroom.

“I wasn’t gonna ,” Daniel muttered, even though you had caught him eyeing one earlier.

You shook your head fondly, surveying the scene in front of you. The classroom was made of red and pink paper scraps, doilies, and too much glitter. Some kids took their time, carefully writing heartfelt messages in their Valentine’s Day cards, while others scribbled their names in messy, oversized letters before immediately running off to cause trouble.

Still, it was sweet.

Seeing them like this—carefree, just being kids—it made all the chaos worth it.

Once the last of the glue had dried, you clapped your hands. “Alright! Time to exchange.”

Excited chatter filled the air as the kids hopped up from their seats, running around the room to deliver their cards. Daniel handed Lucy one, grinning as he presented his with a dramatic flourish. Ellie, having appointed herself The Valentine’s Day Critic , judged everyone’s artistic abilities, much to the other kids’ annoyance.

Lucy—sweet, thoughtful Lucy—clutched a card in her hands, biting her lip in concentration.

Then, with a determined nod, she slipped it into her coat pocket and bolted out the door.

Joel had just finished up at the stables when he heard his name being called.

“Mr. Joel! Wait!”

He barely had time to turn before Lucy skidded to a stop before him, red-faced from the cold, her scarf trailing behind her.

Joel blinked down at her. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Nope!” she beamed. Then, without another word, she shoved a handmade Valentine into his hands.

Joel frowned, glancing down at it. The card was lopsided, the edges trimmed with uneven bits of lace. A few hearts were drawn in the corners, scribbled in crayon, and right in the center, in big, careful letters—

Happy Valentine’s Day, Joel!

And at the bottom— Love, (Y/N)

Joel’s entire body locked up.

Lucy rocked on her heels, beaming at him like she’d just handed him gold.

He stared at the card. His grip tightened slightly. Then loosened.

“What is this?” he asked, voice gruff.

“A Valentine,” Lucy chirped, looking far too pleased with herself. “Miss (L/N) made it for you.”

Joel blinked. “She… what?”

Lucy nodded eagerly, her braids bouncing. “She must really like you. She worked really hard on it.”

Joel opened his mouth. Closed it. Shifted his weight.

He could count the number of times in his life he’d been genuinely caught off guard. This was one of them.

“Uh—”

“Well, see ya later, Mr. Joel!” Lucy chirped, already spinning on her heel and dashing off.

Joel watched her go, still frozen in place, still holding the damn Valentine like it was a live grenade.

His heart thudded once, heavy in his chest. You had made this? For him ?

He glanced at the card again before his feet carried him towards the school.

You had just stepped out of the schoolhouse, wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck as the cold breeze nipped at your cheeks. The day was already starting to fade, the sun slipping lower behind the rooftops, casting long, golden shadows over the snow-covered streets.

As you locked the door, you heard footsteps crunching in the frost behind you.

You sighed, already turning. “Did you forget someth—”

The words caught in your throat. It wasn’t one of the kids.

It was Joel .

He was holding a familiar lopsided Valentine's card in one hand, gripping it like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

Your stomach flipped.

Joel shifted, his jaw working like he was debating something. His other hand was stuffed deep in his jacket pocket, his shoulders tense like he’d rather be elsewhere, but his feet weren’t moving.

You frowned. “Joel?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, lifting the card slightly. “You, uh… you make this?”

Your eyes flickered to the crumpled Valentine, the sight of your own name scrawled at the bottom in a handwriting that definitely wasn’t yours.

It took all of two seconds to piece it together.

Your lips parted in realization. Lucy. That little menace.

The laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, slipping past your lips, a warm contrast against the chilly air. “Oh, Joel.” You shook your head, biting back a grin.

Joel’s frown deepened. “That a yes or a no?”

You grinned, arms crossing. “It’s a no . But I know who did.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Lucy.”

“Bingo.”

He let out a heavy sigh, raking a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ.”

You laughed again, watching as he stared down at the card like it had personally offended him.

“She told me you made it,” he muttered, still unsure if he was being messed with.

“Yeah, sounds like Lucy,” you mused, shaking your head. “She’s got a bit of a matchmaking streak.”

Joel grunted. “Figured that out real quick.”

You smirked. “So. What’d you think?”

He blinked. “What?”

“The card,” you teased. “You seemed pretty torn up about it. For a second, I thought you wanted me to make you one.”

Joel scoffed, but the tips of his ears had gone pink.

“I wasn’t torn up about nothin’,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off the flustered energy clinging to him.

You just tilted your head, watching him.

He huffed, stuffing the card back into his pocket like it was evidence of something, like he needed to get rid of it but couldn’t quite bring himself to toss it.

That warmth curled low in your stomach again. Because of all his grumbling and attempts to brush this off, there was one simple fact he wasn’t acknowledging.

He’d come all the way here to ask you.

Just to be sure .

The thought made your heart skip.

You stepped a little closer, your voice softer now. “Well… if you wanted one, you could’ve just asked.”

Joel’s breath hitched, just barely. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was stopping himself from doing something—stepping back, stepping closer.

You bit your lip, smiling. “Next year, maybe I’ll make you a real one.”

Joel swallowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Then, after a long beat—

“Yeah,” he muttered, barely audible. “Maybe.”

Then, before you could say anything else, he turned, muttering something under his breath as he stomped off into the snow.

You watched him go, his broad frame cutting through the snow, shoulders tense like he was trying to shake off something that had crawled under his skin.

Maybe that was the problem because you didn’t want him to shake it off.

Not this time.

“Joel.”

He didn’t stop.

You took a step forward, heart pounding. “Wait.”

His pace quickened, boots crunching against the frozen ground, as if putting more space between you would make this whole thing disappear.

Your stomach twisted. “Joel!”

He released a sharp breath and finally stopped, turning on his heel so fast you nearly ran into him.

“What?” His voice was gruff, a little too sharp, like he was already regretting stopping.

The look on his face made you hesitate—jaw tight, lips pressed into a firm line, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. But you swallowed past the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to speak.

“Why… why are you upset?”

Joel scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck, his breath curling into the cold air. “Because a damn kid embarrassed me.”

You frowned. “No, I mean—”

“And because you think it’s funny .”

“I—Joel, that’s not—”

“And because—”

“Will you just shut up for a second?”

The words snapped out before you could stop them, your voice louder than intended.

Joel blinked. His mouth shut, brow furrowing as he stared at you, caught off guard.

Your heart pounded, your breath shaky, but you had already started. No going back now.

“I’m not laughing at you,” you said, your voice steadier now. “I’m frustrated because you’re too damn stubborn to see what’s right in front of you.”

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

So you pressed on.

“I like you, Joel.” The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them. “I have for a while. And maybe Lucy saw it before you did, but I see it too. In the way you look at me. The way you show up for me. The way you’re standing right now, instead of walking away like I know you want to.”

A long, heavy, unbearable silence hung in the air. 

Joel stepped forward.

It was slow and hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was making the right move, but he was . He always had been.

His hand lifted, rough fingers brushing against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was warm, careful, lingering longer than necessary.

His voice was quieter when he spoke. “You ain’t wrong.”

Your breath hitched.

Joel exhaled sharply, looking down momentarily before returning to yours. “I—” He stopped, shook his head slightly, as if the words wouldn’t come out right. But then, finally—“I like you too.”

The words were gruff and unpolished but true.

Something cracked open inside you, something warm that had been waiting for this moment.

You barely had time to process before Joel closed the last bit of space between you, his hands framing your face, his lips pressing against yours.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was steady. Like him. Something solid and certain, something that had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to fall into place.

God, you melted into it, your hands grasping at the front of his jacket, pulling him impossibly closer.

Joel let out a quiet breath against your lips, his fingers tightening slightly like he’d been holding himself back for too long and wasn’t sure how to stop anymore.

Neither of you pulled away.

When you finally did, Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm in the freezing air.

“Guess Lucy was onto somethin’,” you murmured.

Joel huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Little troublemaker.”

You grinned. “Mm. Remind you of anyone?”

His lips brushed against yours, just barely, before he murmured, “Not a chance, darlin’.”

And then, he kissed you again.

Chapter Text

March

Spring had quietly claimed Jackson.

The snow had melted away into muddy roads, and soft green shoots poked stubbornly through thawed earth. Buds clung to the branches of trees like tiny promises, and the flowers the kids had planted behind the schoolhouse began to stretch lazily toward the sun.

And whatever was happening between you and Joel… well, it was blooming too.

Slowly.

You hadn’t expected that kiss back in February to mean anything more than a moment, one of those impulsive, heat-of-the-moment things people don’t talk about afterwards. But Joel hadn’t let it slip away. 

He was still Joel — complicated, guarded, a man stitched together by old grief and the quiet stubbornness only years of surviving could carve into a person. He didn’t offer his heart freely.

And you weren’t foolish enough to expect him to.

It was careful, like the flowers you tended outside the schoolhouse windows. Quiet glances, conversations that lingered a little too long. His hand brushed yours when you passed him a tool while fixing a fence post. His eyes softened when you laughed, even if his mouth barely cracked a smile.

You were patient because you understood. You were guarded, too. There were things buried deep inside you, like losses you didn’t name, fears that curled around your ribs on quiet nights. And though you liked Joel, liked him in a way that made your chest ache sometimes, you couldn’t help but hesitate.

It was easier to love things at a distance.

But then he'd do something small, such as show up early with fresh coffee for you before the kids arrived, or fix a broken latch on the schoolhouse door without being asked. Or mumble something like “be careful” when you head out alone, and the distance shrank.

Bit by bit, these pieces were creating something tangible. Like spring, it wasn’t a sudden bloom, but a slow unfurling. 

As you stepped outside the schoolhouse this morning, the scent of fresh soil and woodsmoke lingered in the breeze, and you pulled your cardigan a little tighter around your shoulders. The kids wouldn’t be here for another half hour, but you liked the quiet moments before the day began — the hush before small voices filled the room or scuffed boots tramped muddy footprints across the floorboards.

Across the street, you caught sight of Joel.

He was leaning against the post, arms crossed, his jacket slung over one shoulder. His hair was still damp from a quick wash. It made your chest do that stupid little stutter it always did now.

He wasn’t looking at you, not exactly — watching the road beyond the gates, eyes narrowed like he was already thinking about the day’s patrol.

But you knew better. He always seemed to end up in your line of sight this time of morning.

Maybe you were imagining it, but his gaze followed you when you stepped off the schoolhouse porch and walked toward the garden beds along the fence.

You knelt by the small row of marigolds the kids had planted a week ago, their bright orange petals curling open toward the sun. They were tiny, delicate things. The ground was still cold, but they were holding on.

“Early for gardening,” a familiar voice rumbled behind you.

You didn’t jump. Joel never made much noise when he walked, but you’d gotten good at knowing when he was there.

You glanced up, shielding your eyes against the light. “Somebody’s gotta make this place look halfway decent.”

A faint tug at the corner of his mouth. He crouched beside you, careful of the damp earth, and you caught the scent of cedar and old leather clinging to his jacket. Close enough that your shoulders brushed when you both leaned forward to inspect the same crooked little flower.

“Could’ve waited,” he murmured, fingers brushing the edge of a stubborn weed. “I was gonna stop by.”

“Oh?” you teased, keeping your eyes on the marigolds. “And what were you bringing this time? More books? Another half-rusted horseshoe, you swear is good luck?”

His shoulder bumped yours, a soft huff of laughter escaping him.

“Coffee,” he said. “Was gonna bring you coffee.”

You bit your lip, warmth curling in your chest. “Guess I owe you one, then,” you murmured.

Another quiet beat passed, the wind stirring the hair strands loose around your face. His gaze lingered there for too long, and you felt it. A subtle, unspoken thing settled between you like it always did.

“You know,” you said, voice quieter than you meant it to be, “you don’t have to waste your coffee on me.”

Your eyes lingered on his face, tracing the way the morning light caught in the lines around his eyes, how the faintest ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Joel cleared his throat, standing, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Ain’t a big deal.”

With a soft sigh, you rose to your feet, dusting dirt from your palms. “It’s not easy to come by,” you said, trying for lightness, but there was a weight to the words you didn’t quite manage to hide.

Joel glanced at you, and the world felt momentarily unnaturally still. The hum of distant voices in town, the rustle of wind through budding trees, and the sharp scent of earth in the thaw faded.

Something unspoken flickered in his gaze. A kind of careful tenderness, like you were a thing he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want, but wanted all the same.

“Ain’t a big deal, darlin’.”

You smiled, small and helpless. “Still,” you murmured. “Means more than you think.”

He shifted, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the look you gave him. His hand twitched at his side, like he thought about reaching for you and stopped himself at the last second.

You took a small step back, the distance both too much and not enough. “Have a safe patrol.”

His gaze held yours a beat longer than it needed to.

“Always.”

Then he turned, boots crunching along the dirt path, leaving behind the scent of cedar, fresh earth, and your heart fluttering like a fool. You stayed there a moment longer than you should’ve, watching the line of his shoulders as he disappeared down the road.

The kids caught on quickly.

You had expected them to. Little grins passed between them whenever Joel showed up outside the schoolhouse with a new stack of books or fixed something without being asked.

“Miss (L/N), Joel brought you coffee again,” Lucy would sing-song, barely suppressing a smirk.

You’d roll your eyes, pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but your stomach would knot up how it always did when he was near.

They didn’t mean anything by it. It was the harmless teasing of kids who saw more than the adults around them were willing to admit. Still, it was a reminder that you and Joel kept dancing around something neither of you knew how to name.

Jackson was a small town. People noticed things.

Maria’s knowing glances didn’t help either. The way she’d catch your eye across the dining hall, lift one brow, and offer the kind of sly smile that said about damn time .

Ellie was relentless.

You’d find yourself sitting across from Joel some nights in the dining hall, Ellie wedged between you two like some smug little goblin, eyes flicking between you both like she was waiting for the world’s slowest, most awkward love confession.

“So, you two gonna admit you’re in love yet, or should I start takin’ bets?” she’d say around a mouthful of cornbread.

Joel would grunt, face flushing in a way only you noticed. The faint pink creeping up his neck, settling in the tips of his ears. “Ellie,” he’d grumble, scowling into his plate.

You’d laugh, brushing it off with a shake of your head, pretending your cheeks weren’t warm, that your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest.

But it lingered.

Every teasing remark, every sidelong glance, every innocent brush of his hand against yours when neither of you moved away fast enough.

It wasn’t nothing. No matter how much you both tried to act like it was. It was something .

Especially when Joel kept showing up.

He should’ve been on patrol — at least, you were pretty sure he was supposed to be. But there he was again, striding toward the schoolyard with that familiar steady gait, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, like he just happened to be passing through.

Lucy elbowed Daniel with a grin as Joel came into view. Daniel barely suppressed a snicker, pretending to focus very hard on the tiny garden plot you’d been working to turn from cold, stubborn earth into something hopeful.

“Didn’t think you’d be around today,” you called, wiping dirt-streaked hands on your skirt.

Joel shrugged, stopping a few feet away, his gaze flicking over the scattered seed packets and half-dug rows. “Patrol got pushed to tomorrow.”

Which didn’t explain why he was here. Middle of the day.

You raised a brow. “Uh-huh.”

He ignored you, crouching beside Ellie, who was elbow-deep in mud, and reached for a rusted trowel. “You’re doin’ that wrong,” he grumbled, taking it from her and demonstrating the proper angle like it was second nature.

Ellie shot you a look. See?

You just bit back a smile and went back to planting, pretending you didn’t feel his presence settle into the space beside you like it belonged there.

The kids kept sneaking glances, not trying to hide their smirks anymore.

“You know,” you teased after a while, kneeling next to him as he worked a stubborn root loose from the soil, “if someone didn’t know better, they’d think you like hanging around here.”

Joel huffed, not looking up. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You grinned. “Right, ‘cause you always volunteer to dig around in the dirt with a bunch of kids and a pain-in-the-ass schoolteacher.”

He glanced sideways at you at that, a flicker of something softer in his eyes. His hand brushed yours in the dirt, a rough-knuckled, calloused touch that lingered for a heartbeat too long before he pulled it back.

You both pretended it didn’t happen.

Then Joel cleared his throat, scooping up a handful of seeds. “You tellin’ folks we’re… y’know,” he gestured vaguely between you, “ together ?”

You blinked, caught off guard by its bluntness. “Well,” you said slowly, “depends on who you ask. Ellie’s apparently been taking bets.”

Joel groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Goddamn kid.”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest despite yourself. “I haven’t told anybody anything. But… if I did … would you mind?”

Joel hesitated. Long enough for you to hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Then he sighed, and that rare, reluctant ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Guess not.”

“Well then,” you murmured, nudging his shoulder with yours, “guess we better give ‘em somethin’ to talk about.”

Joel grunted, but his hand brushed yours again in the soil, this time on purpose.

By late afternoon, the garden was more mud than plot, seeds buried in crooked rows, tiny markers made from broken twigs, and scraps of paper fluttering in the breeze. The kids were flushed and muddy, proud of their work and eager to rush off to whatever trouble awaited them around the corner.

“All right,” you called, brushing dirt off your hands. “Good work, everyone. Same time next week.”

Lucy tugged at your sleeve, glancing past you toward Joel. “Bye, Mr. Miller,” she said sweetly, her grin betraying the innocence of her voice.

Daniel snickered behind his hand.

Joel crossed his arms, raising a brow at them. “Y’all better get movin’ before I put you to work patchin’ fences instead.”

A round of laughter erupted, Ellie included, as they scattered down the road like a flock of mischievous birds.

“Tell your girlfriend I said hi!” Ellie shouted over her shoulder.

Joel groaned, muttering under his breath. “One day, I swear…”

You tried to hide your smile as you gathered the empty seed packets and tools, feeling his warmth still beside you. When you finally glanced up, expecting him to have followed the kids back toward town, you found Joel still standing there, hands in his pockets, boots scuffing the dirt.

Not looking at you, but not leaving either.

You arched a brow. “You sticking around to supervise my cleanup now?”

His lips quirked. “Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t screw it up.”

You chuckled, dropping the last tools into the old wooden box by the fence. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know… anywhere else?”

Joel shrugged. “Could be.” His gaze flicked toward the crooked little garden plot. “Ain’t bad,” he admitted gruffly. “Could’ve used straighter lines.”

You smirked. “Oh, so now you’re an expert gardener?”

He shot you a look, one corner of his mouth lifting. “I know a thing or two.”

You leaned your hip against the fence, crossing your arms. “And yet here you are, still hanging around.”

Joel huffed, kicking at a patch of loose soil with the toe of his boot. “Maybe I like the company.”

Your heart raced, but you didn’t say a word. Just smiled. Then you gently bumped your shoulder against his, a light nudge like it wasn’t a big deal, like you weren’t holding your breath for what might come next.

Joel’s hand brushed yours again — a rough, fleeting touch, calloused fingers grazing your knuckles. It could’ve been another accident. 

But this time, you didn’t let it pass.

You reached down and caught his hand in yours.

He stiffened for a split second, and then you felt his fingers twitch, curling around yours like the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

You both stared straight ahead, like you were just two people standing there, watching the wind stir the garden you’d planted, the last bit of sun clinging to the tops of the trees.

But your hands stayed tangled, his thumb brushing lightly along the side of your hand in a way that made your stomach flip.

After a long, comfortable stretch of quiet, Joel let out a soft huff of a laugh, almost sheepish. “Took you long enough,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

You grinned, turning to meet his gaze finally. “Could say the same about you.”

And for a moment, the rest of the world faded, leaving only the steady warmth of his hand in yours and the hush of spring settling over Jackson.

April

“April showers bring May flowers,” Ellie sang-songed, hopping over a puddle as you both made your way down Jackson’s muddy main road.

You laughed, the sound catching on the cool spring air. “Where’d you hear that one?”

Ellie shot you a grin. “ You said it once. Last spring.”

You blinked, surprised. “I did?”

“Yup.” She nudged you with her elbow, smug. “We were planting those dumb flowers behind the schoolhouse. You don’t remember?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Guess not. Must’ve been one of those things my grandma used to say. It just meant that even when stuff feels kinda miserable, something good’s probably waiting on the other side.”

Ellie wrinkled her nose, pretending to gag. “Ugh, sappy.”

You smirked. “Hey, you’re the one quoting me.”

“Yeah, well… you say a lotta stuff. Some of it sticks.”

That made your heart pinch in the best way because Ellie didn’t hand out sentiment easily, and when she did, it was usually disguised with sarcasm and eye-rolls.

The two of you kept walking, boots squelching through mud and puddles, the air thick with the scent of damp earth.

Ellie glanced sideways at you, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets. “You and Joel… you good?”

The question came out casual, but her tone was careful.

You raised a brow. “We’re fine.”

She nodded, kicking a small rock down the road. “Good. He’s… better when you’re around.”

Your chest tightened, warmth creeping in despite the chill. “He says the same about you, y’know.”

Ellie huffed, but her ears turned a little pink.

You let the moment settle, a comfortable quiet stretching between you as you reached the edge of town where the trees began to bud and the river ran high.

“You two are gross, though,” Ellie added after a beat, a grin tugging at her lips.

You laughed, nudging her. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll understand someday.”

Ellie smirked. “Doubt it.”

But she didn’t pull away when you threw an arm around her shoulders, and you didn’t miss how she leaned into it just a little. A small thing, but it meant everything.

“’Bout time,” Joel grumbled, glancing up from where he crouched by the riverbank, setting a battered tackle box down in the grass.

Ellie rolled her eyes, smirking. “Don’t start, old man,” she shot back, jogging the rest of the way to him.

You followed behind, the late afternoon sun warm against your back as you reached the clearing by the river. Joel had somehow scavenged three mismatched lawn chairs, their faded fabric sagging in the middle, and staked three fishing poles into the soft earth at the water’s edge.

It was the quiet, simple scene you didn’t get much of these days.

“I can’t believe I’m learning to fish,” Ellie declared, hands on her hips, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her excitement.

Joel gave her a look, one brow lifted. “Survival skill. One of the first things my old man taught me.”

You smiled, dropping down onto one of the sagging chairs. It let out a creak in protest, but held. “Let me guess — you were a natural.”

Joel snorted, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Nah. Damn near fell in my first time out.”

Ellie barked a laugh, plopping down into the chair beside you. “Now that’s a story I wanna hear.”

“Mm,” Joel hummed, fiddling with the line on one of the poles. “Maybe if you catch somethin’ first.”

The easy teasing passed between them like second nature now, and you couldn’t help but watch the way Joel’s expression softened in these moments, how the weight he carried seemed to ease when it was just the three of you, the steady sound of the river and the scent of damp earth filling the air.

He glanced over, catching your gaze, and for a beat, neither of you looked away. No words, just that quiet, familiar pull — like an invisible thread tugging at something deep inside your chest.

Then Joel cleared his throat, looking back at the pole in his hands. “You know what you’re doin’?”

You grinned. “Not a clue.”

“Good,” he grunted, the faintest flicker of a smile still ghosting his lips. “Means you’ll listen.”

Ellie rolled her eyes again but smiled as Joel began explaining how to hold the rod, watch the line, and be patient. Fishing was about waiting as much as catching.

You settled into the sagging lawn chair, the sun warm against your face. A lazy breeze stirred the grass at your feet. Beside you, Joel sat hunched over his fishing rod, hands steady as always, his shoulders relaxed.

Ellie’s laughter echoed somewhere behind you, her boots thudding against the riverbank as she darted around, trying to decide which patch of water might somehow be luckier than the last.

The silence between you and Joel was easy. Familiar.

You could feel him watching you, though. Not in a way that made your skin prickle, but in a way that felt like a warm hand pressed gently against your back. Steady. Quiet.

You cracked an eye open, lips tugging up. “Am I not holding it right?” you teased, flicking your gaze down at the fishing pole lazily balanced in your right hand.

Joel startled, a small huff of a breath leaving him as he looked away toward the water. “No — I mean, it’s alright.”

You smiled faintly, more to yourself than him, and pushed the pole into the soft earth beside your chair. The line made a lazy ripple across the water’s surface.

“Something on my face?” you asked softly, turning toward him now.

Joel shook his head, not quite meeting your eyes. “No.” His voice was quieter then. It trailed off at the end, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep going.

“I just—” he started, scratching the back of his neck, watching the water like it might give him the words he was missing. “Heard it’s supposed to storm tonight.”

Your brow creased, something in your chest tightening, not because of the storm, but because he remembered. That throwaway comment you’d made months ago in passing, the one about how you hated storms. How they used to scare you as a kid. How you never quite grew out of it.

You doubted anyone else even remembered you’d said it.

“Oh,” you murmured, surprised warmth curling under your ribs. “Yeah… I thought so, too. Clouds’ve been building up all day.”

Joel’s jaw shifted, still not quite looking at you. “If it gets bad… if you don’t wanna be alone or whatever, uh… you can come by. If you want.”

You bit your bottom lip to keep your smile from getting too obvious. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” you murmured. Your fingers brushed against his on the weathered armrest between your chairs, barely there, a question without asking.

Joel didn’t pull away.

His pinky hooked around yours, casual enough that it might’ve looked like nothing to anyone else. But you felt the way his hand settled there. Not pulling back, not rushing forward either.

“Wouldn’t be a bother,” he said quietly, voice low and rough like it always was, but gentler somehow. The kind of softness he rarely showed, except in moments like this, when it was just you, him, and the hush of river water lapping at the shore.

Ellie’s voice cut through the moment, shrill and triumphant.

“I swear to God I had one! It was huge! ”

You laughed softly, glancing over your shoulder to where she stood on the riverbank, half-covered in mud, holding up an empty line like it was some trophy.

“She’s something else,” you said, warmth creeping into your voice.

Joel’s gaze followed yours, and you caught the way his expression softened in that quiet, familiar way he saved for Ellie when she wasn’t paying attention. The kind of look that settled deep in your chest whenever you saw it.

“Yeah,” Joel murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She is.”

You watched Ellie for another beat, feeling the weight of Joel’s pinky still hooked around yours. The sun was dipping lower behind the trees, painting the water in soft streaks of gold.

It wasn’t a big moment.

But it was one of those moments.

The kind you’d remember.

Lightning cracked across the dark room, the sudden flash searing against your closed eyelids. A heartbeat later, thunder rolled overhead that felt like it shook the walls.

You jolted upright, breath catching in your throat, hands fisting the edge of the blanket so tightly your knuckles ached. The room was warm, the air thick and heavy with rain, but a cold sweat clung to your skin. Your pulse thudded in your ears, too loud, drowning out the steady drum of water against the roof.

For a moment, you sat there, forcing yourself to breathe, to ground yourself in the familiar shapes of your room: the wooden dresser, the worn boots by the door, and the pile of books on the nightstand.

It didn’t help much.

You slipped out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool floorboards, and crossed to the window. Rain streaked down the glass in relentless sheets, the occasional flash of lightning turning the world outside into a flickering silhouette of trees and rooftops.

Another jagged bolt cut through the sky, illuminating the empty road beyond your fence.

The thunder came a second later, closer, louder as it rattled the windowpane.

You flinched, stumbling back a step before you could stop yourself. Your stomach twisted, a bitter, familiar knot you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You hated storms since you were a kid, ever since that one night — power out, house shaking, your mother nowhere to be found, and you left curled beneath a bed, counting the seconds between lightning and thunder, pretending it was a game.

Though you shoved it down like you always did, your chest ached with the memory, and you pressed a palm flat against the wall to steady yourself.

It was just a storm.
Just a storm.

But you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep like this.

You paced the room in restless circles, rubbing your palms against your arms as if you could settle the gnawing unease beneath your skin. Reading may help. Maybe you should try making tea, or counting seconds between lightning and thunder like you used to when you were little, tucked under a blanket, pretending you weren’t afraid.

Or maybe…you should go to Joel’s.

He’d offered. His rough, awkward voice lingered in your head — “If it gets bad… you can come by.”

But that felt ridiculous now. You were a grown woman, for god’s sake, scared of a damn storm like a child. You shook your head, sighing, dragging a hand over your face.

Another crack of thunder split the sky, rattling the window, and your stomach flipped.

You glanced out at the downpour streaking the glass. Even if you wanted to go to Joel’s, you’d be drenched before reaching the street's end. So you turned away, padding barefoot into the kitchen. If you kept your hands busy, you could fool your mind into thinking everything was fine.

You opened a cabinet, pulled down a cup, and reached for the kettle. The steady drum of rain filled the house, mingling with the occasional grumble of thunder.

Then a sharp, firm knock.

You froze, the hairs at the back of your neck standing on end.

There it was again—another knock — a little louder and more urgent.

It wasn’t thunder.

You hesitated momentarily, then went to the door, your heart hammering against your ribs as you pulled it open. The wind hit first, cold and sharp, carrying the rain sideways, and Joel stood on your porch.

Soaked through and breathless.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, droplets were running down his jawline, and his clothes were heavy with rain. His chest rose and fell like he’d run the whole way, and maybe he had.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Joel?” you gasped, stepping back to let him inside without a second thought.

He didn’t hesitate, ducking past you into the warmth of the house, water pooling at his feet as he shoved the door shut behind him.

Just stood there, the storm roaring outside, your kitchen dim and quiet around you.

Joel’s eyes found yours, and in them, you saw it. The worry. The something else he didn’t have words for. The same thing that made him show up here, drenched and winded, when he could’ve just stayed dry in his own damn house.

You swallowed hard, voice softer now. “What are you doing here?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, rainwater flicking to the floor. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

“I’m fine,” you whispered, though your hands were still trembling faintly at your sides.

“You don’t gotta be.”

The words hung there, thick in the quiet, as the storm rattled the windows.

You stared at him briefly, your throat tight, then blinked and turned on your heel without a word. Your feet padded quickly across the floor as you disappeared down the hallway, heart thudding for entirely different reasons.

By the time you returned with a stack of towels, Joel had already knelt, swiping at the rainwater pooling by the door with the sleeve of his already-soaked jacket.

You held out a towel. “Here.”

Joel looked up, water dripping from his hair, his expression doing that sheepish, caught-off-guard thing that happened so rarely it almost felt like a reward when it did.

“Thanks,” he grunted, standing and snatching the towel from your hand, scrubbing it roughly over the floor.

You tried not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway.

“You’re supposed to dry yourself, not the floor.”

He shot you a look. “Floor was gettin’ wetter than me.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer. “Here, let me—”

But Joel shook his head, tugging the towel around his neck. “I’ll be fine, darlin’.”

He said it in that soft, stubborn way, but you could see how his clothes clung to him, the cold settling into his skin.

“I don’t really have any clothes that’d fit you,” you murmured, voice quieter now. “And… I didn’t think you wanted to stay anyway.”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, his hand rough and calloused against its curve. He shifted his weight like he was about to make for the door, then stilled.

“I’m stayin’,” he muttered, not quite looking at you.

You blinked. “You are?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, gesturing vaguely toward the living room as if it settled the whole thing. “I’ll just… dry off, strip down to my underwear, and sleep on the couch or somethin’.”

It came out gruff, awkward, and entirely too honest.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling, warmth spreading through your chest despite the storm still raging outside. “Well,” you said, your voice teasing and soft. “I guess it’s good that the couch isn’t picky.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he finally met your eyes.

“Guess not,” he murmured.

After the two of you had mopped up the puddle by the door in mostly companionable silence, you gave Joel a quiet, “I’ll give you a minute,” and slipped down the hall to your room. The steady beat of rain against the windows filled the house, the occasional low rumble of thunder still rolling overhead.

When you returned, his clothes were draped over the drying rack in the bathroom, and his boots were left by the hearth. You tossed him a clean blanket from the linen closet — one of your softer ones, though you’d never admit it was intentional — and your chest gave a foolish little flutter at the sight when you came back into the room.

Joel stood in front of the fireplace, the flicker of the flames casting soft, golden light across the planes of his face. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and the blanket hung loose over his shoulders, leaving most of his chest bare, the rest of him in nothing but his worn boxers and that quiet, steady presence you’d gotten so used to.

You lingered by the doorway, biting the inside of your cheek as you watched him. He wasn’t looking at you; instead, he was fussing with the fire poker like it gave him something to do.

You cleared your throat, voice softer than you meant it to be. “Y’know… you could share my bed.”

He glanced over, eyes catching yours in the flickering light. You saw how his jaw tensed and his fingers flexed on the fire poker.

“I won’t bite,” you added, teasing, a small smile tugging at your lips even though your heart was thudding like a drum in your chest.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, setting the poker down and straightening. “That’s what they all say,” he muttered, but there was a warmth in his voice now, something gentler beneath the roughness.

You shrugged, trying to play it off, though you felt your face heat. “Offer still stands.”

He studied you for a long beat, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, before he gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Okay.”

Joel followed you down the hall, the soft glow from the bedroom lamp spilling into the quiet, storm-darkened house. Your heart thudded in your chest, not because you were scared now—not of the storm, at least—but because this wasn’t like all the other times he’d dropped by.

He’d never been in here before.

Your room was small and simple, but it carried pieces of you in every corner—the worn book spines stacked unevenly on the nightstand, the faded quilt you insisted on keeping through every season, the old photograph tucked against the mirror. 

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to sound casual. “Umm… make yourself comfortable.”

Joel stood awkwardly by the doorway, blanket hanging loose over his shoulders. You tried not to look, but the way the firelight from the other room caught the sharp lines of his face made it a losing battle.

“I could maybe… find you something else to wear,” you offered, already moving toward the dresser like that might give your hands something to do.

But Joel raised a hand, shaking his head. “I’m alright.”

You didn’t know why you sometimes felt like a fumbling teenager around him. Maybe it was because you didn't want to break this fragile, slow thing between you. Perhaps it was fear of pushing too hard, too soon, of him pulling back into himself like he had a hundred times before.

You swallowed the nerves, crossed the room, and slipped beneath the covers. The sheets were cool against your skin, the soft flicker of lightning briefly illuminating the room before thunder cracked again, rumbling low and long enough to make your chest tighten.

You’d almost forgotten about the storm.

Your shoulders stiffened, your breath catching, and you hated how easy it was for old fears to crawl back in. It still made your pulse race like you were ten years old again, counting seconds between flashes of light.

Joel didn’t say anything, but you felt him move around the foot of the bed, his steps slow, heavy with the kind of carefulness you recognized by now. He draped the blanket he’d carried over the corner of the bed, then slipped under the covers beside you.

Your eyes flicked toward him once, meeting his in the dim room. His face was unreadable in the half-light, but his gaze lingered on yours a beat longer than it should’ve. Long enough that you had to look away, heart skipping.

The rain battered the windows, thunder rolling again in the distance.

Then Joel’s voice, low and rough, broke the quiet.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, though it wasn’t entirely true.

Joel shifted slightly, the bed dipping under his weight. Then his hand reached across the narrow space, settling carefully over yours on top of the blanket. His fingers were rough and cold from the rain.

“C’mere.”

The word was simple, rough around the edges, but it settled into the room like a lifeline.

Your heart gave a sharp, uneven thud as you hesitated momentarily, then slowly scooted across the bed. The sheets shifted, your shoulder brushing his arm, and the closeness made your pulse stutter in a way you were too tired to fight.

Joel’s arm lifted tentatively before it settled around you.  “This okay?” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

You pressed your cheek against his chest, felt his heart's steady, reassuring thud beneath your palm, and let your eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah,” you whispered, the word catching slightly in your throat.

He exhaled, his hand smoothing gently over your back, his chin resting against your head. 

The storm kept on outside — rain lashing at the windows, distant thunder grumbling like some restless thing — but it felt farther away now, muffled by Joel’s warmth, by the steady rise and fall of his breathing, by the safety of a space you hadn’t known you needed until he gave it.

Joel’s hand stayed on your back, his thumb moving in a slow, absent pattern against your shoulder.

Neither of you spoke the things you both felt, but in the dark, with the storm raging on, it didn’t need to be said.

It was enough.

May

“Easy, easy now,” Tommy muttered, one arm slung around Joel’s shoulders as he half-carried, half-dragged him through Jackson’s gates.

“I’ve got it,” Joel grumbled, teeth clenched against the pain shooting through his leg. He tried to plant his foot and stand alone, but his knee buckled with a sharp, traitorous jolt. Both men stumbled, and Tommy barely managed to keep them upright.

“Jesus,” Tommy huffed, tightening his grip. “For fuck’s sake, Joel — for once , would you just let someone help you?”

Joel exhaled sharply, the fight draining out of him like air from a punctured tire. His jaw worked, something sour and frustrated in his eyes, but he didn’t argue again. He let Tommy guide him toward the stables, every step a grinding ache in his knee, the joint already swelling beneath the torn fabric of his jeans.

This was just goddamn perfect.

A pair of raiders — desperate, half-starved bastards — had come out of nowhere near the old highway. A scuffle, a bad landing, and now his knee was shot to hell.

He could still feel the moment it’d given out, the sickening twist and sharp crack. A pain he knew too well, old and familiar like an old enemy come back for a rematch.

Tommy carefully, yet not gently, lowered Joel onto a crate near the stable doors. Joel bit back a hiss of pain, his face tight as he settled, sweat cooling on his brow in the chilly spring air.

“You good?” Tommy asked, crouching down to check the leg.

Joel shot him a look. “Peachy.”

Tommy snorted. “You’re a goddamn idiot.”

“Never claimed otherwise,” Joel muttered, wiping a hand over his face.

The quiet hum of Jackson’s evening bustle carried in on the breeze, the scent of horses and woodsmoke thick in the air as Tommy wandered off to find a first aid kit.

Joel’s knee throbbed in time with his pulse, but the worst part wasn’t the pain. It was the fact that he’d have to stay off it for a while, and worse, deal with people fussing over him. People he couldn’t quite push away anymore.

One person in particular.

And sure enough, just as the thought crossed his mind, he saw you coming before you even spoke. A determined set to your shoulders, eyes narrowed, worry written all over your face like a goddamn beacon.

He swore under his breath, bracing for it.

“What happened?” you demanded, already crouching down in front of him before he could get a word out.

Joel opened his mouth, ready to brush it off, to grunt some half-assed lie about slipping on wet ground or bumping it on patrol. But then your hand was on his knee, gentle and careful, fingertips brushing against the torn denim, the blood sticky beneath it.

The words stuck in his throat.

His usual gruff deflections — ‘I’m fine,’ ‘it’s nothin’, ‘don’t fuss’ — felt ridiculous with how you looked at him like he wasn’t just some stubborn old bastard who kept limping back from the worst of it.

“Uh…” Joel cleared his throat, his voice rougher than it needed to be. “Couple’a raiders. Caught us out near the old highway. One of ‘em got lucky.”

Your fingers ghosted over the swollen skin around the tear in his jeans, and Joel had to clench his jaw to keep from flinching. Not from the pain, but from how goddamn careful you were being.

It made something flutter in his chest, sharp and stupid and unfamiliar.

He hated being taken care of. Hated feeling like he needed it. But hell, if he could get himself to tell you to stop.

“Doesn’t look clean,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, already assessing the damage. “You’ll need it cleaned up, maybe stitched.”

Joel grunted, shifting like he might stand. “Ain’t that bad.”

“Sit down, Joel,” you said, firm and low, not even looking up at him.

And against all his better instincts, he did. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, the fight going out of him like it always did around you.

“I’m fine,” Joel tried again, though it sounded thin and worn down even to his ears.

You looked up at him then, and the weight of your gaze made his chest feel tight in a way he didn’t have a name for. He opened his mouth, ready to deflect, when the familiar scuff of boots across the dirt cut through the moment.

Tommy reappeared, a beat-up first aid kit in hand.

“Thank God,” Tommy muttered, thrusting the kit toward you. “You can deal with his grumpy ass.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you took it. “Gee, thanks for the honor.”

“Just sayin’—” Tommy gave Joel a pointed look. “He ain’t exactly a ray of sunshine when he’s banged up.” He clapped a hand on Joel’s shoulder, making him grunt. “Good luck,” he added, before heading off with a smug grin.

Joel watched him go, jaw tight. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no heat behind it.

You knelt before him again, the first aid kit settling with a soft thud against the stable floor. Joel’s stomach twisted as you opened it, pulling out gauze and antiseptic like you’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe you had.

“Alright,” you murmured, more to yourself than him, reaching for his knee.

Joel’s instinct was to pull back, some old, stubborn thing in him screaming against the idea of anyone fussing over him. But he stayed when your hand brushed his, fingers cool and steady.

The touch wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t clinical. It was careful — a palm resting briefly against his leg like you were waiting to see if he’d bolt.

“This might sting,” you warned softly.

He huffed. “I’ve had worse.”

And yet, when the antiseptic hit the torn skin, he hissed through his teeth.

Your hand was there again, light pressure against his knee. Joel caught himself staring at your wrist, the way the tendons flexed beneath your skin as you worked. The way your brow furrowed in concentration, the small crease between your eyes.

He let his gaze linger a second too long, something unfamiliar and aching pressing against his ribs. You looked up then, catching him, and for a moment neither of you moved.

“All patched up,” you said softly, though your voice sounded different now—warmer, something unspoken tucked in the edges of it.

Joel cleared his throat, trying and failing to find something gruff to say. “Thanks,” he muttered, the word rough but honest.

You smiled, and it wasn’t one of those polite things people gave each other in town. It was soft, crooked, just for him.

“Anytime.” 

You stood, brushing dirt from your palms, then held your hand without hesitation. “I can walk you home?” you offered, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth like you already expected him to grumble about it.

Joel glanced at your hand, then at your face, and something in his chest twisted up tight. He wanted to take it. Hell, part of him wanted it more than he cared to admit, but his gaze drifted down to his knee — the bruised, swollen mess beneath the torn denim. He shifted, testing his weight, and pain shot through his leg sharp enough to make his jaw clench.

Obviously, he wasn’t walking anywhere without leaning on something… or someone. The thought of leaning on you, of you carrying even a fraction of his weight, of you hurting yourself because of him, made his stomach knot.

He shook his head softly. “Reckon Tommy should,” he muttered, the words low, like saying them out loud cost him something.

You just gave a small, knowing huff and crouched beside him again. “I’m tougher than I look, Joel,” you said quietly, your eyes holding his like you weren’t asking—you were telling.

He swallowed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Ain’t about that,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze this time. “Just… don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you whispered.

And without thinking too hard about it, Joel took your hand. It wasn’t a perfect grip — awkward and a little unsteady as he shifted to his feet, but your fingers closed around his, and he leaned into you.

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, when you’d planned to do absolutely nothing except maybe read or nap. Maybe ignore the world for a while.

Then came the pounding at your front door.

Not a knock. A bang.

You sighed, setting your book aside, already having a good guess who it was.

Before you could even open the door, Ellie burst inside like she owned the place, hair windblown, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with dramatic exasperation.

“ Please , (Y/N), you gotta take him,” she blurted, not even pausing to catch her breath. “I’m about five seconds away from smothering Joel with a pillow.”

You blinked, leaning against the doorframe, fighting a grin. “Good afternoon to you, too, Ellie. Lovely weather we’re having.”

She waved a hand as if your greeting was offensive. “Not the point. I’m serious. He’s driving me nuts. ”

You raised a brow. “What’d he do this time?”

Ellie groaned, flopping dramatically onto your couch like she’d trekked miles through a blizzard. “He won’t stay off that stupid knee. Keeps hobbling around the house trying to fix stuff that isn’t broken. Won’t let me help with anything, won’t rest, and keeps making that grumpy old man face at me like it’s my fault he fell on it.”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “And let me guess — you antagonized him.”

“Obviously,” she said, completely unapologetic. “But still! I need backup. Or like… a babysitter. You’re his weakness, ” she added with a grin, pointing a finger at you. “He actually listens to you.”

You scoffed. “Since when?”

“Since forever ,” Ellie shot back. “C’mon, (Y/N). Do it for me. I’ll owe you one.”

You sighed in mock reluctance, shaking your head. “I don’t know… sounds dangerous.”

Ellie sat up, eyes gleaming with triumph. “You love danger.”

“Yeah, well—only the Joel Miller kind,” you teased under your breath, earning a smug, knowing smirk from her.

“Exactly,” Ellie said, heading for the door like the deal was done. “He’s your problem now. Later, sucker!”

With that, she was gone. The door slamming shut behind her, leaving you laughing to yourself and shaking your head.

“Little menace,” you muttered fondly, grabbing your jacket from the hook by the door.

A few minutes later, you walked through Jackson’s quiet streets. The spring air was cool and bright, the scent of woodsmoke lingering from morning fires. You didn’t bother knocking when you reached Joel’s house. 

The place was quiet—no grumbling or creaking of footsteps on the floorboards. You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you and calling out softly, “Joel?”

Nothing.

Typical.

You knew exactly where he’d be.

Making your way up the narrow stairs, you followed the faint sound of something scraping wood. Sure enough, you found him there when you reached the small room at the end of the hall — the one he’d half-heartedly claimed as a ‘workspace’.

Sitting at his workbench, bad leg stretched stiffly out in front of him, a hunk of wood braced in one hand, a carving knife in the other. His brow furrowed in concentration, face set in that stubborn, determined way you knew too well.

“Joel Miller,” you scolded, leaning against the doorframe.

He jolted, the knife slipping slightly, and let out a low curse.

“Christ, woman,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his chest. “Sneakin’ around like that’s gonna get you shot one of these days.”

You smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Save it. Ellie sent me.”

His expression soured instantly, like he knew exactly what you would say but didn’t have the energy to argue.

“I’m fine,” he grunted, gesturing to the unfinished carving like it was proof. “Can’t just sit around doin’ nothin’.”

“Pretty sure that’s exactly what the doctor ordered.” You crossed the room, plucking the knife from his hand before he could stop you. “And Ellie. And Tommy. And probably Maria too.”

Joel glared half-heartedly but made no move to take it back.

You held up the carving—a small, rough shape you couldn’t quite make out yet, but the edges were smoothed and carefully worked. “What is it?”

He rubbed a hand over his beard, shrugging. “Dunno yet.”

You smiled despite yourself, setting it down and crouching to be eye-level with him. “You’re supposed to be resting, Joel.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m sittin’.”

“Not the same thing.”

He let out a quiet, reluctant chuckle, the edge of his mouth twitching, and just like that, the fight drained out of him. You could see how his shoulders eased, the tension around his mouth softening.

“I worry about you, y’know,” you murmured, not quite meeting his gaze.

Joel was quiet for a long moment, then sighed, leaning back in the chair, eyes on you. “I know,” he said softly.

Your heart stuttered at that, but you didn’t press it.

“Good,” you whispered, offering him a small, crooked smile. “Now, let’s get you to bed.”

He grumbled something about not being an invalid, but he didn’t argue when you helped him. Didn’t push your hand away when you steadied him, either.

The rest of the afternoon slipped by in quiet, easy moments. You made him something simple to eat — half convinced he wouldn’t touch it, only to catch him finishing the whole plate while pretending he wasn’t. You helped him hobble from the workbench to the couch, fussed over his knee enough to make him scowl, but he let you. And when you offered to read aloud from one of the worn paperbacks stacked on his table, he grunted a vague “if you want” and leaned his head back against the cushions.

You read until his breathing evened out, the lines around his eyes softening as sleep pulled him under.

By late evening, the house had gone still, the only sound the soft shifts of the house and the steady hush of wind against the windows. You stayed curled in the chair beside him, your book resting open in your lap more for something to do than anything else.

Then he stirred.

At first, it was small — a shift of his hand, a twitch of his brow. Then a sharp breath, a low mutter, words you couldn’t catch.

You straightened in your chair, setting the book aside.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it, the way old memories still clung to him in sleep. But it never got easier, watching him fight ghosts you couldn’t see.

His face tightened, breath coming faster now, another word, a name, slipping out rough and broken.

Without thinking, you reached out, your hand settling lightly on his forearm.

“Joel,” you murmured, soft enough not to startle, firm enough to pull him back. “Hey… you’re alright. You’re home.”

His eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused for a second, and his chest heaved. His gaze found yours in the dim light, and there was something raw there—not fear, but something close enough to make your throat tighten.

You expected him to wave you off, to mutter a gruff ‘m fine and bury it like he always did, but instead, he just let out a long, shaky breath and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Sorry,” he said, voice rough, almost hoarse.

You shook your head, your fingers brushing against his wrist, careful, steady. “You don’t have to be.”

“I don’t… sleep easily. Not for a while now.” The words came out awkward, reluctant, like they’d been pried loose from somewhere deep, but he didn’t look away.

You gave him a small, tired smile. “I kind of figured.”

That earned the faintest huff of a laugh, his mouth tugging at the corner.

“I won’t leave,” you said softly, leaning back in your chair but keeping your hand where it was. “Unless you tell me to.”

Joel was quiet for a long time, shadows catching in the tired lines beneath his eyes. You could see the tug-of-war behind his gaze, the instinct to shut you out, warring with something softer, which he hadn’t yet figured out how to hold onto.

His jaw worked, his hand flexing against his thigh like he was about to wave you off.

Then, with a small shake of his head, barely more than a breath, he whispered, “Stay.”

His hand reached out, fingers finding yours. The grip was hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure you’d take it, but when you did, when your fingers curled around his, his hand tightened, steady and sure.

You didn’t say anything. You just squeezed his hand, a small, warm smile tugging at your lips.

Without a word, you moved, slipping beside him on the couch. The cushions dipped under your weight, and you were careful to avoid his bad knee, settling in close enough to feel the heat of him, your shoulder brushing his arm.

Joel let out a slow breath, the tension bleeding from his frame like he hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding himself together.

You rested your head lightly against his shoulder, your fingers still tangled with his, and felt his thumb drag slowly and steadily over the back of your hand in a quiet, absent gesture.

Joel turned his head, just enough for his chin to brush your hair. “Thanks, darlin’,” he said, the words low and rough, before pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You smiled against him. “Anytime.”

July

“This is gonna be so much fun!” Ellie shouted, already half a block ahead, weaving through groups of people as she sprinted toward the square.

You smiled, watching her disappear into the crowd gathered in front of the town hall. String lights hung between the buildings, glowing soft and golden in the early evening light. The air smelled like something sweet, and summer-damp grass, the kind of warmth that settled in your chest and made the rest of the world feel a little less sharp.

Beside you, Joel walked with his usual steady, measured steps, his hand loosely tucked in yours. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a slight, unconscious movement, but one that made your stomach flutter all the same.

As you neared the edge of the crowd, voices rising around you in a happy, easy buzz, your fingers tightened around his. A quiet plea: don’t let go.

Joel wasn’t one for crowds. And he sure as hell wasn’t one for public affection. You’d figured that out early — how his touches were saved for dark porches and quiet kitchens, for nights when no one else was looking.

You half expected him to drop your hand.

But he didn’t. His grip tightened, firm and sure, the corners of his mouth pulling into the faintest, crooked half-smile as if to say I got you.

The knot in your chest loosened.

Whatever this was between you—whatever name neither of you was brave enough to give it, it had bloomed the way the seasons did. Slow and stubborn, impossible to stop once it began.

You stayed at his place more often than not now. He left his spare jacket on your chair. You’d made coffee in his kitchen enough times that Ellie complained about how you were hogging her mug.

But still, the word hung in the air between you like a thing neither of you dared touch.

Together.

You felt the absence of it sometimes in moments like this. When the town gathered, couples moved easily through the crowd, hands on waists, heads on shoulders, laughter shared out loud.

And here you were, fingers laced with Joel Miller’s, feeling everything and saying nothing. The soft tug of his hand brought you out of it.

“C’mon,” he murmured, voice low enough only you could hear. “You’re thinkin’ too hard.”

You blinked up at him, a breath of a smile tugging at your lips. “You know me too well.”

Joel shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta.”

You followed him into the crowd; the square was alive with music. Someone strumming a guitar, a group of folks clapping along, the hum of voices rising and falling like a warm tide. Lanterns swung from overhead lines, their glow catching on glass jars filled with wildflowers, and the occasional mason jar of moonshine passed between hands.

Joel didn’t let go of your hand.

Even when you stopped at one of the tables so Ellie could shove a piece of berry pie at you with a smug, knowing grin.

“For your nerves,” she said, winking. “You’re looking twitchy.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a bite just to shut her up, though the tart sweetness did help. Joel gave her a warning look, but she only grinned wider, nudging his elbow.

“Y’know, you two are basically married at this point,” Ellie quipped, popping a grape into her mouth. “Should just get it over with.”

Joel nearly choked on his drink.

You stifled a laugh, reaching to thump his back, even as your face burned.

“Jesus, kid,” Joel coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You ever think about keepin’ your mouth shut?”

“Not once,” she shot back, grinning ear to ear, clearly proud of herself.

You shook your head fondly. “Ignore her. She’s just trying to stir up trouble.”

“Yeah, well,” Joel muttered, glaring half-heartedly at Ellie before his gaze slid to you, softening. “She’s not wrong, though.”

The words hung there, unexpected and quiet. Your stomach did that stupid little flutter again, but before you could answer, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey now — ain’t you two gonna dance?”

It was Tommy, grinning like the devil himself, Maria at his side, both of them clearly having seen more than enough to know what was going on.

Joel scowled. “Not a chance.”

“Aw, come on,” Maria teased, elbowing Tommy. “Give the folks what they wanna see.”

Ellie hollered her approval, hands cupped around her mouth.

“Joel and (Y/N)! Joel and (Y/N)!”

You groaned, covering your face, laughing despite yourself. Joel cursed under his breath, clearly torn between fleeing the scene and giving in.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he reached for you. “C’mere,” he muttered, his ears visibly pink in the glow of the lanterns.

You blinked. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Before they burn the damn town down,” he grumbled, tugging you gently toward the small space cleared for dancing.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you followed, feeling the weight of every eye on you, though the crowd had already moved on to teasing someone else by the time Joel pulled you close.

His hand settled at your waist, a little stiff, a little unsure, but there. The other found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that made the rest of the world go quiet for a beat.

“Didn’t figure you for a dancer,” you teased, voice soft, meant only for him.

“I ain’t,” he muttered, a small, crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “But for you…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. It hung there in the space between you, quiet and heavy, carried in the way his thumb kept brushing against your hand.

You swallowed, your nerves twisting up tight. The warmth in your chest, the weight of the moment, the steady way he looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to the ground. It was too much and not enough all at once.

“Joel…” you started, voice catching as you looked away, focusing on the lanterns strung overhead, the way they swayed in the breeze. Your stomach knotted, old fears clawing up before you could stop them. The things unsaid. The things you weren’t sure he was ready to hear.

Then his fingers curled under your chin, gentle but firm, coaxing your gaze back to his.

“Hey,” he said softly, rough and low. “Look at me.”

You did, heart thudding painfully against your ribs.

His eyes searched yours, something raw and earnest flickering there in the firelit dark. The kind of look Joel didn’t hand out easily. The sort of thing he kept locked up, hidden behind gruff words and stubborn silences.

“Ain’t good at this,” he muttered, his thumb sweeping once, clumsy and careful, against your jaw. “But… you mean somethin’ to me.”

You felt your breath hitch, throat tightening as you covered his hand with yours, pressing his palm against your cheek.

“I know,” you whispered. “Me too.”

September 

“This is stupid,” Joel grunted, shifting the blanket under one arm, an old lantern dangling from his other hand, a battered thermos clunking against his hip as he followed you out into the yard.

You smiled, glancing back over your shoulder. “Uh-huh. And yet, here you are — hauling everything like some grumpy pack mule.” You gestured toward him with a teasing grin. “Look at you. Carrying it all.”

He shot you a flat, unimpressed look, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Only ‘cause you’d probably trip over your own feet carryin’ all this.”

“Sure,” you said lightly, dropping the blanket down on the patch of grass beneath the wide old tree in his backyard. The night was cool, the last of summer clinging to the air in the way it always did in early September — that quiet stretch of time where you could feel fall creeping in at the edges, but it hadn’t fully taken hold yet.

You knelt, spreading the blanket out as Joel set down the lantern, muttering under his breath about getting talked into dumb ideas.

It had been a throwaway comment, months ago. Something about missing nights under open skies, wishing you could see the stars without the constant hum of worry, the need to stay moving.

You settled onto the blanket, leaning back on your elbows to look up at the sky. The stars were already pricking through the navy-blue stretch above, the moon a lazy sliver.

“You gonna sit, or just stand there grumbling all night?” you asked softly.

Joel huffed a breath, lowering himself down beside you with a faint wince, his knee still not what it used to be. He stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands, eyes on the sky.

“It’s cold,” he grumbled.

You nudged his arm. “That’s what the blanket’s for, genius.”

He grunted again but didn’t move away when you tugged part of the blanket over his lap, settling yourself a little closer.

The silence stretched between you. The stars were scattered thick above Jackson, brighter than you ever remembered them being before the world fell apart.

Joel let out a long breath, one you might’ve missed if you weren’t sitting so close. He shifted, his voice quieter now. “Don’t do this much. Not since… a long time.”

You turned your head, catching the way his gaze stayed fixed on the stars, his face caught somewhere between memory and the present.

“I’m glad you did,” you said softly.

“I used to do this with Sarah,” he murmured. “She used to drag me out into the yard when she was little. Said it was important to wish on the first star you saw. Claimed it worked every time.”

He gave a quiet, humorless huff, shaking his head like the memory hurt and healed in equal measure.

“I never told her I couldn’t tell one star from the other,” he said, a hint of a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “So I just… pointed at whichever one she saw first.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against his under the blanket, your pinky curling around his.

Joel went quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the sky, the lines in his face gentler in the flicker of lantern light.

“She’d’a liked you,” he said, and the words were so soft you almost missed them.

Your throat tightened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He glanced over at you then, meeting your eyes. “You would’ve made her laugh. She was stubborn, too.”

You bit your lip against the rush of emotion in your chest and leaned your head lightly against his shoulder, giving him the choice to pull away. But he didn’t. His shoulder pressed a little closer to yours.

“Thanks for… sharin’ that,” you murmured.

Joel grunted softly, not quite a response, but you understood what it meant.

The two of you sat like that for a while longer, under a sky Sarah would’ve loved, your hands half-entwined beneath the blanket, with all the words you didn’t need to say hanging somewhere between the stars.

And when Joel finally spoke again, his voice was a little rough, but steady. “Glad you dragged me out here, too.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Told you it wasn’t a stupid idea.”

He chuckled, low and warm in his chest. “Yeah, yeah.”

You must’ve drifted a little, lulled by the steady warmth of Joel beside you, the soft hum of crickets, and the lingering scent of woodsmoke from a neighbor’s chimney.

The back door creaked open.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Ellie called out, her voice cutting through the night, laced with that familiar grin you didn’t have to see to hear. “I swear to God, if you’re both dead out here, I’m not cleaning it up.”

Joel groaned. “Jesus, kid, scare a man to death why don’t you.”

You laughed softly, straightening up as Ellie padded across the yard toward you both, a blanket half-draped around her shoulders, her hair a mess from sleep.

“What’re you even doin’ awake?” Joel asked, though there wasn’t an ounce of bite to it.

Ellie plopped down uninvited on Joel’s other side, tugging the edge of his blanket over her legs like it was her birthright. “You think I can sleep with you two sneakin’ off like some teen drama? Had to come see what all the starry-eyed nonsense was about.”

You snorted. “We weren’t sneaking.”

“Sure you weren’t,” she smirked. “And you definitely didn’t steal my thermos either.”

Joel grunted. “It’s mine.”

“ Was yours,” Ellie shot back, but she was already leaning comfortably into his side.

Joel let out a long-suffering sigh, but his arm instinctively settled around her shoulders, pulling her in, and you felt something warm and content settle in your chest at the sight of them — this patchwork family you’d somehow fallen into.

Ellie tipped her head back, squinting up at the stars. “It’s nice out here,” she admitted, a little softer than before.

“Yeah,” Joel murmured, his thumb absently brushing your knuckles beneath the blanket. “Ain’t bad.”

The three of you sat like that, a messy tangle of quiet affection under the stars. No words needed, no labels spoken. Just a man, a girl, and you.

A small piece of peace in a world that didn’t offer much of it.