Cracks in the Sky
It became routine.
Mornings behind the counter at the diner… pouring coffee, dodging flirtation from old farmers with kind eyes and names like Red and Buck, wiping down menus as the jukebox played George Strait on loop.
Afternoons at the ranch… sweeping out hay, learning how to muck stalls without gagging, laughing when the goats got out again and Dustin had to chase them with a broom.
In between, silence. Not the kind she was used to, sharp and empty, but the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.
Sometimes Dustin would hand her a sandwich without saying a word. Other times he’d just gesture toward the barn’s shadowy back corner, where the breeze felt cooler, and they’d sit, side by side, saying nothing at all.
He never asked questions she didn’t want to answer.
Never touched her unless she initiated something first.
He was just… there. A steady presence. Like a porch light left on, just in case.
One evening, after the chores were done and the sky had turned the color of ripe peaches, Dustin appeared on the porch of the old ranch house with two bottles of root beer.
Jordyn sat on the top step, arms wrapped around her knees. Her hair was in a messy braid, her face smudged with dirt and sun, but she felt… still. Like for once, the world wasn’t spinning out from under her.
“Figured you earned this,” he said, holding out the bottle.
She took it. Their fingers brushed. She didn’t pull away.
They drank in silence for a while, watching the light stretch long across the fields.
“You always this patient with people?” she asked eventually.
He glanced over. “Only when they’re worth waiting for.”
Her chest clenched, but she looked away, the bottle cool in her hands.
“I’m not good at… this,” she said. “People. Letting them in.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I don’t need you to be.”
“You ever get tired of waiting?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dustin took a slow sip of his root beer, then set the bottle down on the step between them.
“I used to think life was about charging forward. Orders. Deadlines. Missions. But out here…” He nodded toward the fields, the sky. “I’ve learned things grow better when you give them time.”
She turned to look at him.
His buzzed blond hair, flattened slightly from his ballcap. The curve of his jaw, the scar near his left eye. The worn tattoos that traced the entirety of both his arms, ink faded by sun and time.
She eyed the tattoos, idly wondering if there were plenty more she couldn’t see.
She didn’t know what they all meant. Not yet.
But she wanted to.
And that thought scared her more than anything.
The silence stretched again, not awkward, just full.
Dustin leaned back on his elbows and looked up at the sky.
“Sometimes out here,” he said, “the sky cracks open just enough to let a little peace through. You just have to be still long enough to notice it.”
Jordyn didn’t respond. But she sat beside him until the sun was gone and the first star blinked into view.
And for the first time in years, she didn’t want to run.
Not yet.
-----
By the time Jordyn pulled into town, the sky was ink-black, and the neon “Open” sign outside the Willow Creek Diner buzzed faintly against the quiet night.
She parked out back and took the side stairs up to her apartment. The wooden steps creaked beneath her boots, and a thin breeze tugged at her braid. The air smelled like warm pavement and cinnamon, the leftover echo of the day’s final batch of rolls.
At the top of the stairs, a figure sat in a rocking chair just outside the door to the diner’s private entrance. A mug in her hand, braid down her back, Maisie looked like she’d been waiting.
Or maybe just… resting.
“Long day?” she asked, her voice low and casual.
Jordyn hesitated. “Something like that.”
Maisie took a sip from her mug, watching the girl with eyes that missed nothing.
“He’s good, that one,” she said finally. “The army boy.”
Jordyn tensed, one hand still on the doorknob. “I’m not… We’re not…”
Maisie held up a hand, silencing her gently. “Didn’t say you were anything. Just said he’s good. I’ve seen his kind before. Men who love quiet and loyalty more than flash and fire.”
Jordyn looked down, unsure what to say.
Maisie rocked once. Twice. Then: “You’ve got that look, you know.”
“What look?”
Maisie smiled faintly. “Like you’re standing in the doorway of something that scares the hell out of you… but you’re thinking about stepping through anyway.”
Jordyn swallowed hard. “I don’t know how.”
Maisie nodded. “That’s alright, darlin’. You don’t have to know. You just have to want to.”
The silence between them settled like an old quilt, worn but comforting.
Jordyn looked out over the dark street. A single porch light blinked on across the way.
“Did you ever love someone like that?” she asked.
Maisie’s gaze drifted skyward. “Once. Long time ago. A man like Dustin. Honest. Steady. Waited too long to tell him I loved him.” She paused. “He still knew.”
They sat there another minute before Maisie stood and sighed.
“Don’t let fear steal your peace, sweetheart,” she said softly. “There’s been enough stolen from you already.”
Then she disappeared through the door, leaving Jordyn alone with the stars and the rising ache of something unfamiliar in her chest.
Maybe, just maybe… she was beginning to want more.