Things That Don't Break

Jordyn stood at the barn door, watching rain bead on the rusted hinges. The clouds had rolled in fast… sudden, soaking, and loud. Thunder cracked somewhere near the ridge, but the horses were calm, sheltered and dry. Safer than she felt.

Dustin was in the loft above, hauling bales of hay into a cleaner stack. She heard the soft thud of straw and the occasional creak of old wood under his boots.

“You ever rest?” she called up, arms folded against the chill.

His face appeared over the railing, grinning. “I rest when the barn stops leaking.”

She smirked despite herself. “You ever fix anything without making it a metaphor?”

He laughed and climbed down the ladder, pausing to meet her eyes.

“I guess I like broken things,” he said simply.

She tensed. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I’m one of them. Like I need fixing.”

His expression sobered. “That’s not what I meant.”

Silence fell. The sound of rain softened.

She turned away, unsure what made her want to run more, his words or how badly she wanted to believe them.

Dustin approached slowly. Not touching. Just present.

“I don’t think you’re broken, Jordyn. I think you’ve been hurt. That’s not the same thing.”

She didn’t reply. Her throat was tight again. Words too close to the surface.

He continued, “You’re strong. Smart. Quick to protect people. You work harder than anyone I’ve met. But sometimes it feels like you’re building escape routes in your head while I’m standing right next to you.”

Her breath hitched.

“I don’t blame you for it,” he added gently. “You’ve had to run before. I get that. I just… hope you won’t run from me.”

Something in her chest twisted. Anger flared, not at him, but at herself. For wanting him. For wishing, God, hoping that he was real.

“That’s the problem, Dustin,” she said, barely louder than the rain. “You’re exactly the kind of person I could fall for. And that scares the hell out of me.”

He looked at her then… like she was the only person in the world. Not smiling. Just seeing her.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” he said. “But I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

She turned away, blinking fast.

Later, when the rain had stopped and the last of the tools were packed away, Jordyn paused beside the truck.

“Thanks… for today,” she said.

He nodded. “Anytime.”

She got in the car, started the engine… but didn’t leave.

Not yet.

She just sat there, staring out the windshield, trying to decide which voice in her head to trust.

-----

The diner was quiet in the late afternoon lull, just the hum of the fan and the clink of silverware in the sink. Jordyn wiped down the counter with slow, methodical strokes, her mind far from the diner.

Maisie Carter stood at the pie case, hands on her hips, eyeing the near-empty shelf.

“We’re out of lemon again,” she muttered. “That man eats like I’m tryin’ to fatten him up for slaughter.”

Jordyn glanced up. “Dustin?”

“Who else?” Maisie said, turning with a fond roll of her eyes. “Boy’s got a heart too big for his own good. And an appetite to match it.”

Jordyn smiled softly, then looked away. Maisie didn’t miss the flicker.

“You two fight or flirt?” Maisie asked, drying her hands on a faded dish towel.

“Neither,” Jordyn said too quickly.

Maisie pulled up a stool behind the counter and sat with a little sigh. “You know, you remind me of myself when I first came to Willow Creek.”

Jordyn raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm. Angry. Tired. Mean enough to keep anyone from gettin’ too close. Except this fool of a man who decided I was worth the trouble.”

Maisie leaned her elbows on the counter. “I used to think love was a weakness. That letting someone in was just inviting another scar. But it’s not weakness, honey. It’s courage. The kind that shows up in the quiet moments. Like when someone sees you flinch and doesn’t turn away.”

Jordyn’s hands stilled on the rag.

Maisie’s voice softened. “Dustin’s the kind that stays. He’s not perfect, but he’s honest. And patient. And Lord knows he looks at you like you hung the moon.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” Jordyn admitted quietly.

Maisie nodded. “Course you don’t. Nobody does at first. Love isn’t something you’re born knowing, it’s something you learn. One choice at a time.”

She reached over, placed a wrinkled hand gently on Jordyn’s.

“You’ve survived things no one should’ve had to. But you don’t have to survive love, Jordyn. You just have to let it reach you.”

Tears welled up before Jordyn could stop them, and she looked away fast.

Maisie didn’t call attention to it. Just stood, walked around the counter, and pulled Jordyn into a soft, warm hug that smelled like cinnamon and flour and safety.

For the first time in her life, Jordyn let herself cry in someone’s arms.

And that night, when she got home, she unfolded Dustin's note again, smoothing out the creases.

If you ever want to see the stars without all these neon lights in the way,

I know a place. —D

This time, she smiled.

-----

The next night the world seemed to hold its breath.

Dustin had driven Jordyn out to the back pasture to check on a broken gate. It turned out to be nothing, just a loose chain, but they didn’t rush to leave.

Now, they sat in the bed of his truck, parked at the edge of the field, the sky stretched wide and clear above them. The Milky Way was visible, painted across the heavens like a promise.

Jordyn lay on her back, boots crossed at the ankles, Dustin beside her with one arm tucked behind his head. Their fingers weren’t touching… but they were close. Closer than they’d ever been.

“This the place?” she asked quietly. “From the note?”

He smiled. “Yeah. My mom used to bring me out here when the world felt too loud. Said the stars reminded her how small her problems were.”

Jordyn turned her head. “She sounds like someone I would’ve liked.”

“She would’ve liked you too.”

The words hung in the air, soft and reverent.

Jordyn rolled to her side, propping herself up on one elbow. Her eyes were dark in the moonlight, but open and unguarded in a way they hadn’t been before.

“I’m scared,” she admitted.

“I know,” Dustin said. “Me too.”

And somehow, that was enough.

She leaned in… hesitant at first, as if expecting something to snap or shatter. But nothing did. Just his breath on hers. Just the quiet stillness before a kiss.

Then she closed the distance.

It wasn’t fireworks or heat or desperate hands… it was slow, careful, and so gentle it nearly undid her. His hand found her waist, steady and sure, and she let herself fall into it like she’d been waiting her whole life.

When they finally parted, her forehead rested against his.

“I didn’t think I could want this,” she whispered. “But I do.”

He smiled, eyes still closed. “Then don’t run.”

“I won’t.”