Joel Miller³

You and Joel were… dating. Sort of. Joel Miller wasn’t one to talk about feelings. Closed-off. Hard to read. Harder to reach. But during his stay in Jackson with Ellie, you managed to break through—little by little.

You never used the word dating. Not because it didn’t fit, but because Joel was scared of what it meant. Scared of caring again. Still, he did. He cared deeply.

You both stayed in Jackson. Joel had slowed down some with age. Most of his time was spent in his woodworking shop or at your place. That’s where he let himself be close to you. In public, affection came through small things: the way he stood near you, the way his eyes found you in a room, always watching, always ready.

The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow across the town. You walked the quiet path to the shed out back of your house, the wooden fence creaking as you pushed through.

You opened the door. Inside, the air smelled like cedar and dust. Joel was there, hunched over his workbench, glasses perched low on his nose, carving something with focused care.

You knew he’d had a fight with Ellie earlier. He’d been more closed off than usual since.

You stepped inside, your boot pressing on a loose board. It creaked under the weight, drawing his attention. He paused, looking up. His eyes met yours—tired, but softening. Just a little.

“You finished with patrol?”
He set the knife and the half-carved piece down gently, his glasses still on.

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