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The hot and cold, the extremes, the lack of gray? It’s because not one day has gone by without me thinking of you and I’m still trying to protect you from me
After Davis, you need time to heal
Not someone else fucking with your heart
I’m fighting myself every step of the way here
I just want to be with you, but my timing, as usual, sucks
My tears flow in earnest now. I close my eyes and lift my face to the sky, awash in memories of what we had, how he looked in the hospital, his firm hand on my back the day he rescued me from Davis. I’ve been so angry with him. So hurt. So confused by his choices and he’s right. The timing is wrong. Garrett said it, too-broken plus too-soon isn’t the best setup for happily-ever-after.
But Mom is right too, our biggest challenges become our greatest blessings.
With my heart thumping, I respond.
What if I don’t want you to fight yourself?
Come again?
What if the timing doesn’t suck?
Asking more questions won’t help me understand your first one
What if the timing is perfect? What if we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be? What if everything we’ve gone through has brought us to this moment?
Then I’d say have dinner with me tomorrow night
My place
I’ll cook
After we make plans for tomorrow, I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling, my heart thudding in anticipation. Whatever happens next, one thing is clear: I’m done pretending there’s nothing left between us.
TWENTY-NINE
Charlie
Watching Nick in the kitchen is more tantalizing than I expected. The man is pure art, a sculpture in motion—broad shoulders filling out his shirt, strong forearms flexing as he flips steaks in a pan. His new shaggy hair frames his chiseled features, softening the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jawline. And for the first time in a long while, he seems…lighter.Unburdened, if only for the moment.
The smell of sizzling butter, rosemary, and garlic fills the space, mixing with the faintest hint of his cologne. I swirl my wine glass, trying not to openly gawk at the way his shirt pulls across his back and shoulders as he moves.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Nick says, turning from the stove, spatula in hand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve cooked for anyone.”
“Yeah?” I lift an eyebrow, glancing at the candles flickering softly on the counter and the bottle of wine he opened earlier. “You don’t look rusty. You look like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
He grins, sending the disarray of his hair into something even more swoon-worthy. “I’ll let you in on a secret: this is the first time I’ve cooked for anyone. Ever.”
I gape at him. “Ever?”
“Ever,” he says, shrugging like it’s nothing. “First time for everything, right?”
“Well, I’m honored to be the test subject,” I tease, smiling as I lean into the counter.
His expression shifts, softens. The humor fades just enough for something else to flicker there—something deeper. “No, Charlie. The honor is mine.”
I duck my head, warmth blooming across my cheeks, pretending to examine my wine glass.
“Wow,” Nick mutters, threading a hand through his hair. “That was cheesy. Let’s forget I said that.”
