The words land like ice in my stomach, but I nod. "Okay. I understand."
"Do you?" Her voice is soft, almost sad. "Because this isn't just about one photo. It's about wondering if I'll ever be enough for someone like you."
"Someone like me," I repeat, the phrase cutting as deep the second time. "Elena, you're not just enough. You're everything. More than I ever thought I'd have."
She doesn't respond but gives me a sad smile.
I release her hand reluctantly. "I should go. Let you have time to think."
She nods, crossing her arms over her chest again. "Okay."
I walk to the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. I want to turn around, to pull her into my arms and make her believe me through sheer force of will. But I know that's not how trust works. It has to be given freely, not taken.
"For what it's worth," I say at the door, "I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. Never even came close."
Her lips curve in the smallest of smiles, sad but real. "I'll call you tomorrow," she says.
It's not much, but it's something. A thread of hope I can cling to as I walk out her door and into the empty hallway.
I didn't do anything wrong this time. I know that. But as I drive home through Chicago's evening traffic, the knowledge is cold comfort. Because in the end, it doesn't matter if the photo was a lie. What matters is whether Elena can believe in me despite all the reasons my past gives her not to.
Whether she can trust that this time, with her, everything is different.
Chapter 24
Elena
Reese waves at me from our usual corner booth at Pequod's. Her curls are piled on top of her head in that effortlessly chic way I've never been able to master, and her smile is wide but her eyes are searching. She knows something's up. I slide into the booth, dropping my purse beside me, and she doesn't even pretend to make small talk before leaning forward.
"Spill it," she demands. "Your text was super cryptic."
"Let’s order first. I’m starving," I pick up the menu and take a quick look even though I almost always order the same thing here.
"Fine." She sits back, drumming her hot pink nails on the table. "Let’s definitely get the garlic knots."
The server appears, and we place our usual order—a medium pizza, half mushroom for me, half pepperoni for her, and a basket of garlic knots to share. After he walks away, Reese raises an eyebrow.
"Alright, girl. Tell me what’s up."
I take a deep breath. "So there was this photo that showed up in my feed yesterday of Nate and this blonde."
Her eyes narrow. "What are you talking about?"
"I thought he was cheating on me." I fiddle with a ring on my finger. "I completely ghosted him all day yesterday. I was so pissed off and..."
"And?"
"Scared." I look up at her. "Scared that everyone was right about him all along."
Reese reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "What happened?"
"He showed up at my apartment last night. Said the photo was old—at least a year old. That the press recycled it with a new date to generate clicks." I shake my head. "He seemed so sincere, Reese. And it makes sense—why would he be texting me all day, making plans for the evening, if he had been with someone else the night before?"
"So you believe him?"
I bite my lip. "I want to. But there's this voice in my head—which sounds suspiciously like my father—saying I'm being naive."
The server returns with our drinks, and I take a gulp of water, trying to organize my thoughts.
