Her arms cross as she sits back in her chair, her eyes unreadable. “Hi.”
“Can I sit?”
She hesitates, her eyes softening just enough. She gives a slight nod, like it’s an agreement we didn’t need to put into words.
Without a word, I sit down, and I’m closer to her than I’ve been in weeks. My entire body leans forward, pulled to her like gravity, but I force myself to hold back. To show her I’m not just rushing in, that I can be patient, let her come to me at her own pace.
I try to lighten the moment, breaking the ice. “That hoodie looks like it’s about to swallow you whole.”
Her lips twitch, the slightest smile. But her walls are high up. “What do you want, Jared?”
You.
It’s always you.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I lean in, letting my voice carry everything I’m feeling.
“To apologize,” I say. “For everything.”
She leans back, skeptical, but her loosened arms give away she’s more open than she’s been before. “That’s a lot to cover.”
“I know,” I say, holding her gaze. “I screwed up. I thought I wasn’t enough for you. I let my insecurities run the show.”
The mood changes when she rolls her shoulders back lightly. I feel that flash of something real turning the gears now that she’s not looking angry as hell.
But then, like a shield snapping back into place, she pulls away.
“It’s not that simple,” she says, her eyes narrowing again. “You can’t just… come back from that.”
I feel my pulse skip.
“It can be…” I search for her eyes, forcing her to lock hers with mine. “If we don’t give up.”
Alli lowers her gaze to her coffee cup, taking a slow sip. When her eyes find mine again, I see it—quiet but certain. She wants this too, even if it’s only for a minute.
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, her fingers tightening around the edge of the cup. I choose silence, watching her think, the words swirling in her mind just out of reach.
“I’m not saying I want things to be over,” she finally says cautiously. “But I don’t know how to trust what you’re saying right now. What’s different this time, Jared?”
I take a slow breath before answering.
“What’s different is that I’ve had a lot of time to figure out what I want,” I say, forcing my voice to stay calm when everything wants to crash and burn. “And it’s you, Alli. It’s been you. Even when I was too caught up in my own shit to admit it.”
Her gaze swings to mine, sharp, like she’s trying to find a crack in my words. “And what happens the next time things get hard? Or when you decide—”
“I won’t,” I cut in gently. “Not again. I didn’t walk away because I didn’t care. I walked away because I cared too much. I panicked, and it’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”
Her lips part, like she wants to argue, but nothing comes out. For the first time, she looks less guarded, but not fully open either. Somewhere in the middle.
“I’m not asking for everything to be fixed right now,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “I just need a chance to show you I’m serious. No big promises. Just a step.”
Her shoulders ease, and I wonder if she might believe me.
“One step,” she says quietly. “That’s it. But don’t expect me to forget everything overnight.”
A faint laugh escapes me, light, breathless relief. “One step is more than I thought I’d get.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t fight the sheepish smile pulling at her lips. We’re nowhere near okay yet, but this feels real. A beginning.
