My eyes sting with tears as a crack forms in my chest. I try to swallow the tears as the floor feels like it’s being ripped out from under me. “Y-Yeah.”
“I agree. I’ve had a wonderful time with you, Natalie.” He exhales, the sound heavy and dark. “But it’s starting to feel like there might be something more between us, and we’d be lying to ourselves if we thought it could last.”
I feel my lips tremble, so I look away, training my gaze on the coffee table.
Be strong. Be strong. Be strong. Don’t crumble.
“Why would that be a lie? I don’t understand.”
He looks at me like the answer should be obvious. Like I’m an idiot for not seeing it. “This isn’t your house, Natalie.” His expression tightens. “What’s your plan? To convince Lindsay to let you live here? Then what? You pay for everything with your meager wages while I do nothing, taking up space on a property that I can never leave?”
He says it like it’s all so clear. So simple. That this was always meant to end for the aforementioned reasons.
Would’ve been nice of him to let me know.
“I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
I spot his hand hovering above my shoulder, but it never lands. He pulls it back, as if touching me would burn him. A million miles between this and how he was not even twelve hours ago.
Where the fuck did this come from?
“I won’t be selfish with you, Natalie. You m–” his voice wobbles. He bites the inside of his cheek, and after what feels like too many seconds pass, he continues. “You mean too much to me to keep you here. Your future is brighter than this house. This town.”
My voice is shaky and quiet. “I like this town.” I wanted to settle down here. This town feels like home to me, or at the very least, a place that could feel like home someday in the near future.
“You have goals. Professional and personal that I can’t help you reach,” he explains. I have no idea what he’s talking about. “In fact, being with me would prevent you from reaching those goals. Fuck, Natalie”––he lets out a choked laugh––“I’m not even alive.”
My hands are clammy, and I can no longer sit still. I get to my feet and stand in front of him. “I don’t care about that!” I shout. “I want to stay here, in Mapletown. The job I have is the one I want.” What personal goals is he referring to? I don’t even remember discussing any personal goals with him. Other than being able to grieve the death of my mom in a healthy way. “Eventually, I wanted to adopt a dog, or a cat, but that was off in the distance, and it was just an idea…”
He gives me an odd look that I can’t decipher.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
He scrubs a hand down his face. “Regardless of what your goals are, we’re on the verge of something more than sex. I feel it, and I think you feel it too.”
I reach for his hands, but he pulls them away, his gaze turns cold and distant. “I do. I do feel it.” My voice is pleading.
“You deserve a man who can take care of you. Who can contribute more to your household than just cooking your meals. Putting the financial strain on your shoulders isn’t fair, and I won’t do that.”
I think about all the married couples who work so much they barely see each other. Or the exhausted parents whose focus is entirely on their children and barely have enough energy to steal five minutes together without a kid’s wailing cry slicing through the moment. Or the couples whose love died years before, and they can’t hold a conversation anymore without being reminded of everything they’ve come to resent about the other.
Compared to them, what Winston and I have seems pretty goddamn magical. What we have is easy. It’s tender and comfortable. With him, I’ve become a version of myself that I actually like, and I haven’t felt that way in a long time.
“I won’t get in the way of you finding the man who truly deserves you. A man who has a job. Who isn’t anchored to a pile of wood and nails. Who has a fucking heartbeat, Natalie.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, unable to stop the tears from falling. “You’re pushing me away. Why? Because you’re scared?” My sobs are loud and wet and shake my shoulders.
He says nothing. Just stares at me for a long time. His gaze is distant and guarded.
For a moment, I think he’s going to take it all back. The flicker of hope in my chest has me reaching for his hand, and this time, he lets me take it. “Please, Winston.” I swipe at my cheeks and eyes, trying to clear my vision so I can hold his gaze. “Did Lindsay say something to you? Because she doesn–”
“No.” His tone is firm, unyielding. “This has nothing to do with Lindsay.”
“I don’t want this to end. Why are you doing this?”
It looks like it shatters his insides to release my gaze, but he does, pulling his hand away. He rubs his temples, and I wait. Hoping he’ll come to his senses. Hoping he’ll remember what we’ve built, and how much we make sense.
“Natalie,” he says, finally. There’s an edge to his voice that I haven’t heard since the first night we met, when he spoke to me like I was a bug he intended to squash with his boot. “Don’t you realize what you’re doing?”
