“Normal is overrated, babe. Progress isn’t a straight line — it’s two steps forward, one step back, then three steps forward, then maybe one step sideways.” She squeezes my hand. “The fact that you’re having strong days at all is progress. The fact that you can recognize when you’re having a hard day and not spiral completely? That’s progress too.”
Tears spill down my cheeks. “I just want to be better. For myself. For him.”
“You are better. You left Preston. You built a business. You’re landing major clients. You’re dating a super hot romance book cover model who thousands of women can only dream of.” Nico’s voice is fierce. “The fact that you still have hard days doesn’t erase any of that. It just means you’re human.”
“He deserves someone who isn’t so broken.”
“First of all, you’re not broken. You’re healing. There’s a difference.” Nico’s eyes flash. “Second, Wyatt doesn’t want some perfect, undamaged fantasy woman. He wants you. All of you — the strong days and the scared days and everything in between.”
I nod, wiping my eyes. “I know. Logically, I know that.”
“But knowing something and feeling it are different,” Nico finishes. “I get it. That’s part of the healing, too.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, and I feel something shift inside me. Not fixed — I’m beginning to accept I might never feel completely “fixed.” But lighter. More forgiving of myself.
“Thank you,” I say finally. “For reminding me that I’m allowed to be messy.”
“Always.” She grins. “Now, tell me more about this networking event tomorrow night. Are you nervous?”
“Terrified,” I admit. “It’s exactly the kind of event I used to dread before. All those people, all that pressure to perform…”
“Except this time you’re not arm candy,” Nico points out. “You’re Snow Holloway, consultant. You’re going to walk in there and be brilliant.”
I smile, feeling that flicker of confidence again. “Wyatt offered to come with me.”
“Of course he did. Are you going to let him?”
I think about that. A few weeks ago, I would have said no, would have insisted on doing it alone to prove I didn’t need anyone. But I’m learning that accepting support isn’t a weakness.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think I will.”
The next evening, Wyatt and I arrive at the networking event together. Within minutes, I’m deep in conversation with a potential client, and when I look up, I notice Wyatt has stepped away. He’s across the room, talking to someone and gesturing in my direction.
By the end of the evening, I had three new clients and a dozen promising leads — most of them thanks to Wyatt quietly networking on my behalf.
As we walk to his truck, I’m buzzing with excitement. “That was incredible. I can’t believe how many connections you made for me.”
“You made those connections,” he says firmly, opening my door. “I just pointed people in the right direction. The rest was all you — your expertise, your passion.”
In the truck, I study his profile in the dim light from the dashboard. “Why did you do that? Why spend your entire evening networking for my business instead of enjoying yourself?”
He glances at me, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Your success makes me happy. Watching you light up when you talk about your work is better than any entertainment. I believe in what you’re doing, and I want to help you succeed.”
“But what do you get out of it?”
“I get to support the woman I love so damn much.” He says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that for a moment I can’t breathe.
The word “love” hangs in the air between us. Part of me wants to say it back, to let myself trust this feeling completely. But the other part — the part that remembers Preston’s declarations of love that meant nothing — holds back.
Wyatt seems to sense my hesitation. “I know,” he says quietly. “You’re not ready to say it again yet. That’s okay. I can wait.”
Back at his loft, as we get ready for bed, I watch him move around his space. He hangs up his suit jacket carefully, rolls up his sleeves to wash his face, and offers me one of his t-shirts to sleep in. Every gesture is thoughtful, considerate, and genuine.
“Thank you,” I say as we settle into bed, his arm automatically coming around me. “For believing in me.”
“Always,” he murmurs against my hair.
As I drift off to sleep against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, I allow myself to imagine what it might be like to trust him completely. To believe that this kindness, this support, this love he claims to feel is real and lasting.
