He’s been there for me every single day. Every hour, if I needed him. So much more than my parents ever were. So much more than my father ever was.
And somewhere in all that time, things shifted. At first, it was just friendship. Just this cranky, grumpy bear of a guy who somehow cared enough to keep me alive when I didn’t care myself. But then there were the late nights at the bakery, the way he’d hand me a cookie like it was medicine, the way he’d let me pick the music and never complained. There were the drives where he pretended to hate my playlists but hummed under hisbreath anyway. The way he always knew when to push me and when to back off.
It crept up on me without warning, the way I started looking forward to his texts, the way I noticed how his eyes soften when he looks at me even while his mouth is busy mocking me.
I care about him. I care about him so much it scares me.
And I never really thought about what that meant until now.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asks suddenly, without looking up from kneading the dough.
“I’m not,” I say too quickly, and he snorts, clearly not buying it.
I focus on the little potted flowers lined up on the bakery windowsill, the ones I brought here because Maggie said my room was starting to look like a greenhouse. They’re still alive only because Steven waters them whenever I forget. He grumbles about it, but he never lets them wilt.
And something about that—the quiet, steady way he takes care of things I love—makes my chest tighten.
We finish the batch of cookies, and while they bake, we sit on the counter, shoulders almost touching, sharing spoonfuls of leftover batter even though he keeps saying we’ll get salmonella. I laugh so hard I almost drop the spoon, and his lips twitch like he’s fighting not to laugh with me.
And for one dizzy second, when I turn to look at him, the world tilts. His eyes lock on mine, darker than usual, softer too, and I swear he’s leaning closer. My pulse spikes, my breath catches, and the space between us shrinks—
No. I can’t.
I pull back, sliding off the counter like my feet are on fire. “The cookies,” I blurt, fumbling for an excuse. “They’ll burn.”
He stares at me for a beat too long, then clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s covering something up. “Right. The cookies.”
The oven dings right on cue, and I rush to open it, grateful for the excuse, even though the heat blasting out only makes my cheeks burn hotter.
Because something’s changing between us. I can feel it, buzzing under my skin, slipping into every laugh, every shared glance, every small touch.
And yet, there’s still this voice knocking at the door of my heart, begging me to stop. To wait. To not move on. Like no matter how much Steven means to me—how much he’s done for me—my heart refuses to close the door to what I feel for Vincent. It’s stubborn, relentless. Every laugh with Steven, every late-night talk, every time he shows up when I need him most, the voice is still there, whispering that I can’t love someone else, not fully. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It’s like my chest is split in two: gratitude and warmth for Steven on one side, a tether I can’t cut with Vincent on the other. And I don’t know which side will win.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Vincent Cooper
PAST (2021)
“Sometimes you’ll want to give up the guitar.
You’ll hate the guitar. But if you stick with it,
you’re gonna be rewarded.”
Jimi Hendrix
They got together. Last night. He won.
I’ve been scrolling through Nova’s Instagram for over an hour. It’s full of photos and videos Steven took of her. At the park, at the supermarket, at the movies, in her new apartment with a roommate named Maggie—a strong-willed dancer, from what Steven says.
Nova finished her first year at college and became friends with the son of a record producer. She moved on. Finally.
Me? I can’t stop watching the photos and videos of her in my gallery. I can’t stop smiling whenever she posts a new story or fills my feed with endless pictures.
It’s all I have left of her, besides that little sticker-covered ukulele she gave me when we were kids. I can’t stop staring at it.I can’t stop watching her life from afar, hoping Steven makes her happy. Hoping I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life by putting our friendship above my love for her.
She stopped calling. The last time she tried to reach me was two weeks ago, with a text I never even opened.
