Instead, I nodded toward the kitchen. “You hungry?”
Her brows lifted slightly. “Is this a peace offering?”
“It’s a grilled cheese offering. Don’t read too much into it.”
She let out a tiny huff of laughter. “Okay. I could eat.”
We moved around the kitchen like we hadn’t spent so much time apart. Scarlett sliced tomatoes from my fridge while I buttered slices of sourdough and set a pan on the stove.
“You used to hate tomatoes,” I said as I layered the cheese.
“I still do.” She passed them over anyway. “But you don’t, and I figured you’d forget to eat something fresh.”
“Thoughtful.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” she echoed, arching a brow.
The corners of my mouth lifted, the first real smile I’d felt in months. Maybe years.
We ate on the couch. Two sandwiches, two mugs of coffee, and enough silence to drown in. But it didn’t feel uncomfortable, just heavy. The kind of silence that comes after a storm has passed, but you’re still not sure if another one’s following right behind.
After, she wiped her hands on a napkin and turned to me. “Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Us. Everything.”
My answer was immediate. “Every single day.”
Scarlett didn’t flinch and didn’t smile. Just studied me like she didn’t know what to do with that truth. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now,” she said.
“Neither do I.”
“I hate you for what you did.”
“I hate me too.”
“But I also… still feel things I wish I didn’t.”
My breath hitched. “You’re not the only one.”
She looked down at her lap. “If we do this, it’s going to hurt.”
“We’re already hurting,” I said. “At least I am, and it seems like you are too.”
Her gaze lifted to meet mine. “So what, we jump straight into more pain?”
“No,” I said. “We fight for what we didn’t get a chance to finish.”
She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me with something fragile in her eyes. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said finally.
“I won’t,” I whispered. “Not this time.”
The wind howled outside, but inside, something fragile settled between us. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But something close enough to hope that I didn’t dare move.
Then she got up and walked back toward the fire, her arms crossed tight again. “You know what the worst part was?”
I stood too, my stomach dropping. “What?”
