My fingers find her chin, tilting her face back toward me until our eyes meet again — until she's caught there, right where I need her.
"There's only ever been one girl I wanted," I tell her, my voice low, certain. "You. It's always been you. Every night I laid awake these last three years thinking about you. Missing you. Aching for you."
Her lips press together, the faintest line forming between her brows.
Like she's not sure she can let herself believe me yet, even if part of her wants to.
And damn it, that look makes my chest twist, because I hate that I put it there — that doubt, that hesitation — and I want nothing more than to tear it out of her head and burn it to the ground.
"I know you don't trust me right now," I add softly. "I get it. That's on me. I broke what we had. But I swear to you, I'll spend every second I have left trying to earn it back."
"I don't know if you can, Zach."
The words cut, but I see it — the flicker in her eyes that says she's lying. She wants to. God, she wants to. But she's scared.
Her throat bobs, her lashes fluttering like she's fighting not to break right there.
Goosebumps prickle across her skin — I catch them even in the low light — and then she exhales sharply, slipping past me toward the other side of the room like my nearness just scalded her.
Good.
God, that's good.
Because it means I still get to her. Still get under her skin, no matter how hard she tries to pretend otherwise.
"I know I hurt you," I say quietly, my voice rough. "I know I'm probably the last person you'd want to trust again. And maybe this is wishful thinking—maybe even mindless dreaming—"
I take a breath, "—but if we loved again, I swear I'd love you right. I'd lay my armor down if it meant you'd give us another shot."
I step closer, close enough to feel her breath stutter.
"And I know the idea of loving me probably feels dangerous. Like trusting me again would just blow up in your face. Like letting me in means setting yourself up for another heartbreak."
She narrows her eyes at me, like something just clicked in that sharp brain of hers.
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the grin threatening to break loose — God, I probably look way too smug right now, but I can't help it.
"That with me, it'd be burning red. But it's not. This time, it's golden. Like daylight. And if you'd just let me..." My chest heaves. "I'll spend every day proving that to you."
Caroline just blinks at me, once, twice — and then her brow creases, her voice deadpans. "Are you seriously quoting Tay Tay right now?"
"Hell yeah, I am. You always said Taylor gets you better than anyone else—so I figured, if I'm gonna fight for my best girl, might as well let the queen do some of the talking. Who else could help me break through that Swiftie-coded firewall you built around your heart?"
Her arms cross over her chest, brow arched like she's seconds away from calling me out again.
"You really think quoting Tay Tay is gonna help you?"
Her tone's dry, but softer than before — and I catch it, that tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth she tries so hard to hide.
I grin, slow and shameless. Gotcha. "I mean... it's working, isn't it?"
I step closer, just enough to dip my head, dropping my voice like we're conspiring together.
"Don't fight it. I saw you smiling."
Her nose wrinkles, and she shakes her head, muttering, "I was not."
"Oh, yes, you were," I shoot back, leaning in just a fraction more.
