Heavy.
Final.
The article.
Printed.
Real.
Alive.
I gather them like relics. Like something holy and damning all at once.
Dane is there. Of course he is.
Leaning against the doorframe like he belongs everywhere I’ve ever been afraid to stand. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders loose. Eyes not loose at all.
He doesn’t ask if I’m ready. He never does. He knows readiness is a myth people tell themselves to feel in control.
He crosses the space between us in two strides and cups the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my face up until my mouth is his.
It isn’t gentle.
It isn’t hurried.
It’s a kiss that saysgo, andcome back, andI will still be here.
My knees soften. My thighs clench. My breath stutters into his mouth and he swallows it like a promise. His forehead rests against mine after, our noses brushing, his thumbs pressing small anchors at my jaw.
“You don’t have to be brave,” he murmurs.
“I know,” I whisper. “But I am anyway.”
He lets me go.
That might be the bravest thing of all.
The café smells like coffee and sugar and rain that hasn’t quite arrived yet. Like wet pavement and possibility and endings that don’t ask permission.
I choose a window seat because I need the world in front of me. Movement. Proof of life continuing even when mine feels paused.
I order a caramel latte I barely taste. Blake’s long black sits untouched across from me, steam thinning, cooling into something bitter.
I watch the city instead of the door. Watch people laugh. Argue. Kiss. Walk dogs. Carry flowers. Live.
My eyes move around the café, and I see my reflection before I see Blake.
The café mirror is old, imperfect, warped at the edges like it’s tired of telling the truth. My face looks softer in it, blurred around the eyes. Like grief has finally loosened its grip enough to let me breathe.
Dane stands outside across the street, pretending to read something on his phone.
He isn’t.
He’s watching the reflection too. Watching me inside it.
Our eyes meet through glass and distance and years of waiting.
There’s no question in them.
