I take a slow breath.
“Jodi—”
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she blurts out. “First thing. I need to get home.”
A beat passes. Then two.
“I’ll never see you again,” she whispers.
The words gut me.
“Why?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. “Because long distance is too hard?”
“It never works out.” Her eyes flick away. “People go their separate ways. They lose touch. Feelings fade. It doesn’t make sense to start anything new.”
My jaw clenches.
So that’s what this is.
Fear.
The doubt has settled so deep she’s trying to cut us apart before we even begin.
“You really believe that?” I ask quietly.
She flinches. Not dramatically, just a tiny tightening of her shoulders.
“I’m being realistic.”
“No.” My voice is low, steady. “You’re running.”
Her breath shudders. She doesn’t deny it.
I step forward, but I don’t touch her. If I do, if I put my hands on her waist or tilt her chin up, I’ll kiss her again, and she’ll melt, and we’ll be right back where we started.
She needs to choose me without the heat of us fogging her thoughts.
“Look at me,” I say.
She does with blue eyes that shimmer with fear, longing, and regret all tangled together.
“I don’t do flings, Jodi.”
The words land heavy between us.
Her lips tremble.
I should leave. I should let her go. Give her space to think.
But I don’t move.
Holding her gaze, letting her see all the things I’m not saying.
I want you. I’m serious about you. Don’t throw this away because you’re scared.
A moment later, she steps back and closes the door softly. The hallway feels colder than the snow outside. I’ve taken rejection before. I know how to swallow it and keep moving. What I don’t know how to do is pretend this didn’t matter.
I let myself believe, just for a second, that this could be different. That maybe I wouldn’t have to keep drifting to find my purpose. My sense of belonging. Standing here in the cold hallway, I realize that wanting her isn’t the dangerous part. Letting myself hope she might want me back is.
