"I know this is a lot," I say quickly. "I know your history with promises and commitments and I don't want to freak you out but at the same time, I can feel you pulling away again and I don't want to lose you."
She pulls back slightly, clutching the sheet to her chest.
"Blair, I don't know if I can..." She hesitates, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. "I don't know if I'm relationship material."
"That's not true," I say firmly, sitting up to face her. "Liv, look at how you take care of everyone around you—your clients, your family, even me when I was just some stranger you'd hired. You have an incredible capacity for love and loyalty."
Liv shakes her head, looking away. "You don't understand. I think you're amazing, but relationships require promises, commitments, faith in the future. And the last time I put that kind of trust in someone, she destroyed it." I can see the war playing out across her features—the part of her that wants to believe in us fighting against years of self-protection.
"What if we don't make any promises?" I ask.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean exactly that. What if we just take this day by day?" I reach for her hand, relieved when she doesn't pull away. "You don't need to make me any promises, Liv. I know they’re loaded for you. They've let you down in the past, made you feel trappedand vulnerable. But give me a chance to show you over time that my promises are worth something, okay?"
"What would that look like?" she asks quietly.
"It looks like whatever feels right for us in the moment," I explain. "Some days we spend together, some days we don't. Sometimes you stay over, sometimes you need space. We figure it out as we go, without rules or timelines or expectations."
I pause, then add with a slight smile, "Though I reserve the right to orchestrate romantic dinners when I miss you."
That draws a small laugh from her, and some of the tension in the room eases.
I lean over and open my nightstand drawer, pulling out Danny's notebook. "There's something I want to show you."
Liv takes it, frowning at the cover. "Apology and Romance Research?"
"Danny made it for me. Tips to get you back." I chuckle. "He spent his entire recovery compiling advice from every romantic movie he and my mom have ever watched together."
Liv opens it and starts flipping through the pages. Her lips twitch at the grand gestures chart, and she lets out a small laugh at the airport chase section with Danny's note about security and 9/11.
I watch her throat work as she swallows.
"You told your family about me?" she asks quietly.
"Of course I did."
She keeps flipping through the pages, slower now, taking in all the effort and care Danny poured into it. A tear slips down her cheek and she wipes it away quickly.
"I'm sorry I pushed you away," she says. "I shouldn't have—I was so scared that I?—"
"Hey." I reach over and cup her face, tilting it toward me. "You never have to apologize to me. Look, I have to leave for North Carolina soon," I continue. "Danny and I will probably begone about a week—the drive there, the museum, some stops on the way, maybe catch some baseball games. But when I get back, I really hope you want to see me again."
She's quiet for a long moment, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them. When she looks back up at me, she nods.
"Okay," she whispers. "Let's try it."
"Really?"
"If you promise to give me time. Lots of time." Liv leans in to kiss me. It's a soft and tender kiss. A kiss with a hint of a promise, of hope. "I think it's worth a shot." She hesitates. "Blair?"
"What?"
Her gorgeous dark eyes meet mine. "Can I come with you?"
The question catches me completely off guard. "To Wisconsin?"
"Yeah," she says. "I could try to delegate a bit more at work, shuffle some things around. I mean, if Danny wouldn't mind the company. Besides," she adds in a teasing tone, "someone needs to make sure you don't let him survive on gas station hot dogs alone."
