I swallowed. The words stacked up behind my teeth. It was all too much. I was too much. Too sensitive. Too fragile. Too complicated. Too likely to ruin a perfectly good night with my stupid, broken brain.
At the same time, I was not enough either. Not healed enough. Not charming enough. Not normal enough to deserve candlelight and filet mignon and a man who looked at me like I was something precious instead of something broken.
“I feel like…” My voice wobbled. I hated it. Hated feeling weak again. “Like I don’t fit here. Like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.”
Anthony’s eyes softened in understanding, not confused. Not disappointed. “You are someone who deserves a nice dinner,” he said. A statement of fact. “And someone who can change his mind.”
The waiter appeared, cheerful and efficient, rattling off specials. I nodded at the right time but didn’t process a thing. My stomach churned. Hunger tangled with anxiety until I couldn’t tell which one I was feeling.
I stared at the menu and suddenly couldn’t breathe. This is too much. My skin started to itch. “I don’t think I can do this,” I whispered.
Anthony didn’t argue. Didn’t even blink. Instead, he stood up and held his hand out to me like a lifeline. “Then we won’t.”
My breath stuttered. “You’re not mad?”
“Baby boy,” he murmured, voice steady, grounding. “I don’t want a night that looks good. I want a night that feels good to you. To us.”
Something inside me cracked open. Not the bad or the falling-apart kind. The kind where something tight finally let go.
Without another word, we walked back to his truck, hand in hand. The gravel crunched under our shoes, cicadas humming in the warm night air. Anthony held the door open for me and helped me in, one hand steady at my lower back like he was anchoring me to the moment.
The way he cared for me now—when I spiraled, and I needed gentleness instead of fixing—was a million miles away from the man who used to run when things got real.
I buckled my seatbelt and stared out the window, my heartbeat slowly settling. I must have zoned out, because I didn’t remember him shutting my door. Or getting into the driver’s side. Or even starting the ignition.
“What should we do instead?” he asked softly. “What sounds good to you, sweetheart?”
He pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently guiding my face toward his until our eyes locked.
“What do you say, baby?”
The unwavering understanding in his eyes burned the back of mine. I licked my dry lips. Breathed. Let myself feel instead of panic.
“How about bowling?” I said finally. “Something fun and light?”
An indulgent smile lit his face, deepening the lines around his eyes in a way that warmed me from the inside out. “That sounds like a great idea.”
There was no disappointment in him. No subtle shift into withdrawal that signaled he was going to run. He wasn’t angry that I’d derailed the date night he’d planned. It would’ve been perfect.
Just not today. Maybe one day in the future. But not today. And somehow… that was okay.
The bowling alley across town smelled like fryer oil, lemon cleaner, and childhood nostalgia. The lights were too bright. The music was too loud. The floor was faintly sticky. I loved it instantly.
We rented shoes. Mine were two sizes too big, his obnoxiously neon green, and I laughed so hard I had to brace myself against the counter when he nearly tripped tying the laces.
“You’re a hazard,” I informed him solemnly.
“You love me anyway.”
“Debatable.”
Anthony let me pick my ball first, like the gentleman he was. It was purple. Smooth and cool against my palms. He stood so close behind me that when I bent down to grab it and stood up again my ass brushed over his crotch, making him groan. And the last of the tension that had flooded my body faded away.
Ignoring him, I lined myself up, tongue between my teeth, and rolled it with all the seriousness of a professional athlete. It veered immediately into the gutter.
I groaned, my shoulders slumped as I trudged back to wait for my ball to come back down.
Anthony whooped like I’d just bowled a perfect game. “ICONIC,” he yelled. “You’re a natural!”
