“Good. Definitely good.” She smiled and it felt like sunlight. “What else? What’s your greatest fear?”
The question caught me off guard. “Why that one?”
“Because everyone asks about dreams and ambitions. Nobody asks about fears.” She leaned forward slightly. “So what is it? What keeps you up at night?”
Losing you before I ever really had you.
“Disappointing people,” I said instead. “Letting down people who trusted me with something important.”
Her expression softened. “That’s not a small fear.”
“No. It’s not.”
“What about greatest hope?”
“That I can fix the things I’ve broken before they break someone else.”
She reached across the table and touched my hand. Brief, barely a second, but it sent electricity straight through me.
“I think you’re doing better than you give yourself credit for,” she said.
I wanted to believe that. Wanted to be the person she saw when she looked at me instead of the person I actually was.
By the time we left the restaurant, I’d almost forgotten I was supposed to tell her the truth tonight.
Almost.
The drive back to her apartment was quiet. Comfortable. She looked out the window at the city passing by, and I tried to memorize the moment—her profile in the streetlights, the way her hand rested on the console between us, how easy this felt.
I parked outside her building and killed the engine.
“Thank you for tonight,” she said. “I had a really good time.”
“Me too.”
We sat there in the darkness of my car, the moment stretching into something more than just the end of a date.
“I should head inside,” she said, but she didn’t move.
“Yeah.” I didn’t move either.
She looked at me and I looked at her and everything else fell away. The guilt, the secret, the inevitable disaster waiting for us. Just her face in the dim light and the realization that I’d never wanted anything more than this.
I reached over and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. My fingers lingered against her cheek. Her breath caught.
“Archie,” she said, and my name in her voice undid me.
My eyes dropped to her lips. I leaned closer. She leaned in too.
My throat went tight. I could do this—kiss her and deal with everything else later. Could have this one perfect moment before I ruined everything.
But that wasn’t fair to her. Or to either of us.
I pulled back. Dropped my hand. Put space between us even though it physically hurts to do it.
“I should walk you up,” I said, my voice rough.
She blinked—confused, maybe hurt. “Oh. Okay.”
