She sighs. “Invite them to Irene’s?”
I nod.
She makes a face. “That’s a recipe for disaster, honey. They’d be polite. Surface-level. Don’t confuse one good night with real change.”
I swallow.
“She let you in because she knows,” Susan continues, gentler now. “If she doesn’t change soon, next year she’ll be alone. That’s not redemption. That’s fear.”
I glance back at Leo.
He’s standing in the cold, hands in his pockets, watching us. Not demanding. Not asking. Just… there.
I open the door and step out again before I can overthink it.
I walk back to him.
“I don’t want you to think this was just a one-night thing,” I say softly. “It wasn’t.”
His jaw tightens. “I don’t.”
“I just need time,” I add. “Real time. Not space because I’m scared. Space because I’m growing.”
He nods. “I know.”
I lean in and kiss his cheek. Not dramatic. Not desperate. Just real.
“I’ll see you soon,” I whisper.
“I’ll be right here,” he says. “Not going anywhere.”
When I finally get into the car, Susan pulls away slowly. I watch him in the side mirror until he’s just a figure in the snow.
My heart hurts.
But it doesn’t feel like loss.
It feels like trust.
And that’s new for me.
That night at the Cape feels like a long, deep breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
The house smells like wood smoke and rosemary and something buttery Irene has had going all afternoon. Mason and Tom are arguing over a board game that stopped following rules an hour ago. Susan’s wineglass never seems to empty. Laughter just… happens. No pressure. No performance.
It’s good. It’s safe.
Shani’s texting me nonstop—screenshots, voice notes, her family chaos. Tristan sends something dramatic from somewhere tropical. Xavier drops a sarcastic Merry Christmas. Even Mindy snaps me from Hong Kong, neon skyline behind her:Miss you. Proud of you.
I smile. I laugh. I feel full.
And still?—
my heart isn’t here.
It’s ridiculous. I’m wrapped in a blanket by the fire, surrounded by people who love me, and yet there’s this quiet ache that won’t let go.
Leo.
