"She wanted safety. There's a difference." Ava leaned forward. "Stability is financial. A paycheck, a 401k, predictable hours."
I opened my mouth to argue. She wasn't done.
"Safety is emotional. It's knowing someone will show up for you, no matter what. It's trusting that when things fall apart, they'll be there to help you put the pieces back together."
She held my gaze, unwavering. "You're the safest person I know, Brian Torres. Anyone who couldn't see that didn't deserve you."
The words landed somewhere I'd stopped letting people reach.
Five years since Carmen left. Five years of carrying the question:Was she right? Am I not enough?
Ava looked at me like I was worth something. Like I mattered.
Like maybe, after all this time, I could be enough.
We didn't talk about anything heavy after that. Just finished dinner, split dessert, and argued about the check until I won by sheer stubbornness. The walk home was quiet, our shoulders brushing with every step. When her hand grazed mine, I didn't pull away.
Neither did she.
Back at the apartment, a little warm, we stood in the kitchen, getting water.
Watson was asleep on the armchair, tail twitching in dreams. The apartment was dim, just the light over the stove casting a soft glow. Everything felt hushed. Suspended.
"I had fun tonight," Ava said.
"Me too."
She was close. Close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her green eyes, the flush still on her cheeks from the wine. I could count the freckles on her nose if I wanted to.
I wanted to.
I reached out. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers grazing the soft skin at her temple.
Ava's breath caught. Her lips parted. She didn't move away.
We were so close. Inches apart. The space between us held four years of everything we'd never said.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth. Came back up.
I leaned forward?—
Watson yowled from the living room.
We both jerked back. Watson yowled again, louder, with the urgency of a cat convinced he was dying of starvation despite being fed three hours ago.
Ava laughed, stepping back. "Duty calls."
We were both smiling, both breathing too fast. Neither of us said it. We didn't have to.
She went to feed Watson. I stayed in the kitchen, gripping the counter, trying to get my heart rate under control.
Close. So close.
That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
The bed was comfortable enough. I'd gotten used to the new room over the past weeks. The way the streetlight came through the window, painting stripes across the wall.
But comfort wasn't the issue.
