“Maybe a little,” he admitted.
I huffed a quiet laugh.
“You brought my mother into this,” I said.
“You were already in it,” he replied.
Fair.
I leaned against the stone edge of the fountain, watching the water catch the fading light.
“This is what it looks like, isn’t it?” I said.
“What?”
“Not running,” I said. “Not hiding. Letting everything collide.”
He stepped closer.
“Yes.”
I glanced up at him.
“It’s messy.”
“Yes.”
“It could still fall apart.”
“Yes.”
I exhaled.
“But it’s real,” I said.
His gaze held mine.
“Yes.”
Silence settled between us.
Not empty.
Full.
I reached for him, my fingers brushing his wrist, then sliding into his hand.
“I don’t regret it,” I said.
“Neither do I.”
“And I’m not going back,” I added.
“I know.”
I smiled faintly.
“You always say that.”
