“You used to always say that.”
“Because it was true.”
There was a long pause, not heavy, just full of something... real.
“I’m glad you’re doing okay,” he said quietly. “You look happy.”
I swallowed, fingers tightening around my phone. “I am.” I lied. “Mostly.”
He didn’t press. He never had. That was the thing I missed most about him. He didn’t need all the pieces to still hold space for what he didn’t know.
We kept talking. About nothing. About everything.
About the studio and how the owners still let me rent it out. How it smelled the same way it did when Nova and I first moved to London, lemongrass oil and sweat.
He told me he still lived in the same place in Chicago. The same downtown apartment with the concrete walls and floor-to-ceiling windows.
“It’s great,” he said. “Still get catering dropped off at the door. Laundry pickup. Perks of staying close to the team.”
“And you love perks.” I teased him. “You’re nothing if not a diva in compression socks.”
“Hey,” he said with a soft laugh. “You knew that about me from the start.”
I smiled into the quiet. “I did.”
He asked about the brand collab, the classes, the press. I told him the studio kept me sane, and that being content with filming in a place I loved made it feel a little less fake—even when everything online felt curated to hell and back.
Then he asked about friends. People. Life outside the brand.
I hesitated.
There were things I couldn’t say. Wouldn’t. I couldn’t tell him about Nova’s daughter. Couldn’t touch that part of my life, the one tied to the people we’d both lost, the people we couldn’t talk about, but I told him about Ollie.
“Nova fell in love,” I said quietly, tracing my fingers along the seam of my yoga leggings. “It’s been a few years now. She met him after we moved to London... after everything fell apart.”
Dirks didn’t say anything at first. I heard the faint rustle of him shifting, maybe lying back on his couch, maybe closing his eyes the way he always used to when he was trying to listen with more than just his ears.
“He’s... he’s solid.” I continued. “The kind of love that brews tea when she’s anxious and holds space when she spirals.” Ismiled a little. “They live upstairs. When she moved in with him, he turned the garden apartment below into a space just for me.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “That you’re still with her and that she moved on. She deserves that. You both do.”
My throat tightened.
God, how could someone say something so simple and make it feel like being seen for the first time in years?
“Thanks,” I said. My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to. “I wasn’t sure if telling you would... I don’t know, hurt.”
“It doesn’t,” he said. “She’s your best friend. She was always your anchor. I’m glad she found someone. I’m glad you have that, even if it’s not... ” He sighed.
Even if it’s not us.
He didn’t have to say it. The unspoken part of the sentence curled around my ribs.
Dirks changed the subject and told me he’d tried cooking a few times lately.
“Nearly set off the sprinklers,” he said. “Apparently youcan’tuse a blowtorch on garlic bread.”
“Jesus Christ, Dirks.”
