Perfect.
It really does sound perfect.
“Bye, Blue.”
“See you later, baby.”
I watch him as he walks down the road toward Anchor Strength, glancing back at me every few steps until he turns a corner.
There’s a smile on my face while I flip the sign toOpenand head back to the counter. My cheeks hurt from how happy he makes me.
Since I published the online store, I’ve gotten a constant stream of orders, and I’ll need to head to the post office today. The thought makes me feel shaky, but I need to do it. I pick up the first book to get it wrapped up. I need to come up with an idea for tonight. I want to make it romantic when I tell Noah I love him. I want it to be special for him. I’m thinking I could do three little Post-its lined down the hall. Or one on the apartment door, one on my bedroom door, and I could wait in the room with the last one. I nibble on the edge of my thumb, chuckling, thinking about it. It’s cheesy and dorky, but I think he’d love it.
I could find an eighties song to play. Maybe “Can’t Fight This Feeling.” I’m grinning like an idiot now.
The door opens, and when I glance up, the sight is so unexpected I drop the book in my hand.
For a second, my mind goes blank. My thumb drags from the corner of my mouth, my smile obliterated. The light through the front windows feels too bright. My stomach flips so violently, I have to grab the counter to keep upright.
No. This isn’t happening.
He can't be here. He doesn’t belong here. Not in my shop I’m working hard to build into something more, not in the air that still smells like cedarwood, not in my safe place. His presencemakes the walls tilt, like the whole store is crumbling on top of me.
Kyle.
He looks different. Smaller somehow, though his frame is the same. His shoulders are rounded, his clothes rumpled, his skin ashen. The confidence I remember—the cruel smirk, the calculating look in his eyes—is gone. He stands inside the door, twisting his hands together.
“I shouldn’t have come,” he says finally, his voice wobbling. “But I needed to talk to you.”
He takes a step forward, and I take a step back, knocking the chair behind me over with a clatter, making me jump, the panic rising further.
“Gabe.”
Every fiber of my being is screamingrun, run, run.
I think he’s saying my name again, but I can’t hear it over the blood rushing in my ears.
“I needed to tell you I’m sorry.”
The words feel like a slap.Sorry. My chest locks up, breath shallow. For years, I thought about hearing them, always expected them to come after each broken moment. They never did, and now they sound wrong, like they don’t belong in my ears.
I swallow, and my tongue feels thick. “Sorry?” The word falls out on a trembling sound, full of fear.
He lifts his gaze, and I see the shine in his eyes, the damp red rims around those ice-blue eyes looking like such a contrast to the Kyle I remember. He swallows with an audible click before continuing.
“For everything. For the way I treated you. For every cruel thing I said, every time I—” His voice fractures. He looks away, jaw tight, throat bobbing with the effort to get words out. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I hate what I did to you.”
Silence fills the shop, thick and oppressive. It’s pressing down on me, filling me with sick dread. Is this really happening? Is he really here?
The clock on the wall ticks, each second like a drumbeat. I stare at a row of books behind him, perfectly even spines, and fixate on them because I can’t bear to look at him. My sweaty hands slip on the counter, nails leaving biting marks on the wood.
“Why?” The word rips out of me.
He takes a step closer, hand moving upward as if he intends to touch me. I recoil and shout louder, “Why?” causing him to take a step back. My chest heaves.
“Why did you do it?” I roar. “I said no! I said stop!”
His whole body jerks like I struck him. He stands frozen as the blood in my veins boils, mouth opening and closing, like he doesn’t know how to form an answer. His hand scrubs over his face, dragging down until it trembles at his jaw.
