“Idowant real things,” I say, softer now. “But I’m tired of feeling like I’m on pause. I don’t need perfect. I just… need to not be alone.”
Micah presses his lips together like he wants to say more—but he doesn’t. He just nods once.
“Okay,” he says. “Just promise me if this starts to feel like hiding, you’ll talk to someone.”
I smile faintly. “You mean you?”
He shrugs. “I’m here. Always. Or you can talk to Daniel.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The barthe guy from the app, Nathan, picks isn’t one I’ve been to before, which is exactly what I wanted. No sticky memories clinging to the walls. No hallways that feelhaunted. It’s quieter than Riot, low-lit with warm wood accents and cozy little corners.
We grab a small booth in a back corner and settle in.
Nathan’s easy to talk to. He’s got this gentle smile and a voice that kind of rumbles low, even when he laughs. His hair is a dirty blond, and he has sparkling green eyes. He’s cute in a sorta nerdy way. I don’t normally do nerds, but maybe that’s my problem. He’s not flashy, but he listens. Really listens. When I tell him about the team, about being a wide receiver and kicking field goals in a pinch, his eyes light up like I’ve just told him I can fly.
And he lets me be me.
I’m teasing. Flirty. A little extra, as always, with the way I lean in and talk with my hands, tossing out sass like confetti. Nathan plays along, laughing and tossing it right back. It feels easy.
It feelsgood.
Hours slip by like minutes. We order food, share a plate of fries and cheese sticks, and trade stories—his job in the psych department (not a teacher, thank God), my classes, the time I accidentally mooned half the stadium freshman year.
At some point, I catch myself smiling so hard my cheeks ache. I let my hand rest on the table near his. Not touching. But if I want to touch him, we are close enough.
Maybe I can do this.
Maybe I can actually move on.
It wasn’t me. It wasn’t that I was too much or not enough. Silas left becausehewas scared. Not because I broke something.
The thought settles warm in my chest. I’ve been blaming myself for months, but it was never me to begin with.
And then I look up.
Across the room, behind the long stretch of bar, someone sets a drink on a tray. He wipes the counter. Glances up at something a waitress says.
And it’shim.
Silas.
My heart stutters so hard I almost choke. He’s here. Behind the bar. Wearing black, sleeves pushed to his elbows, jaw tense, as though he’s concentrating on a drink order. He hasn’t seen me yet. And I’m pretty sure he just started, because I would have noticed him long before now.
But I seehim.
My breath catches in my throat, and all that easy confidence I was riding? Gone. Flattened. Crushed beneath the weight of memory and muscle andthose eyes.
Nathan says something, but it sounds like it’s coming from underwater. My pulse is thunder in my ears. I try to swallow, but my throat won’t cooperate.
I thought I agreed to this place toavoidthis. To avoidhim.
He looks…tired. And unfairly hot. His hair’s a little messier, the lines around his mouth more pronounced. A few days, the growth of a beard covers his cheeks which is strange for him. But it’s him. It’sSilas, and the world shifts on its axis the moment our eyes finally meet.
Because he sees me. And I see it hit him.
Every ounce of oxygen in my chest disappears. Our eyes lock, and everything else fades. Time. Sound. The weight of Nathan’s gaze from across the table.
