“I’m not asking you to pretend it didn’t hurt,” I say, forcing the words out even though they feel heavy. “I just want a chance to be part of your life again. Whatever that looks like.”
She studies me, her expression unreadable. “You’re different,” she murmurs.
I nod. “Yeah. Prison will do that.”
“You’re quieter. Still you, but…heavier,” she says. “Like you’re carrying something invisible.”
I smile faintly. “Maybe because I am.”
Kenna sighs, looking down at the pavement beneath our feet. “I don’t know if I can trust this. Trust you.”
“I don’t expect you to. Not yet.”
She lifts her gaze again, eyes searching mine like she’s trying to peel back everything that’s changed and find the boy she used to love underneath.
“I still remember the way you used to look at me,” she says softly. “Like I was your entire world.”
“You were,” I say without hesitation. “You still are. Even if that looks different now.”
Her expression wavers, and for a heartbeat, I think she might cry. But she doesn’t. Kenna’s too strong for that—always has been. Instead, she presses her lips together, then shakes her head slowly.
“I don’t know what I want from you, Cole.”
I give a faint smile. “Then don’t decide right now. Let’s just…start small. Taking a walk. A conversation. A maybe.”
She lets out a slow breath, then looks up at me again. “I used to draw you in my sketchbooks. Did I ever tell you that?”
I grin despite the ache in my chest. “Stick figure me?”
She nods. “Always smiling. You never stopped smiling, even when everything else felt impossible.”
“I was smiling because of you.”
Her eyes glint with something like pain. “That’s what scares me, Cole. You smiling because of me. Because when they took you away, I felt like I’d stolen that from you.”
“No,” I whisper. “They stole time. Not you.”
We turn the corner, and the salon comes back into view. Her pace slows as we approach, and I feel it—the inevitable ending of something soft and fleeting. The moment you don’t want to leave behind.
Kenna stops at the step, her fingers brushing the edge of the doorframe. She glances back at me. “I’ve got a client in five.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “Thanks for the walk.”
There’s a brief pause before she moves. Then, without a word, she steps forward and wraps her arms around me.
It’s not a long hug. Not tight. But it’s real and grounded in something that hasn’t completely broken yet.
She smells like lavender now, but underneath it is the same warmth I remember. Citrus and cinnamon. Familiar enough to ache. Flowers, art, and something that once felt like home.
“I haven’t forgotten either,” she whispers.
Before I can respond, she pulls away, slipping inside the salon. The door closes behind her with a soft click that somehow feels louder than it should.
I stand there a moment longer, heart thudding, my hands still tingling from her touch. It’s not everything. Not even close. But it’s something.
And for now, that’s enough.
But then, just as I’m about to turn away, she opens the door again.
