Even though I am.
Cole doesn’t know about Cohen. About the space his absence filled in ways neither of us ever imagined. And somehow, sitting here with him, it feels possible to just be Kenna again. The girl who loved him first.
I smile despite myself. “Of course you do.”
Dinner comes, and halfway through my pasta I realize something dangerous: I feel safe. Not the fragile, tip-toeing kind. The old kind. The kind where silence doesn’t itch and laughter comes easy.
Cole watches me for a second, then says, “You know…we don’t have to have all the answers tonight.”
I meet his gaze. “No?”
“No,” he says gently. “We can just eat dinner. Make bad jokes. Argue about drinks.”
I raise my glass. “For the record, I still think strawberry lemonade was a solid choice.”
He clinks his glass against mine. “For the record, you’re wrong. But I’ll forgive you.”
I smile at him, really smile, and for the first time in a long while, the future doesn’t feel like something I have to face alone.
By the time we leave the restaurant, the sky has gone dark and the air is cooler, brushing against my bare arms. Cole notices immediately. He shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders before I can protest.
“I’m fine,” I start.
“I know,” he says easily. “Still doing it.”
The drive to my house is quiet in the good way—not empty,just full. The radio hums low, some song I half-recognize playing in the background. Streetlights pass in a steady rhythm, and every so often I catch Cole glancing at me like he’s making sure I’m still there.
I watch his hands on the steering wheel, the familiar veins, the small scar near his thumb. Everything about him feels the same and different all at once.
When he pulls up in front of my house, the headlights wash over the porch, illuminating the steps I’ve walked up alone more times than I can count. He shifts into park but doesn’t turn the engine off.
“Well,” he says quietly. “This was… nice.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “It really was.”
Neither of us moves right away. The moment stretches, delicate and loaded, like if one of us breathes wrong it’ll shatter.
“Do you have to go?” I ask quietly.
He looks at me, then steps closer, his hand brushing my arm. “I probably should,” he says. “But I don’t want to.”
I nod. “I don’t want you to either.”
He leans in and hugs me. Not quick. Not rushed. Just warm and full and real.
“I’m here, Kenna,” he whispers. “We’ll figure it all out.”
And I think maybe we will.
I open the door, his jacket still wrapped around me, then pause. I turn back to him, suddenly unsure of how to end this.
“Thank you,” I say. “For today.”
He meets my eyes, earnest. “Anytime. I mean that.”
I step out of the car and close the door gently. As I walk up to my house, I can feel his gaze on my back. I don’t turn around until I’m on the porch.
Cole is still there, engine idling, watching.
