Still, officially severing that tie is freeing. Terrifying and liberating at the same time. (Nobody ruin this moment for me by saying it isn’t officially official until I change my name at the Social Security Administration office. I’m not an idiot.)
The weekend blurred past me. A lot of texting with Leo, some of it serious, some absolutely ridiculous and fun.
He told me all about Lois, how she caught him naked and trying to break into his own house, and I laughed until I cried. Ithink she might be my new favorite person, and that’s saying something since I haven’t even met her yet.
Somewhere in between the laughter and the late-night honesty, I fully embraced how much lighter I feel with him. How much easier everything seems when he’s the one on the other side of the conversation.
However, texting is one thing. Standing in front of him again is another.
The hum of the copy machine greets me as I step inside the small room mid-morning, balancing a ream of paper against my hip. The smell of toner clings to the air.
I slip into the rhythm of loading trays and pressing buttons, my body working on autopilot while my brain tries to convince me that this is just a normal day. Just a normal Monday.
The door opens behind me.
I don’t have to turn to know who it is. The air changes—charged, aware, like my skin is suddenly more awake than the rest of me.
When I glance over my shoulder, there he is, leaning against the filing cabinet like he owns the place, his crooked grin doing terrible things to my heartbeat.
And in his hand, folded carefully, is a flower.
At first I think it’s just scrap paper. Then he steps closer, and I see it properly.
A flower folded from the page of a math book. The petals uneven, a little messy at the edges, but still beautiful. Entirely him.
He holds it out. “For you.”
“You made this?” The words come out breathy, my voice softer than I mean for it to be.
He shrugs, but there’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Yeah. I thought it was better than showing up with grocery store roses. And…”
His voice dips lower, gentler.
“You look really pretty today.”
The words hit me harder than they should. Not because they’re cute or clever, but because they’re simple. Honest. No pun to hide behind, nothing fancy to soften the edges. Just the truth.
“Thank you,” I whisper, pressing the flower lightly against my chest.
He clears his throat. “I wanted to say I’m sorry again. For being an idiot. For assuming the worst. For being loud when I should have been listening. For every stupid thing I said. And, again, for making you spit in my face. Which, also again, I deserved.”
A laugh breaks free before I can stop it.
“You really did.”
His grin widens, boyish and sheepish all at once. Then he pulls something else from his pocket.
A folded piece of paper, neat and precise, like he took his time with it. He presses it into my hand.
On it, written in his careful handwriting, are two words:Formal Request.
I arch a brow. “For what? A restraining order?”
His mouth twitches. “To step down from my current post as your GBF.”
My mouth drops open in mock horror. “But Leo, why? Why ever would you leave me?”
“I’m afraid it must be done,” he explains solemnly. “It is for the greater good.”
