I grin at her. “I love you.”
She winks. “I love you too.” Then her expression shifts. “So, if he respected what you wanted, why does this still hurt?”
I open my mouth, then close it.
“I don’t know,” I finally admit. “I guess it’s because it feels like I lost something.”
“Lost what?”
“Us,” I admit. “The way it was, before it got complicated.”
“And what made it complicated?”
The answer sits heavy in my chest.
“Me.”
She doesn’t argue.
“I don’t just date,” I continue. “I rearrange—my time, my plans, my future—and I don’t notice it happening until I don’t recognize what’s left.”
Her voice is gentle. “That’s what happened with Cal.”
I nod. “When that ended, it didn’t just feel like losing him,” I say. “It felt like losing myself.”
Harlee’s gaze softens. “And what about with Weston?”
I hesitate. “Weston didn’t feel like that.”
“How didhefeel?”
“Like I didn’t have to move anything to make room for him. Like I could just … exist. And he met me there.” The truth slips out before I can filter it.
She exhales slowly. “And that scared you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it was … easy,” I admit. “And I don’t trust easy anymore.”
Harlee glances at the careful letter, then back at me. “Brit … does this look like someone trying to consume your life?”
My eyes drift over the spread on the counter—the stack of cards and letters, the jacket slung over the chair, the red cape resting beside the paper trail. Evidence of something built quietly, slowly.
“You told him you weren’t ready,” she says. “And he stepped back.”
My chest tightens.
“That’s not someone who makes you disappear,” she adds. “That’s someone who leaves room for you.”
I swallow. “I just … I don’t know if I’m brave enough.”
“For what?”
“To stop pushing him away.”
The words sit between us.
