I nod.
He doesn’t try to stop me. Just watches me with those dark eyes, patient, like he’s waiting for something.
“Come back after,” he says.
It’s not a question.
I cross the room, lean down, and kiss him. The kind of kiss that promises more later.
“I’ll be back,” I say.
His hand finds my waist and he pulls me closer for one more second.
“You better.”
I pull away, grab my jacket, and slip out the door.
The campus is quiet at this hour - just a few students heading to early classes, the crunch of frost under my boots.
I pull out my phone.
The number is already pulled up. Craig Tennant. The reporter who broke the story. The man who turned my life into a headline.
I should hate him.
Instead, I think about what Zane said.Maybe you’re the one who gets to tell the story.
I hit call.
“Tennant.”
“Mr. Tennant. This is Leonora Shaw.”
A pause.
“I know who you are,” he says. His voice is careful. “I wasn’t sure you’d really call.”
“I wasn’t sure either.”
“Well - I’m listening.”
I take a breath. The cold air fills my lungs.
“I want to tell you my story. The real one. Not the one everyone’s been writing. But I want to tell it my way. On my terms.”
“When can we meet?”
“Today.”
“The coffee shop on Main. Two o’clock.”
I think of Zane’s apartment, warm and quiet, of how he looked at me last night.
“Three o’clock,” I say.
He doesn’t argue. “Three o’clock.”
I end the call.
