Eitan leans in, a soft, perfectly lopsided smile spreading across his cheeks. “I was losing my mind during that dance,” he says.
Relief I didn’t know I needed washes over me.
He looks down. “I didn’t want to keep you from meeting someone less…messy.”
“I like messy.”
Something sparkles in his eyes. Hope, maybe. I can pinpoint the exact shade, because it’s identical to the hope in mine. His lips land on mine again, fervent.
“Eitan,” I murmur.
“Hmm?” He shifts to kiss my neck.
“What if I want more than just now?” I ask.What if I want everything?
Eitan draws back. Sighs. His hands rest against the brick, caging me in.
“I mean, what’s the harm in just trying?” I press.
“You end up hating me,” he says, “and never speaking to me again.”
My nose wrinkles. “Why would I hate you?”
“I was dating someone when my dad got sick,” Eitan says. One hand drops off the wall to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Adam. We stayed together through my dad’s treatment, even though we barely had time to see each other. Then, after?—”
I wrap my hand behind his head.
“I think he expected me to come back to New York City afterward. At least try to get back to my normal routine. But I bought a one-way ticket to Vancouver. I tried to do distance at first, I really did. But the trade-off for being somewhere new was I dropped out of therapy, and my depression got worse, for a bit. By Thanksgiving, he was getting one text a week from me, at best.” His head hangs. “He ended up writing me a letter because he couldn’t get ahold of me on the phone. When I got the breakup letter, I tried to reach him, but Adam had already blocked me.”
“You were going through something,” I say.
Eitan shakes his head. “It’s not an excuse. I’m always going through something. I hurt someone I cared about, and there was no excuse for that.”
“Things are different. You’re better now,” I say, not sure if I’m talking to him or myself.
“Can we go back to just being here, now?” Eitan asks, his hands holding my cheeks.
Nowhas to end somewhere. Today always turns into tomorrow. And I know how this story ends. I fall ass over heels, Eitan decides thatnowis done, and I’m left out in the cold.
It’s for the best.
I step back. “I like you, but it’s just too—” I grasp for some barrier to erect between us. Eitan did say it himself:I don’t want to complicate things. Maybe he needs a reminder. “It’s too complicated. I have to focus on the wedding. I’ve worked too hard for it to get messed up by a passing fling.” The words are bitter in my mouth. What I’m feeling is more than a passing fling, and that’s exactly what scares me.
Eitan’s face hardens.
“Thank you.” I glance back at the cafe, now empty. “For this. But I have to—go.”
“Ruby, wait.”
I walk away, and I don’t look back once.
chapter
twenty-two
Readingmy words to a room full of people cracked something open. I’ve crossed the fifty percent mark in my editing, the words flowing freely. It’s like I’ve given myself permission to make changes to the original story without betraying the version of myself who wrote it. I’ve been softening some of the medical gore and making it more about the psychological impact of illness. The mental side of healing.
Every chapter I finish, my fingers itch to text Eitan, to tell him. I quiet the urge, reminding myself what his face looked like when I asked formore. Perfect buzzkill.
