I need to talk to someone who won’t let me lie to myself or sugarcoat anything.
Liv’s house sits three streets inland, a low gray bungalow with a wraparound porch and wind chimes that clatter like laughter in the breeze. I park in the driveway beside her beat-up Jeep, climb the steps, and knock twice on the screen door.
She opens it barefoot, wearing cutoff shorts and a faded band T-shirt, hair in a messy knot on top of her head. One eyebrow lifts when she sees my face.
“You look like someone kicked your puppy,” she says, stepping aside. “Coffee’s fresh.”
I follow her through the living room, cluttered with scattered surf magazines, a guitar leaning against the couch, the faint smell of incense and sunscreen that always lingers in her place,and into the kitchen. She pours two mugs without asking, slides one across the island, and leans on her elbows, studying me like I’m a wave she needs to read before paddling out.
“Spill,” she says. “And don’t tell me everything is fine. I can smell the brooding from here.”
I wrap both hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my palms. “I’m in deep with Grace. Deeper than she’s ready for.”
Liv nods once, no surprise in her expression. “Figured. You’ve been walking around with that stupid soft look on your face since you met her. What happened?”
I take a swallow of coffee, it’s black and strong, the way she always makes it. “The other night, I felt like she really let me in. I won’t give you any details, but it was perfect. In the morning I made her breakfast, and it all felt like something we could do forever.”
I pause, and Liv waits patiently for me to continue.
“Then she pulled back.” I set the mug down harder than I mean to. Coffee sloshes over the rim. “Said she needs space. I saw it in her eyes. The walls are going back up, brick by brick.”
Liv exhales slowly. “She’s scared.”
“I know she’s scared.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “I know her ex gutted her. Told her she’s old, broken, and too much trouble. I know she believes some of it, even when she doesn’t want to. I’m here. I’m showing up and telling her she’s beautiful, she’s enough, she’s everything, but she still retreats.”
Liv studies me for a long moment. “What do you want from her, Jake?”
“Everything.” The word escapes before I can soften it. “I want mornings and nights like we shared. I want her to stop bracing for August like it’s a death sentence. I want her to believe I’m serious, that this isn’t a fling. I’m not going to wake up one day and decide she’s too old or too complicated or too anything. I want her to choose me, not for the summer, but for real.”
Liv nods slowly. “And what are you willing to risk for that?”
I meet her eyes. “Everything.”
“Then prove it.”
“I’m trying.”
“No.” She straightens, voice firm but kind. “Trying isn’t enough when someone’s been hurt the way she has. Trying lets her keep one foot out the door. She needs to see you’re all in. The only way you can do that is steadily, without demanding she match you step for step before she’s ready. You can’t force her walls down. You can only stand outside them long enough that she starts to wonder what it would feel like to open the door herself.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “I don’t know how to get past them. Every time I think we’ve made progress, she pulls back harder. Like she’s punishing herself for wanting this.”
Liv reaches across the island and covers my hand with hers. “She’s not punishing you. She’s protecting the part of her that still believes she doesn’t deserve to be chosen. Her ex spent years teaching her she’s disposable. You’re fighting years of conditioning, and you’ve only known her for about a week. That’s not a fair fight yet.”
“So what do I do?” My voice cracks on the last word. “Just wait? Just keep showing up while she keeps retreating?”
“You show up,” Liv says simply. “You keep showing up. Not with grand gestures that scare her more, but with quiet consistency. You text her good morning even when she doesn’t answer right away. You leave her favorite coffee on her porch when she’s hiding. You let her set the pace. You don’t push, but you don’t pull away either. You stand there like a lighthouse, steady, visible, unchanging. She has to decide for herself that you’re worth the risk to her heart. No one can make that choice for her. Not even you.”
I stare at our joined hands. “What if she decides I’m not?”
Liv squeezes once, then lets go. “You’ll survive it. But you won’t know unless you give her the space to choose freely. If you crowd her now, she’ll run farther. If you love her right, she might walk toward you instead.”
I exhale long and slow. “I hate waiting.”
“I know.” She smiles faintly. “But love isn’t about what feels good in the moment. It’s about what lasts.”
I nod, throat tight. “Thanks, Liv.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Anytime. Now go do something useful before you drive yourself crazy. Surf. Stock shelves. Whatever keeps your hands busy and your head quiet.”
