The handsome billionaire nods like a genie. “A wish. Right now.”
I think about it. I think about all the things I’ve wished for since I was a child—a clean Earth, a place to belong for all, world peace. But all those wishes feel too general now, next to the ache in my chest.
“I want…” I start, then stop. “I want to not be scared of wanting you.”
He exhales, as if he’s been holding his breath this entire time. “That’s all I want, too.”
There’s a long, glassy pause. The soup arrives, and I stir it, feeling the salt cling to my tongue. Thomas cuts his steak in precise, even slices, but I notice he’s not eating—just moving food around, keeping his hands busy.
“I think,” he says, “that the only way this works is if we keep talking. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”
“Especiallywhen it’s uncomfortable,” I say. “That’s how we got into this mess, right?”
He grins, and it’s the first time I see the old Thomas—the one who could set a room on fire with just a flash of those blue eyes. “Right. So, for starters—” he pauses, a glint in his eye “—what’s the worst secret you have left?”
I consider this. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of secrets left. But the worst one is the simplest: “I’m terrified you’ll change your mind. That you’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble, and leave me.”
He reaches across the table again, palm up. I slide my hand into his, and the fit is so perfect it’s almost indecent.
“I won’t,” he says. “Even if you try to force me out.”
The promise hangs there, stitched into the air, and for the first time all night I believe him.
We don’t linger over dinner. It’s too intense, too raw, to keep the performance going any longer than necessary. Thomas pays in cash, leaving a tip so obscene the waitress’s eyes go wide. We walk out together, side by side, the wind off the river cutting through our coats.
Outside, the city is weirdly quiet. It’s not late, but the world feels emptied out for just the two of us. Thomas puts his hand on the small of my back, guiding me down the street. The touch is light, not possessive, but it sets off fireworks under my skin.
We don’t say much as we walk. Every few feet, his arm brushes against mine, and every time it happens, I feel a jolt, like the world is trying to remind me what I almost lost. When we reach his apartment building, he pauses on the sidewalk.
“Come in?” he asks, not even trying to hide the hope in his voice.
I hesitate, not because I don’t want it, but because I do. So badly. “You think it’s a good idea?”
He shrugs. “Probably not. But I’m not good at walking away from you.”
I feel my face go pink. “Maybe we just talk then.”
He nods. “Maybe we do.”
We’re silent in the elevator, but the air between us is electric, and the moment we’re inside, Thomas pulls me close. He doesn’t kiss me, not right away—he just wraps his arms around me and holds on, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish again.
“I missed you, Andie,” he says, voice muffled against my hair.
I close my eyes, sinking into him. “I missed you more.”
He laughs, low and rough. “Impossible.”
I tilt my head up and kiss him, not soft this time but hungry, desperate. His hands go to my face, cradling it, and I feel the scrape of his stubble against my cheek. I want to remember everything—his smell, the warmth of him, the way he tastes like hope and regret and a hundred tiny promises.
We make it to the couch, tangled together. This isn’t sex, not exactly, but it’s close—every touch, every kiss, is a laying-down of arms, a ceasefire. I want to be closer, to crawl under his skin, to become a part of him so he can never forget me again.
When we finally come up for air, Thomas is breathing hard. He looks at me like he’s never seen me before, like I’m new and wild and entirely unpredictable.
“Let’s do it better this time,” he says, his voice thick.
I nod, smiling through the tears I didn’t even know I was crying. “Yes. Let’s.”
He kisses the top of my head, then tucks me under his arm, holding me there like a secret he’s finally ready to keep.
