“Honestly? The feedback was mixed. Some people lovedit, others...” He shrugs. “One reviewer absolutely destroyed my ending. Called it unearned and manipulative.”
I should tell him. Right now. Just say it
“That was me, I’m ButterBoi69, I wrote that review.”
The words sitright thereon my tongue.
“That sounds harsh,” I manage instead.
“It was. But also, kind of brilliant? They broke down exactly why it didn’t work, what was missing.” He’s getting animated now, the way he does when he talks about things he cares about. “I was pissed at first, but then I realized they were right. I was so focused on the shock value that I forgot to make it meaningful.”
Tell him. Tell him now while he’s being understanding about it.
“So you’re changing it?”
“Already am. I’ve got a few ideas.” He grins. “It’s actually way better. Sometimes, brutal honesty is exactly what you need, you know?”
The irony makes my throat tight. He’s sitting here praising my critique while I’m too scared to admit it was mine. But what if telling him ruinsthis?
“Some of it was pretty harsh though,” he continues. “They gave me a 2 out of 5 initially. That stung.”
I stare at my food, unable to form words. The silence stretches.
“But anyway, you’re fixing it, which is good.” I blurt out, desperate to change topics.
He opens a container of pad Thai. “How was the diner? You seem tired.”
“Just the usual Saturday mayhem. Woman complained her eggs were ‘too eggy.’ Man tried to pay with a check from 1987. Marco threatened to quit twice.”
“So, a normal day.”
“Pretty much.” I steal a dumpling from his plate. “I kept thinking about Thursday though. About... everything.”
His expression softens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I never thanked you properly. For being patient with my whole Miles mess.”
“You don’t need to thank me for that.”
“Still.” I focus on my food, suddenly nervous. “I’m not used to someone being so... understanding. Usually guys want the short version of baggage, not the director’s cut.”
“I like director’s cuts. Extended editions. Bonus features.” He sets down his chopsticks, turns to face me properly. “I meant what I said. I’m here for all of it, whenever you’re ready.”
“What if I’m never ready? What if some stories are too messy to tell?”
“Then they stay yours.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering. “But I hope eventually you’ll trust me enough to share them. Even the messy ones. Especially those.”
I catch his hand, hold it against my cheek. “I do trust you. It’s just...”
“Complicated?”
“Complicated.”
We stay like that for a moment, his palm warm against my face. Then my stomach growls loudly, breaking the tension.
“Eat,” he orders, pulling back. “Can’t have you fainting during the movie. You’ll miss all the good parts.”
“There are good parts?”
