Travis reaches for my hand again, and I let him take it because this is the part I’m good at. Smiling. Agreeing. Letting things continue exactly as they are.
I tell myself this isn’t cowardice. It’s…consideration. Timing. A hundred other gentler words I use so I don’t have to call it what it is.
Wrong. A lie.
But dinner happens anyway. Plates are cleared. Glasses emptied. Conversation fills the space where honesty should have been, and I play my part well enough.
Outside, the night air hits my skin like a splash of cold water.Travis walks me to my car, his hand at the small of my back, familiar as muscle memory.
He stops in front of my door and leans in, kissing me softly. It’s careful. Sweet.
It does nothing for me.
“You want to come over?”
My answer rises fast this time. “No.”
The word surprises us both. He studies my face, searching for the joke, the deflection. I don’t give him one. I manage a small smile instead. “I’m just…really tired.”
He nods. “Okay. Another night.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “Another night.”
He kisses my cheek, squeezes my hand once more, then steps back, already turning toward his car.
I fumble with my car keys, my vision blurring as tears start to spill over because this isn’t over.
And I know it should be.
I slide into the driver’s seat and just sit there, hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.
My phone buzzes in my purse. It’s probably Whitley checking in. I can’t face her questions right now.
I start the car and pull out of the parking lot, driving aimlessly through streets I’ve known my whole life. I don’t know where I’m headed until the trees thin out and the road curves.
The overlook at Lily Ridge. I haven’t been up here in years.
This is the place high school kids come to make out and pretend they’re not scared of growing up.
It’s quiet now. Empty.
I kill the engine and sit there, the silence ringing in my ears. The town below glows like a scattered jewelry box—little specks of gold and white in the dark.
A part of me used to believe I could map out a life down there. Something neat and stable and predictable.
I rest my forehead on the steering wheel, letting out a breath that shakes all the way down to my bones.
Maybe I’m the problem? Maybe I’m chasing some version of love that doesn’t exist. Maybe I let someone in too young, and now there’s no room for anyone else.
Or maybe I’ve just been pretending for so long I forgot what it feels like to actually want. To ache. To burn. To have your whole body light up just from a look across a room.
It’s something I haven’t felt in years.
The wind picks up, rustling the trees outside, and I lean back, finally letting my head fall against the seat. A tear slides down my cheek, but I don’t wipe it away. I just let it fall.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t try to fix it. I just let myself feel it.
six
