“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, and we slide out of the booth. He throws some bills on the table, swatting away my half-hearted attempt to contribute with a flick of his wrist.
The parking lot is nearly empty. When we reach my car, I pause, my fingers tight around my keys. I want to say something, but the words are stuck. I stand there for a second, fidgeting with the metal, the edges digging into my palm.
“So…” I trail off. I have no idea how to end a night that’s sitting somewhere between closure and a new beginning.
Rowan stands there too, hands shoved into his pockets. The parking lot light casts shadows across his face, making him look even more…him. Those sharp angles of his jaw. Those lips I’ve never felt on mine. And those eyes. The same ones that used to haunt my dreams when I thought I’d never see him again.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” he says, breaking the silence.
“Me too,” I admit. “And I’m…I’m glad you’re back, Rowan. Really.”
The words hang between us. His eyes soften, and something shifts in his expression. Relief, maybe, or hope.
“Yeah?”
I nod, unable to look away. He takes a step closer, and I can smell him, that familiar scent of pine and something distinctly him.
“Violet,” he breathes, my name a low, desperate sound on his lips. He steps forward, closing the distance between us before his arms wrap around me, pulling me into his chest.
His warmth surrounds me, and nothing has ever felt so right. One of his hands slips up my back, fingers sliding to cradle the nape of my neck, while the other settles at my waist. I sink into him, pressing my face into the curve of his shoulder, breathing him in, and for a moment, I let myself have this piece of the dream I’ve carried for so long.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he whispers, his voice rough against my hair, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, because I’ve missed him, too.
When he pulls back—just enough for his hands to cradle my face—his thumbs sweep across my cheekbones with a kind of reverence that steals the breath from my lungs. My eyes flutter closed on instinct. His breath brushes my lips, and Iknowhe’s going to kiss me. I feel it in the silence. In the way my entire world seems to tilt toward him.
As much as I want to forget the years and the hurt, I can’t. Iopen my eyes and press my palms to his chest, right over his heart, where it thuds steady and strong beneath my fingertips. This isn’t just about wanting. It’s about trusting that the wanting won’t break me this time.
“Not yet,” I whisper, the words catching at the edge of my throat.
He doesn’t flinch, just keeps his eyes on mine.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean in. Doesn’t let go.
He just stays.
I want him to kiss me.God, I do. I want to know if it’s everything I built it up to be in my head. If all those nights I stared at the ceiling, imagining the weight of his mouth on mine, the warmth of his hands, were even close to the truth.
But I need more than just a kiss. I need certainty.
I need to know that this isn’t just the product of loneliness or timing or six years of what-ifs colliding all at once, because regret can be one hell of a motivator.
ten
. . .
Rowan
Not yet.
Two words, but they hit like a punch to the ribs.
My hands are cupping her face, my thumbs tracing the flushed curve of her cheekbones, and every part of me aches to close the distance. To crush my mouth to hers and finally know what it feels like. To taste the years I spent missing her. Wanting her. Lying to myself about all the ways I never stopped.
No matter how many times I’ve tried to move on, Violet has always been in the back of my mind, through every mistake and moment that fell short. No one could ever hold a candle to her. Meanwhile, I’ve never evenhadher like that.
Not the way I wanted her. Not the way I imagined how she’d sound falling apart under my hands. Soft gasps, breathy moans, the way her body would move with mine like we were made for each other. All of it has lived in my head for years. A ghost I couldn’t touch. A fantasy I could never stop chasing.
