I blink. “That’s not fair.”
She shrugs. “Am I wrong?”
I don’t say anything. What can I say? Travis is stable. He’s never made me cry. But he’s also never made my heart ache in that messy, dangerous, real way.
I think I thought I’d outgrown that kind of love. That craving.
“You’ve been dating him for eight months,” Whitley continues, her voice careful but pointed. “And you’ve never once looked at him the way you looked talking about Rowan just now.”
I pull the blanket over my head completely. “Travis is…good for me. Safe.”
But safety, with Travis, always comes with strings—plans that can’t shift, opinions that need agreeing with, small corrections disguised as concern. He doesn’t yell or slam doors. But hedoes make me feel like I’m supposed to be grateful he chose me. Like being with him is a favor I shouldn’t screw up.
I used to tell myself I could look past it. That it wasn’t a big deal. That all men hadsomething, and this was just who he was.
“You deserve someone who makes you feel like you’re coming alive, not someone who makes you feel safe.”
“Safe isn’t bad,” I argue weakly.
“Violet.”
“What?”
“Take the blanket off your face.”
I peek out at her, and she’s gotthatlook. She’s probably about to say something I don’t want to hear but probably need to.
“Safe isn’t love, either.” She leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Look, I’m not saying run off into the sunset with your high school crush. But maybe figure out what you actually want before you shack up with someone because he shows up on time.”
“Travis is fine,” she continues. “He’s nice enough. He has good teeth. But you talk about him like you’re describing a dentist appointment you don’t mind attending.”
“But nice is good, right?”
“When’s the last time you felt excited to see him?” she asks. “Like, genuinely thrilled that he was about to walk through the door?”
I open my mouth, then close it. The truth is, I can’t remember. Travis and I have settled into something comfortable. Predictable. Thursday night dinners, weekend movies, good morning texts that have started to seem more like checking boxes than anything else.
“And let’s not forget the elephant in the room,” Whitley says, her voice dropping to that tone she uses when she’s about to say something uncomfortable. “You’ve been with Travis for eight months and you still haven’t slept with him.”
Heat rushes to my face. “That’s not?—”
“Itisrelevant,” she interrupts, holding my gaze. “Every timehe stays over, you make some excuse. You’re physically avoiding intimacy with a man you claim to be in a relationship with.”
I sink deeper into the couch, wishing it would swallow me whole. She’s right, and we both know it. Travis and I have done…things. But I’ve always stopped short of that final step, finding reasons to pull back when things get too heated.
“Maybe I’m just not ready,” I mumble.
“Maybe,” Whitley says, her voice softer now. “Or maybe your body knows something your brain doesn’t want to admit.”
I don’t meet her eyes, because the thing is…she’s not wrong.
Every time Travis kisses me, really kisses me, something inside me…flickers. And not in that breathless, back-against-the-wall, god-I-want-this way I always imagined. It’s more like a switch being flipped off. A dimming.
I’ve told myself it’s nerves. Pressure. That stupid voice in my head that’s always made me feel behind. Like I missed some crucial milestone years ago, and I’m too old to show up to the party now.
But the truth—the one I don’t say out loud, not even to Whitley—is that it’s never been about Travis. Or timing. Or fear. It’s that I’ve never wanted it enough. Not with him.
A knot forms in my stomach as Whitley’s words sink in. The truth I’ve been avoiding crashes over me like a wave.
