He’s real. He came.
“Kael, I almost missed you.”
My heart splits again, and I shove the hope back down. I let it loose when he called and when he said he loved me and then broke up with me anyway. Hope is just the universe tallying its bill.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“I had to see you. I had to tell you…” He searches my face, then his expression tightens and a flush creeps up his neck. “I’m sorry. Showing up like this isn’t fair.”
I’m okay suppressing hope, but I’m done pretending I don’t want anything.
“Just tell me what you came to say.”
Ash comes around the car, one hand jammed into the pocket of his gray coat, the other fidgeting in midair. He steps closer, and the street, the building, Jamal all drop away until it’s just him, close enough for me to smell his cologne. I hold my breath.
“I’ve been an idiot,” he whispers. “I couldn’t see what I wanted. I kept making the same decisions and getting the same results, over and over.”
It’s almost what I need, but not quite. “What are you saying?”
“I love you,” he says.
The words don’t have their lightning-strike quality this time.
“You said you loved me right before breaking up with me,” I remind him. “You made it pretty clear love didn’t matter if I couldn’t change who I am.”
“I was wrong.”
He reaches for my hand, but when his fingers brush mine I flinch back. The gallery show’s still too close. The burn of our last encounter’s too fresh.
“I’m not ashamed,” I say, trembling as I gesture to everything I’ve packed into the Buick. “I love my life, but I can see how you’d think I’m a burden. I’ve got nothing to offer.”
“I’m so sorry I made you think that.” His fingers rest on the trunk lid, right above my stack of paintings. “But it couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re everything I need. Your passion for life. Your dimpled smile. The way you see color everywhere. Your stupid jokes. Your steady strength. You aren’t a burden, Kael. You’re what makes the rest of it worth carrying.”
“You said you wanted someone grounded,” I snap.
Ash pulls an envelope from his coat pocket.
“I want to be wherever you are,” he says. “And I’m not trying to manage your reaction this time. I did that with the gallery, and I was wrong. This is me changing my life and asking if you’ll, please, keep being a part of it.”
“I won’t change for you,” I say. “And I don’t want you to twist yourself into something else for me, either. I’m the fire, remember?”
“Then I want to burn.”
He takes my hand, and this time I let him guide the envelope into my palm. Inside is a single sheet folded in thirds, heavy paper with numbers across the top, signatures at the bottom, and a seal stamped in the corner.
“What is this?” I ask, scanning over the words GRANT DEED beside his name. My brain stalls. “Congrats. You… bought a place?”
I try to hand it back, but he nudges my hand to my chest.
“I love you,” he says again. “And I quit.”
“What?”
“I can’t work for Alistair. Not after hearing that recording.”
“But your freedom,” I protest.
“That job isn’t freedom,” he says. “Freedom is building a life I actually want to wake up inside, one with you in it, if you still want me too.”
