Page 95 of The Sweetest Return

“And if I’m not ready?” she asked.

“Then you tell me that.”

“That simple?”

“No.” I rubbed my thumb along the side of my glass. “It’d hurt like hell. But I’m not asking you to make yourself smaller for me. I’m asking if you have room to see what this could be.”

She looked down for a second.

The diner moved around us, plates hitting tables, grease popping behind the counter, old R&B low in the speakers. Ms. Jean fussed at somebody near the register about trying to leave without their receipt. Life kept going like I wasn’t sitting there in the back booth waiting to find out if the woman across from me had any room left for us.

Then Imani looked at me again.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“I know you are. You have a right to be.”

“I don’t know how to do this with you and not feel everything too fast.”

“That might happen.”

Her laugh came out soft and nervous. “That is not comforting.”

“I’m not trying to lie to you.”

She studied me, and I let her. If she needed to see whether I meant it, I could sit there all night.

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to hurt you either.”

“And I don’t want to run just because this feels big.”

My chest tightened.

“Then don’t run tonight.”

Heat entered her dark eyes.

“We don’t have to name the whole thing in this booth,” I said. “We don’t have to promise more than we know how to keep. Just give me a real chance. Dates. Calls. Time. Honesty. Whatever comes after two people stop pretending they’re only remembering.”

Her thumb brushed the edge of her napkin.

“And you’re sure?”

I leaned closer, voice low enough for only her.

“I’ve never been casual about you a day in my life.”

She closed her eyes for half a second.

When she opened them, the answer was there, scared and soft and trying to be brave.

“I want that too.”

Everything in me wanted to reach for her.

I settled for putting my hand on the table, palm up.