16. Sebastian
Sebastian
I should leave. I should walk out of here, drive home, take a cold shower, and do anything to shake off the feeling of her, the ghost of her almost kiss still burning on my lips.
But instead, I’m standing in the parking lot of her bakery, hands braced on the roof of my car, breathing like I just got the wind knocked out of me. I guess maybe I did.
For a second, I thought she was going to kiss me. For a moment, I thought she was finally going to let her have this, have me, have us again.
I wanted her so damn bad, but at the last moment, she turned away. She turned me away. The way she physically recoiled, the way her whole body tensed like she wasn’t just afraid but terrified… It felt like a punch to the ribs.
This wasn’t just hesitation; it was something else. Something that I don’t quite understand yet. I can feel it in my bones. I just don’t know if it’s something she’d ever let me understand.
I force myself to move, climbing into the driver’s seat, but I don’t turn the key right away. My hands grip the wheel, my knuckles bone white. I should be angry, frustrated, embarrassed even. But I’m not.
I’m wrecked. The way she pulled away like I’d hurt her, the way she wrapped her arms around herself as if she were holding herself together with every fiber of her being.
There was something in the way her voice shook when she said, “I can’t.” It felt like more than her rejecting me; it felt like she was protecting herself. But from what? From me? I’ve never hurt her. I never would.
I press my forehead against the steering wheel, squeezing my eyes shut. I don’t know what happened to her after she left. We didn’t remain in touch and for the sake of my heart and sanity, I didn’t keep tabs on her.
I know she moved away. I know she got married, and I know that she lost him. That is about all I know of her time away from here, away from me.
I wish I knew what their marriage was like, what kind of man he was to her. I don’t know what she went through, what she carries, or what makes her shake at the idea of kissing me or being with me. It guts me.
I understand if she’s still in mourning, she lost her husband. But it felt like more than that. It felt like she was genuinely scared. I can’t help but think back to when we were young; she used to grab my hand first and pull me in when I hesitated.
And now, she’s so scared of being close to me that she can’t even look at me without her whole body shutting down. It fucking kills me.
I inhale deeply, trying to clear the weight sitting on my chest. The more I think about it, the worse it gets. The tight way she held herself, the way she couldn’t meet my eyes, the way she reacted like I was something to fear.
This isn’t just about us or about starting over. I can feel it. She’s been hurt, not just emotionally, but in a deeper way. I don’t know how to ask her about it.
I don’t want her to feel pressured, but I want to understand. I need to understand. Not because I want to fix it or fix her, but because I need her to know that she doesn’t have to carry it all alone.
She doesn’t have to keep running, protecting herself from something that isn’t me. I’m here for her; I will always be here for her.
I finally start the truck, pulling onto the quiet streets of our town. Everything feels too still, too heavy. It feels like the universe hasn’t caught up to the fact that something has just shifted between us.
I roll down the window, trying to clear my head, but it doesn’t help.
All I can think about is her. The way she said my name, hesitant, trembling, like she was afraid of how it sounded in her own mouth.
All I can feel is the space where her lips almost touched mine, and even though she’s not in this car with me, she’s everywhere.
I park in front of my place. I should go inside. I should go to sleep, wake up, and move the hell on. But I don’t want to, and I couldn’t even if I tried.
Because I know the truth now. I’ve known it since the moment I saw her again in Ink I’m not sure I ever stopped. It slams into me like a wave crashing so hard it drags me under, stealing every ounce of air from my lungs. I sit there, blinking at the empty darkness before me, but all I see is her.
I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know how to show her that with me, she is and always will be safe.
What I do know is that I can’t walk away from this. I can’t continue to fight what I’ve been feeling. Not when I just got her back. Not when she’s right here, just out of reach.
I pull out my phone, staring at her name in my contacts. I don’t text her, don’t call her.
I just sit there, the weight of the night pressing against my chest, and let myself feel it. Because this? This isn’t over. Not even close. And when she’s ready, when she feels safe enough to let me in—I’ll be waiting.