Chapter 31 The startover
We rode together to the park—the same one where everything between us had once cracked wide open. Neither of us sat. We lingered a few feet apart, close enough to feel the other’s presence, yet far enough to keep the fear between us intact.
"So," I finally said, my voice cutting through the quiet, "I’ve been wondering… did you call in a favor to get my stories published?"
Arlo’s jaw tightened, a flicker of tension crossing his face, as if my words had landed somewhere tender. "That’s… not what I expected you to ask."
"So?" I prompted.
"It was your talent, Berrie," he said without hesitation. "I swear. I just talked to someone… opened a door. That’s all."
My chest constricted. "You planned the road trip?"
"Yes."
"The hotels," I pressed on, my words tumbling out faster now. "The reservations… the places I’d been talking about for years?"
"Yes," he repeated, steady and calm.
The realization hit me like a wave. "Oh my God," I whispered, my breath breaking. "You were the one cooking, sending meals when I was recovering… and whenever I got lost in a new story."
"Yes," he said again, but his voice softened this time, almost apologetic. "It was nothing, Berrie."
"It wasn’t nothing," I said, my voice trembling. "And I’m not done… Did you miss me? Did you want to talk to me?"
His eyes finally met mine. "Every single day."
"Then why didn’t you?" My voice wavered.
He swallowed hard, the weight of his restraint clear in his eyes. "Because I respect you. You asked for space. You didn’t want anything from me, and I wasn’t going to cross that line… even if it was killing me."
A brittle laugh escaped me, quiet but genuine. "Yeah… I actually appreciate that."
The silence that followed was thick, crowded with everything we'd swallowed for over a year.
"It's been over a year," I said softly.
"So?" he answered immediately. "It could be five years. Ten. Nothing would change."
Something in my chest ached open.
"Why did you do all of this?" I asked. "Why go through all this trouble when I told you I don't want a relationship with you?"
He looked at me then. "Because I just want you to be happy, not to have you back and..."
"What else?" I said, tears burning behind my eyes. "I want to hear it."
His voice broke when he finally spoke.
"Because I love you," he choked out, voice fracturing like glass.
"Okay? I love you. God, I'm so sorry for the pain I caused—sorry doesn't touch it.
I love you, Berrie, and missing you rips me apart every single day.
" His breath hitched sharp, tears spilling free down his cheeks.
"Mornings? I wake to your picture clutched in my hand, staring till it hurts, begging it to fill the hole you left.
Nights end with videos on loop, your smile breaking dawn in my dark room, your laugh echoing like a ghost I can't hold, just to prove you're real, that I didn't dream you. "
He dragged trembling hands through his hair, knuckles white, body shaking as if the words were tearing him open.
"I love you till my head spins, can't think straight—every breath, every choice screams does this make her happy?
You've consumed me whole, Berrie, from the first glance.
Always have. You're my everything: my sun, my ache, and the beat in my veins.
Without you, I'm half-alive, begging for scraps of you in memories. "
I couldn't speak. My throat closed around every word. Standing there, in the place where we had once broken each other, I realized something quietly devastating. He wasn't asking for anything at all.
I stayed quiet for a while, twisting my fingers like they had a mind of their own.
"I want… dates," I said finally, trying and failing to sound calm.
He tilted his head, eyes warm and curious. "Huh?"
"And I want love declarations," I added, flapping my hands a little for emphasis. "All kinds—spoken, written, drawn… heck, even interpretive dance if you feel ambitious."
I took a deep breath. "I want clear communication and cuddles. A lot of cuddles. Like, all the cuddles."
His lips wavered between a smile and a laugh, eyes glassy as tears welled up.
"And… couple’s counseling," I added, trying to keep it casual but failing miserably. "We have to do this the healthy way, you know?"
He blinked, stunned, eyes shining. "Please, Berrie… tell me this is what I think it is. I can’t hope for it only to have it taken away."
I grinned, finally letting the nerves melt into something soft. "And what do you think it is?"
"Ber…" he breathed, like the word itself couldn’t hold all his hope.
"Yes," I said, nodding, my heart racing. "I want us to try again. Slowly. With love. With honesty. With boundaries and… maybe even with interpretive dance."
A shaky breath slipped out of him, turning into a laugh full of relief. "Done," he said immediately. "Done and done."
"It won't be easy, Arlo," I warned, though I was smiling too.
He laughed softly. "Trust me, anything is easy compared to losing you. You're worth it. You're worth everything, Berrie."
My chest warmed as I stepped closer, closing the last inch between us. "This is usually the part where you kiss me, Arlo."
"Ber," he breathed, already leaning in.
His lips crashed into mine—fierce, forgiving, electric with a year's pent-up love exploding free.
Hands tangled in hair, bodies pressing close, desperate to erase every lost second.
His mouth tasted of salt and longing, tongue seeking mine in hungry strokes that stole my breath, ignited fire under my skin.
I clung to him, nails digging into his back, a sob breaking into the kiss as waves of relief and need crashed over us.
We deepened it, his fingers tracing my jaw and my hands fisting his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. Heat surged, hearts hammering wild against each other, the world blurring to just this: him, me, finally whole.
But air ran out. We broke apart gasping, foreheads pressed tight, panting ragged in the space between. His breath hot on my lips, eyes dark and dazed. "Berrie... God," he rasped, voice wrecked, hands still framing my face like I'd vanish.
The weeks that followed didn’t rush. They unfolded slowly and carefully. We didn’t tell anyone we were trying again. It was our secret for now.
Arlo started a ritual without ever naming it.
Every sketch, big or small, came with a love note tucked inside.
Sometimes it was a scrap of paper taped on crooked—Your laugh lives here rent-free.
Other times, a message hidden underneath—Drew this because mornings without you suck.
Even his texts turned into soft confessions.
This curve? Pure you magic. Or, Bet you’d steal this sunset’s glow.
He signed everything the same way—Arlo12. He never explained it. He just blushed every time I asked.
He planned dates the same way. A small bookstore where he already knew which poems would undo me, pressing the book into my hands like a shared secret.
Long walks that drifted into late evenings, ending on a bench with pastries between us, powdered sugar smudged on his sleeve because he always forgot to be careful when he was excited.
Our last date began lightly, buoyed by teasing and easy laughter.
We rode our motorbikes side by side, then took a wrong turn on purpose, letting the road lead us into a narrow alley.
We leaned our bikes against the brick, close enough that our shoulders brushed.
The banter softened. His gaze lingered. "You know," he said lightly, "this feels dangerous. "
"Oh?" I tilted my head.
"Yeah. I might forget my carefully planned restraint."
I laughed and then he kissed me.
It started slow, like a question, lips warm and unhurried. Then it deepened and the world narrowed to heat and breath. His hands were anchored at my waist like he was afraid to let go. I kissed him back harder, fingers sliding into his hair, both of us smiling into it even as the tension built.
When we finally pulled apart, foreheads touching, he exhaled a shaky laugh. "See? This is exactly the problem."
"What problem?" I teased, though my pulse was everywhere.
He groaned softly, half-amused, half-tortured. "I promised myself we'd take this slow. Very slow." He paused, then added with mock solemnity, "Also, for the record, I am absolutely suffering. Every date. Criminal levels. I deserve a medal."
I laughed, pressing my forehead to his chest. "Poor you."
"Tragic," he agreed, smiling despite himself. Then his voice softened. "But I want this right. I want us to build it even if it's killing me a little."
I looked up at him, heart steady and full. "Okay."
He placed a lingering, reverent kiss on my forehead. "Okay." A beat. "I'll complain the whole time but I can wait until you trust me completely."