Chapter 11
ELEVEN
They walked with no real destination in mind. Ariana led the way, a step ahead of Leah, who clutched the popcorn to her chest, curling into herself against the bite of the Chicago air.
Eventually, they drifted toward the Riverwalk. Neither spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just . . .there. Leah pulled her phone from the small black crossbody bag and saw a text from Grace.
Grace
How’s it going?
Leah
Erm, okay?
Grace
You don’t sound convinced.
Leah
I’m in Chicago with my ex-girlfriend who I
haven’t seen in five years until last week.
Grace
And?
Leah
I hate you.
Grace
You love me. Also, I appreciate you taking one
for the team.
Leah
I always take one for the team. I’m done. I want
to be a solo player.
Teamwork sucks.
Grace
Stop.
You’ll make me laugh, and I’ll wee. My vagina
is not as tight as it used to be.
Leah
Ew. TMI.
Grace
Are you at least making conversation?
Or texting me and ignoring my sister?
Leah
Why is it always your sister when you’re guilt
tripping me?
Whose side are you on?
Grace
None. I’m neutral.
I love you both. I hate you both. Very fair.
Leah
Thanks.
Grace
Ask her what she’s doing for her birthday.
Leah
Why?
Grace
I’m throwing you a bone here. Take it.
Leah
Fine.
Grace
Good girl. And don’t come back before six.
There’s a cake delay.
It was only 1:06 p.m.
“Where’s your sweater from?” Leah asked.
“Free People,” Ariana replied.
“It suits you.”
“Thanks. I like your . . .sweater too.” Her reply was awkward.
“Thanks.”
Leah found a bench facing the water and sat, watching boats glide by. Ariana lingered at the railing, looking out, her posture thoughtful—probably planning her escape route.
The Riverwalk was alive with winter energy: bundled-up couples, tourists with cameras, the hum of chatter carried on crisp air. Somehow, it was still peaceful. Leah welcomed that.
She focused on the rhythm of the water lapping against stone. Ariana turned, leaning back on the rail, eyes sparkling with mischief.
What? Leah mouthed.
Ariana beckoned her over.
“Do you remember our third date?” Ariana asked.
“How could I forget the boat tour from hell?” Leah groaned.
A smile crept across Ariana’s face. “Do you remember what you said to me after we got off the boat?”
Leah laughed. “I said I’d never step foot on another tour boat unless . . .”
“Unless you had a bag of popcorn.” Ariana smirked. “And two pairs of gloves.”
“You planned this?” Leah raised a brow, suspicious.
“Not at all.”
“I don’t see two pairs of gloves.”
Ariana reached into her coat pockets, pulling out a black pair from the left and a grey pair from the right.
“That makes two,” she said, grinning.
“Do we have to?” Leah’s stomach tightened.
“No,” Ariana teased, “but I think it could be healing for you.”
The memory surfaced, sharp and unwanted. Six years ago, the boat trip had been a nightmare: screaming kids, a mother-daughter duo arguing loud enough to drown out the tour guide, wind whipping her hair into a tangled mess because she’d forgotten her beanie.
And lunch—God, lunch.
She’d been starving, clinging to the sandwich she’d packed, until one wrong step sent it skidding over the slick deck and into the river, where a swarm of birds had a feast.
If Ariana hadn’t soothed her pounding headache with gentle forehead kisses, Leah might have thrown herself overboard just to escape.
Back then, she’d called it the boat trip from hell.
The only good part? The big bag of Garrett’s popcorn they’d bought afterward.
“Fine.” Leah sighed.
The boat trip, by Leah’s standards, was far more successful than the last. She stepped off warm and alert, remnants of popcorn tangled in the curls that framed her shoulders. It could’ve been worse.
Six days ago, her mother had asked what she wanted for Christmas. Leah had joked, “My old life back.” She didn’t actually think it would come true.
She missed so much about Michigan, and she couldn’t pretend Ariana wasn’t a big part of that. Whenever Leah thought about the past, there was no version that didn’t include her. Her life had split into two distinct eras: before Ariana and after Ariana.
It was sad, really. Depressing, if she was honest. No one had ever said that to her face, but she knew they thought it.
Friends and family still tiptoed around anything to do with romance.
Mostly because she’d taught them to. There had been the cry-at-everything phase—hysterical sobbing that got her uninvited from gatherings.
Then came the new lease of life phase, complete with an icy exterior that shut down any mention of her love life or moving on.
Truth be told, people didn’t know which version of her they’d get next—and they were afraid to find out.
Ariana really was beautiful, Leah thought.
She watched as Ariana reapplied the same brand of lip balm she’d been loyal to since high school. Some things never changed. Ariana tugged her sweater collar higher, letting the wool bunch against her neck like a makeshift scarf. Her fingers, though, were ghostly white.
“Your fingers!” Leah blurted.
Ariana held them out, wincing as she tried to bend at the knuckles.
“Here.” Leah dug out the second pair of gloves from her pocket. “God, I’m sorry. So selfish of me.”
“It is, actually.” Ariana smirked. “They might fall off, and I’ll be fingerless. All your fault.”
“Don’t!” Leah frowned. “You know I’ll feel guilty for a decade.”
Ariana chuckled, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “I just underestimated how bitter it’d be by the water. It’s not your fault.”
Leah held out the gloves. Ariana hesitated for a heartbeat, then reached for them. Her fingers brushed Leah’s—just a whisper of contact—but it was enough.
They held eye contact a moment too long. Leah felt it like a building collapsing inside her: the thud in her chest, the crash in her stomach, her body short-circuiting at being this close to Ariana again. The Riverwalk faded to a soft blur—people, sounds, everything dimmed—until it was just them.
A nearby busker’s speaker played Taylor Swift’s Timeless.
Of course it did.
Ariana mouthed the chorus, and Leah’s heart ached. All she wanted in that moment was to hold her. Nothing more, nothing less. Just . . .hold her. Or be held by her. Either one.
There, in the crisp Chicago air, she wanted Taylor’s lyrics to belong to them. She wanted this—the concrete walkway stretching endlessly ahead, Ariana standing inches away—to be their second chance. Every fibre of her being craved that rewrite.
But—
They’d already had their love story.
The version of them that existed in this universe had come and gone. Intoxicating. Magnetic. Fleeting. Every epic love story rolled into one—and yet, how do you explain that? How do you put into words that if something was that extraordinary, it shouldn’t have ended?
“Thank you,” Ariana murmured as she slipped her hands into the gloves.
Leah’s chest fluttered. “You’re welcome, Ari.” Her tone soft, sincere.
The moment lingered like the last note of a song. Ariana wiggled her fingers. “I think I can feel warmth again.”
Leah smiled gently. “Maybe we should grab a hot drink? Warm you up more?” Her words were empty—her brain wasn’t in them. Her focus was fixed on Ariana’s lips.
The eye contact. The proximity. That invisible thread between them—still there, no matter how much time had passed. Leah might never admit it aloud, but she was certain Ariana felt it too.
“We should probably head back,” Ariana said at last.
Leah tugged her coat sleeve back, glancing at her watch: 2:31 p.m. Grace had made it clear—no return before six.
“Erm . . .” Leah swallowed hard. “There’s one other thing I wanted to do—if you don’t mind?”
Think. Quick. Shit.
“What would you like to do?”
Come on, Leah. Christ. Use your brain.
“Erm . . .well . . .” She blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I would love to get a Chicago deep dish pizza? If you’re still hungry?”
It was a terrible idea. Ariana had eaten a hot dog an hour ago—she couldn’t possibly want pizza now. And Leah would have to explain to Grace why she couldn’t even manage the simple task of keeping Ariana away until cake time.
“Sure. Okay.” Ariana agreed easily.
Oh.
“Great.”
“Do you have a place in mind?”
“Not really—”
Damn, you’re bad at this.
“Okay,” Ariana said, amused. “I know just the place.”