Chapter >23 #2
I close the distance, letting him kiss me. It’s not wild, not desperate. It’s soft, slow, the kind of kiss you could build a life on. When it ends, I press my forehead to his, and we just stay like that, the world shrinking down to the size of this booth, this moment, this promise.
I’m still scared. There are still a million things we haven’t solved. But for the first time in months, I believe we might make it.
We sit there, hands clasped, while the rest of the restaurant dissolves around us. The lights stay low, and the hum of voices and clink of plates fade to a hush.
This is what it feels like to start over.
This is what forgiveness sounds like.
And this time, I won’t fuck it up.
We sit there for a long time, not speaking.
Not because we’ve run out of words, but because sometimes you just need to let the silence absorb all the old toxins.
Our hands are still joined across the scratched table, and I can feel the echo of his kiss—its patience, its slow-building heat—radiating into my heart.
I want to tell him everything, all at once.
I want to explain that for weeks, every time I passed a man with dark hair or smelled someone’s cologne, I half-expected to see him waiting for me at the end of the block.
That every one of my dreams started with his voice, and ended with it too.
I want to say that when he left me—when he slammed the door and let me walk out of his life—it felt like losing all gravity, like floating away in a city made entirely of strangers.
But I don’t. Not right now. There’s a new, careful rhythm between us, and I’m afraid to jinx it.
Thomas is the first to break the truce. He lets go of my hand—reluctantly, but definitely—and sits back, flexing his fingers like he’s just realized they’re his again. “So,” he says, his voice just above a whisper, “how do we do this?”
The question is so honest, so unguarded, that it floors me. For a second, I forget to answer. Then I laugh, and it’s an ugly, messy little sound. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve never… I mean, we’ve never actually done it right before, have we?”
He shakes his head, smiling. The smile is tired, but it’s real. “No,” he says. “We haven’t.”
A little wave of hope breaks through my cynicism. I straighten in my seat. “We start slow. We just talk, maybe. Get to know each other like normal people.”
Thomas grins, a little wry. “You think I’m capable of normal?”
I laugh again, this time with less panic in it. “No. But I want to try.”
He’s quiet, considering. “I want that, too. Even if I’m not very good at it.
Even if I fuck up, I want you to know it was by accident.
” He leans forward, elbows on the table, and his eyes are suddenly so open, so vulnerable, it makes me ache.
“I’m sorry for everything, Andie. Not just the cameras, but all the ways I’ve doubted you. All the ways I didn’t trust you.”
My hands are cold, but the rest of me is on fire. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. “For my harsh words and actions. For making you feel disposable. You never were.”
The waitress appears, ghostlike, at the edge of the booth. “Would you like to see a menu?” she asks, voice gentle enough to suggest she’s overheard every beat of our disaster.
I look at Thomas, waiting for him to take the lead. He gestures to me. “Ladies first.”
I order soup, because it’s the safest thing, the thing that won’t get caught in my throat when I’m trying not to cry.
Thomas orders a rare steak, because of course he does.
We don’t speak while the waitress pours our wine—a red that stains the inside of the glass like old secrets—and I’m grateful for the pause, the chance to recalibrate.
When we’re alone again, he says, “If you could have anything, right now, what would it be?”
I blink, caught off guard. “You mean, like, a wish?”
The handsome billionaire nods like a genie. “A wish. Right now.”
I think about it. I think about all the things I’ve wished for since I was a child—a clean Earth, a place to belong for all, world peace. But all those wishes feel too general now, next to the ache in my chest.
“I want…” I start, then stop. “I want to not be scared of wanting you.”
He exhales, as if he’s been holding his breath this entire time. “That’s all I want, too.”
There’s a long, glassy pause. The soup arrives, and I stir it, feeling the salt cling to my tongue. Thomas cuts his steak in precise, even slices, but I notice he’s not eating—just moving food around, keeping his hands busy.
“I think,” he says, “that the only way this works is if we keep talking. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”
“Especially when it’s uncomfortable,” I say. “That’s how we got into this mess, right?”
He grins, and it’s the first time I see the old Thomas—the one who could set a room on fire with just a flash of those blue eyes. “Right. So, for starters—” he pauses, a glint in his eye “—what’s the worst secret you have left?”
I consider this. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of secrets left. But the worst one is the simplest: “I’m terrified you’ll change your mind. That you’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble, and leave me.”
He reaches across the table again, palm up. I slide my hand into his, and the fit is so perfect it’s almost indecent.
“I won’t,” he says. “Even if you try to force me out.”
The promise hangs there, stitched into the air, and for the first time all night I believe him.
We don’t linger over dinner. It’s too intense, too raw, to keep the performance going any longer than necessary. Thomas pays in cash, leaving a tip so obscene the waitress’s eyes go wide. We walk out together, side by side, the wind off the river cutting through our coats.
Outside, the city is weirdly quiet. It’s not late, but the world feels emptied out for just the two of us. Thomas puts his hand on the small of my back, guiding me down the street. The touch is light, not possessive, but it sets off fireworks under my skin.
We don’t say much as we walk. Every few feet, his arm brushes against mine, and every time it happens, I feel a jolt, like the world is trying to remind me what I almost lost. When we reach his apartment building, he pauses on the sidewalk.
“Come in?” he asks, not even trying to hide the hope in his voice.
I hesitate, not because I don’t want it, but because I do. So badly. “You think it’s a good idea?”
He shrugs. “Probably not. But I’m not good at walking away from you.”
I feel my face go pink. “Maybe we just talk then.”
He nods. “Maybe we do.”
We’re silent in the elevator, but the air between us is electric, and the moment we’re inside, Thomas pulls me close. He doesn’t kiss me, not right away—he just wraps his arms around me and holds on, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish again.
“I missed you, Andie,” he says, voice muffled against my hair.
I close my eyes, sinking into him. “I missed you more.”
He laughs, low and rough. “Impossible.”
I tilt my head up and kiss him, not soft this time but hungry, desperate. His hands go to my face, cradling it, and I feel the scrape of his stubble against my cheek. I want to remember everything—his smell, the warmth of him, the way he tastes like hope and regret and a hundred tiny promises.
We make it to the couch, tangled together. This isn’t sex, not exactly, but it’s close—every touch, every kiss, is a laying-down of arms, a ceasefire. I want to be closer, to crawl under his skin, to become a part of him so he can never forget me again.
When we finally come up for air, Thomas is breathing hard. He looks at me like he’s never seen me before, like I’m new and wild and entirely unpredictable.
“Let’s do it better this time,” he says, his voice thick.
I nod, smiling through the tears I didn’t even know I was crying. “Yes. Let’s.”
He kisses the top of my head, then tucks me under his arm, holding me there like a secret he’s finally ready to keep.
We sit like that for a long time, watching the world move past the window. The city is still out there, loud and bright and full of ways to get lost. But in this room, for the first time in forever, I am found.
I turn to Thomas, resting my head on his shoulder. “You know what’s weird?” I say.
He squeezes me, gentle. “What?”
“I feel like I can breathe again. Like really breathe. Like I was underwater, and unable to move, speak, or do anything really. But now, I can.”
He kisses my temple, his lips lingering there. “That’s all I want for you, Andie. I adore you, and everything about you, sweetheart.”
It’s not a happy ending. Not yet. But it’s the beginning of something, and maybe that’s enough.
We’ll figure out the rest. Together.
For now, that’s all the promise I need.