34. Chapter Thirty-Four #2
"I watched the podcast," she continued. "And it wasn't the confession. It was the way you talked about me."
"Like a person."
"Like a partner," she said, and the correction landed hard, because it was exactly what I wanted to be.
Her gaze held mine. The noise around us seemed to thin.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
She nodded, cautious.
"Are you here because you want to be, or because you feel like you owe me a response?"
"I don't owe you anything."
"I know. I need to hear it anyway."
She stared at me for a long beat. "I'm here because I want to be."
My chest loosened a little.
Lila glanced around the room, the public space, the strangers, then her attention came back to me with a reckless kind of honesty.
"I don't know how to do this clean."
"I don't either."
Her mouth twitched. "Of course you don't."
"Fair."
She leaned forward slightly. "I'm still mad at you."
"I know."
"I'm also—" She stopped.
My pulse kicked. I kept my hands still. "You don't have to say it," I said.
Her eyes flashed. "I do." She inhaled. "I'm still attracted to you."
The words landed, hot and blunt. "Same," I said.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth again. This time it stayed there longer. The air around us felt too warm.
"Can I?" I said.
Lila's eyes lifted to mine. I didn't finish the question yet, because I needed to be sure she had room to say no without punishment. "Can I move closer?"
She nodded. "Yes."
I pushed my chair back and stood. The movement drew a glance from the guy near the window; then he went back to his phone call. The barista kept steaming milk. I stepped around the table and stopped beside Lila, close enough to feel her warmth through her coat. I didn't touch her yet.
Her eyes were wide.
"Still yes?" I asked.
She swallowed. "Yes."
My hand lifted and paused near her cheek, giving her space to pull back. Lila leaned into my palm first, almost impatient. The contact hit clean and hard. Her skin felt warm.
I stroked my thumb lightly along her cheekbone, then stopped, letting her set the pace.
She stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor. A few heads turned. Lila didn't care — or maybe she did and decided she couldn't care and keep standing. She grabbed the front of my sweatshirt and pulled me down.
Our mouths met. Messy and public. Too many teeth, too much urgency, a kiss that tasted like coffee and stubbornness and the last two weeks of silence.
My hand slid to her jaw, steadying, careful.
I didn't press her back or trap her. I let her move.
She kissed me harder, like she was proving something to herself, like she was reminding her own body that she could want and still have control.
A soft sound came from a table nearby, someone clearing their throat. Lila didn't break. I barely did.
I pulled back a fraction, forehead almost touching hers. "You okay?"
"Yes."
I didn't go in again. I waited. I made myself wait.
Lila stared at me for a long beat, then pulled back fully, hands dropping from my sweatshirt. She stepped away and pressed her palm to her mouth, eyes wide, as if she had just remembered where she was. A woman at the next table stared openly. Lila's gaze flicked to her, then away.
I braced for the push, the retreat, the punishment.
"I need to stop," she said.
"Okay."
She shook her head once, hair shifting under her hood. "Not because I don't want you."
"I know," I said, though I didn't. I hoped.
Lila met my eyes, the clarity there sharp and steadying. "I need to prove it to myself first."
The line landed clean. Not anger, not manipulation, not a test. A choice.
"Okay."
She blinked. "You're not going to argue?"
"No."
Her gaze searched my face, suspicious, as if she expected bargaining because bargaining was what I had done before. I kept my hands at my sides, open. "I'm not going to bargain."
Her shoulders loosened slightly. "Good." The word made it sound like she was rewarding me for doing the bare minimum. I deserved that.
We stood beside the table, breathing, pretending the whole coffee shop hadn't just watched us do a terrible job of being normal humans.
"I don't want to relapse into you," she said.
"I don't want that either."
"You do."
I didn't lie. "I want you. I don't want to lose you again because we rushed."
Her eyes watered again. She wiped at them quickly, annoyed. "Okay."
A beat passed. I forced myself into the part of me that could do this right, the part that could listen without grabbing.
"What do you need?" I asked.
"What?"
"What do you need? From me, from this, if we even attempt anything again."
She stared at me for a long moment, glanced at the floor, then back up. "I need to feel real while I'm loved. I need to feel whole. I need my work to stay mine."
"Okay."
"I need you to stop making moves for me," she added. "Even good ones. Especially good ones."
"Okay."
Her gaze held mine, daring me to promise and then break it. I took a breath and offered the one thing I could commit to without turning it into a performance.
"I will not touch your spotlight unless you invite me."
The words landed between us, solid.
Lila blinked. "You mean that?"
"Yes. And I'll put it in writing if you want."
Her mouth twitched. "On paper and in public."
"Everything."
She looked away for a second, then back. "Okay."
That simple agreement made my chest ache more than the kiss had, because this wasn't a dramatic reunion or a movie moment. It was a slow rebuild. It was what she needed. It was what I owed her.
We stood in the coffee shop's warm light, the noise around us returning to normal. A barista called out an order, someone laughed near the door, a chair scraped again.
Lila reached down and picked up her cup, hands trembling slightly. She took a sip, then set it down. "I'm going to take the headlining offer."
Pride surged through me, bright and fierce. I kept it clean. "Good."
She blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it. You should."
Her eyes softened. "You're not scared?"
"I'm terrified," I said. "I'm also proud of you."
She nodded once.
We stood in silence again.
Lila pulled her hood down, letting her hair fall free. Her cheeks were flushed from crying, kissing, and the cold outside. She looked raw in a way that made me want to wrap her in my arms. I didn't. I kept my hands to myself, because I meant what I said.
"We should go," she said.
"Yeah."
We didn't walk out together. That would have been too much, too public, too fast, content again within minutes. Lila moved first, stepping toward the door. She paused there with her hand on the handle and looked back at me. One long beat. No anger, no punishment, no promise either. Then she left.
I stood in the coffee shop for a minute, mouth still tasting like coffee and her hands tucked into my pockets so I wouldn't reach for a door she had already closed behind her.
When I finally walked out, I headed the opposite direction.
No audience, no proof, no clip for anyone to dissect.
Just the strange, terrifying relief of not chasing her when she walked away.