Chapter 40
forty
VANESSA
It was late when the ride-share dropped me off at home.
The meeting had ended hours ago, but I’d had so much to think about that I had spent the night wandering aimlessly around the city, letting the cool air breathe life back into me.
It was one of those nights where the journey felt like a total blur—one blink and I was already standing in my parents’ driveway.
I was halfway down the narrow concrete path to the front porch when I noticed a figure sitting there quietly. He stood the exact second he saw me.
“Hi,” Elliott said, wiping his palms on his jeans and then fidgeting, as if he suddenly couldn't figure out what to do with his hands. His hair was a complete mess, looking like he’d been aggressively dragging his fingers through it the entire time he’d been waiting.
“Hey. How long have you been sitting out here?” My voice felt clumsy, my limbs entirely useless. I didn’t know where to put anything—my hands, my eyes, or my heart.
I had told this man I loved him, and somehow even that confession didn’t feel like enough anymore. There wasn't a word big enough in the English language for what he had actually done for me. No language had invented a term yet to capture the terrifying level of devotion I felt for him in return.
“A while,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I didn’t know if you’d actually show up tonight. Your mom let me wait out here, though. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course she did.” Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.
“I know you asked me to stay away, and I swear I respect that,” he continued, taking a step forward.
“I just… I knew Emma met with you today, and I wanted you to hear the rest of it directly from me.
I didn't mean to ambush you. God, I wanted to tell you a million times, Vanessa, but I kept waiting. I wanted to wait until you actually trusted me again.”
Did I trust him? Aside from my dad and my brothers, he was the only man on earth I truly trusted. Even after the nightmare at the hospital, I trusted him—sometimes entirely against my better judgment.
He stepped off the porch, intentionally keeping a respectful distance between us.
“Every single person I’ve ever loved gets taken away from me eventually.
You terrify me, Ness. You always have. Because with you, it’s completely different.
I know you’re not the kind of girl who wants a cheap bouquet of flowers when a guy screws up.
You want the guy who shows up and doesn’t screw up to begin with.
I can be that guy for you. I want to be that for you. "
He took a breath, his eyes searching mine. "If you don’t want that—if I’ve completely ruined my chances—I’ll accept it. Just… please don’t pass up this business opportunity because of me. I can be a completely silent partner. If that’s what it takes you’d never even have to speak to me again.”
He shifted back another step, shoving his hands deep into his front pockets as his shoulders went completely tense. He started that slow, almost reluctant walk toward the sleek car parked at the curb—the one I hadn’t even noticed when the ride-share dropped me off.
“Please, just think about it,” he called back softly.
My hands literally ached to reach out for him, to physically stop him from leaving.
My lips tingled with the desperate urge to yell across the yard and ask him to stay.
But I remained completely rooted to the stone path, entirely silent, watching as he climbed into his car and drove away.
Only when his taillights finally disappeared around the corner did I allow myself to breathe again.
When I pushed the front door open and stepped inside, I was instantly hit with a dense wall of fragrance so overwhelming it felt like stepping directly into a flower shop.
Roses. Lilies. Daisies. Gladiolus. Tulips.
Every single flat surface in sight was buried under vibrant blooms—bouquets overflowing from the kitchen counters, the side tables, and even lining the hardwood floor.
I didn’t even want to calculate how many local shops he must have cleaned out to pull this off.
On the entryway table, right where I always tossed my keys, sat a final, simple bouquet with a small white card tucked neatly into the green leaves. There was no signature at the bottom. But I knew, down to my absolute marrow, exactly who had left it.
In his unmistakable, jagged handwriting, the card read:
You asked me to stay away, but I can’t.