Chapter 27 #3
The air feels electric now, charged with everything we’re finally letting loose. I let the words sit, sink, and then I take a breath. “We can’t undo what happened. But we can decide what comes next.”
Theo swallows hard. “Yeah. That’s the question, isn’t it? What comes next?”
The waiter drifts by, leaving two glasses of water, but neither of us touches them.
Theo leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes dark and intense. “You’re here. Your life’s here. And mine’s in Gomillion. My team. My kids. My… everything except for you.” He laughs, low and bitter, shaking his head. “And all I can think is, how the hell does this work?”
I let out a heavy breath. “It works if we make it work. That’s the only answer I’ve got.”
His mouth pulls tight. “Long-distance.”
“For now,” I say.
He studies me for a long moment. Then he leans back, dragging both hands over his face. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
“You won’t.” My voice is steady, though my chest feels like it might crack open.
The silence stretches. He’s staring at me like he’s trying to memorize every line of my face. Then, slowly, he says, “I’d give up Gomillion for you.”
The words punch through me like a live current.
He doesn’t stop there, though. “I would. I will. But I think we should give it a year. Let me see this through. The team, the kids. They need me. And we—we need time. Time to figure out the men we are now. To learn each other again. Not just what we want in bed or at a reunion dance. All of it.”
My throat is too tight to speak. I nod once, hard, clutching his hand tighter.
He exhales, shakily but sure. “I’ll spend every school break here. And if you can spare the time, you come out too. We make the distance work until it’s not distance anymore. And then—we decide. Together.”
I let out a laugh that’s half a sob. “God, Theo.”
“What?” His smile is crooked, pained and hopeful at once.
“I’m already in love with you,” I say. “I’ve been in love with you. The idea that I get to fall even harder for you? That’s more than okay with me.”
His eyes soften, unguarded and wide open. He grasps my hand firmly back.
Around us, the restaurant hums quietly as we eat our meal together. Empty tables, low music, the occasional clink of silverware. But in our booth, the world has narrowed to this moment, to the fragile, fierce hope that maybe—just maybe—we can rewrite the story we thought was finished.
When we step back into the night, Theo takes my hand again without hesitation. And this time, I don’t just hold it back—I squeeze, hard enough to say, Yes, we’re doing this, all of it. The city moves around us, a blur of cars and people and streetlights, and every step we take feels like a vow.
By the time we reach my house, my chest is tight with everything I can’t say yet. With the relief of his words. With the terror of wanting so much. I fumble the key at the lock because he’s right there, heat at my side, eyes on me like I’m something worth looking at.
Inside, the quiet wraps around us. My house has never felt lonely, but tonight it feels alive. It feels like ours.
Theo presses me gently against the door before I can even set the keys down.
His kiss is soft at first, like he knows the weight of the words we left at the table.
Then his groans turn low and rough, and the sound deepens.
His tongue slides against mine, his hand gripping my jaw, and suddenly there’s nothing gentle about it.
We stumble together through the hallway, knocking shoulders against walls, mouths never parting. He’s already tugging at my shirt, desperate fingers finding skin, and I let him strip me out of it. I want to be bare for him. I want there to be nothing between us but heat and hunger and history.
In the bedroom, we fall onto the bed, and it feels like the past two nights and completely new at the same time. Because this isn’t reunion-sex anymore. It isn’t fueled just by nostalgia or the ache of missing. This is us, knowing what we said over dinner, knowing what we promised.
Theo hovers over me, breath ragged. He drops his forehead to mine. “You terrify me,” he whispers. “Because I want this so bad.”
I slide my hands up his back, pulling him closer. “Then don’t be scared. Wanting it is enough.”
He kisses me again, and the heat builds fast. Clothes scatter—his shirt tossed, my pants shoved aside. It’s frantic and tender all at once, like we’re trying to memorize each other in the dark, the slow unraveling of everything we thought we had to hold on to.
We take our time and we don’t. We relearn every sound, every gasp, every shiver, until the world narrows again to the sharp edge of release and the soft collapse after.
When it’s over, we lie tangled, sweat cooling on our skin, his chest heaving against mine. The city hums outside the window, but inside this room, there’s only his breath and the thud of my heart.
Theo’s hand drifts to my chest, settling right over it. “Still scared,” he murmurs.
I cover his hand with mine, eyes closing. “Good. Means it’s real.”
And for the first time in fifteen years, I let myself believe it.