"You look peaceful," he said, then paused. "But also... not. You okay?"
I didn't even look up from the book. "I'm fine."
He sat beside me, close but not touching. "Is it about the three words?"
My throat closed. He didn't say it unkindly. Just... knowingly.
"Ryder, I said, trying to sound steady. "I'm not trying to pressure you."
"I didn't say you were."
"I'm sorry," I blurted, and hated myself instantly for it. "I just... forget I said anything, okay? It doesn't matter." His eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. "You don't have to apologize. I care about you, December."
And that should have been enough. So I stood up and went to the kitchen. "You hungry?"
He didn't answer, just followed. Leaned against the counter while I made pasta with the leftover garlic bread. As I stirred the sauce, my mind wandered. Back to childhood.
To my mother's voice ringing sharp across the dinner table:
"Maybe skip seconds, huh? No one likes a fat girl."
To high school, where boys laughed when I dared to wear a crop top.
To the way mirrors made me flinch.
I learned to make myself small. To be useful. Pleasant. And now, I was with a man who was kind. Who didn't mock or criticize or raise his voice.
So what if he didn't love me? He was good to me. That should be enough. Right?
He hugged me from behind while I poured the pasta into bowls. His arms wrapped around my waist, lips brushing my shoulder. "You always take care of me," he murmured. I melted into him. Let my head rest back against his chest.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this is what love looks like—for people like me.
So what if he doesn't acknowledge me in public, or say he loves me, or want to live together?
He's here now. He's kind. That should be enough.
Shouldn't it?
Chapter 4: Crumbs
The staff lounge smelled like burnt coffee and nostalgia. A farewell party for one of the senior teachers. Retirement. Confetti. Sentimental speeches. Cake.
So much cake.
I stood in the corner, watching the others laugh and dig into the dessert table. There was a strawberry tart that looked like it was sent straight from heaven, and two kinds of cheesecake. One of them was caramel-swirl—Ryder's favorite.
I wanted a slice. God, Icravedit. But instead, I reached for my mug and pretended to sip something that had gone cold an hour ago.
"Hey." Gracie nudged my side. She was one of the younger teachers—bubbly, kind, all sunshine and pastels. "You're not having anything?"
I gave her my usual joke. "Trust me, the only thing I need less than sugar is a larger pants size."
She stared at me. "Why do you always do that?"
"Do what?"
"That. Put yourself down like it's some kind of reflex. Do you even hear yourself?"
