“No reason,” she said, though her voice betrayed a quiet curiosity that wasn’t fully concealed.
I wasn’t sure if she’d seen everything, but I felt the weight of her gaze like a soft pressure against my skin.
I stood there for a moment, my gaze fixed on Brenden. My heart beat a little faster. I was unsure whether to take the first step toward him or retreat back into the shadows. My body screamed to cross the room, to bridge that gap, to let him know that I was here. But my mind? My mind told me to stay.
I didn’t need to say anything. His gaze was already there, waiting for me.
“Brielle?” he said softly, his voice grounding me in the chaos around us.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the apology rising before I could stop it. It felt necessary, like I owed it to him.
Brenden paused before his shoulders slumped. God, was I that obvious? To everyone?
He gave a soft, understanding smile, his eyes lingering on me with a knowing softness. “I kind of figured something was up,” he said, his voice a balm to the confusion swirling inside me.
I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. My words tangled in my throat, and I wasn’t sure how to untangle them.
“It’s just …” I began, but stopped myself. What could I say to make it better? To explain everything without making it worse? “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head gently, reading the hesitation on my face. “It’s okay. Sometimes, high-school sweethearts are meant to stay in high school, right?” His voice softened, and a brief, almost-wistful laugh escaped him. “You guys had a thing a while back too. I remember the way he used to look at you. Back then, I thought it was weird. Now though …” He let out a long breath. “Well, you look at him the same way, so …”
His words stung in the best way possible, an acknowledgment of what we had once shared, but also a clear-eyed recognition that something had changed. It wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just about the past.
So …
That was the word. The final word, and yet it felt like there was so much more hanging in the air between us. So … what now? Where did this leave us?
“I really am sorry,” I said again, trying to make my apology stick, to make it mean something.
“Don’t be,” Brenden said with a soft smile. “I wish you the best, Bri. Whatever that may be.” His eyes flicked toward the crowd, the weight of everything shifting in the space between us. “We should catch up again. Sooner than this. Especially if I move out closer to you and Gina.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed, my voice tight but genuine. Part of me wondered if that was enough—if we could go back to being friends again after everything that had happened. But that was something I’d have to figure out later.
Brenden nodded once, then hesitated, as if considering whether to say something more. Instead, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle and turned to rejoin the group, not wanting to stretch the awkwardness longer than necessary.
I was thankful for that. Grateful even.
I watched him walk away, and with it, a strange relief washed over me.
I didn’t need twelve dates or twelve guys to find Mr. Right. I only needed one. And I wasn’t going to stop myself now before I reached him.
The thought settled in me like a comforting truth, warm and terrifying, all at once. I didn’t know what the path ahead looked like, but I knew I had to take a step. Just one. Toward him.
So, I turned.
The sound of clinking glasses and muffled conversation rose around me as I threaded through the crowded living room, my eyes searching for that familiar figure. And then I saw him.
Josh stood in a small circle of people near the fireplace, the orange glow painting soft highlights in his dark hair. His mouth was curved in a real, easy smile—the kind he rarely gave out freely anymore—and it punched something deep in my chest. I felt it. The ache of almost.
She was standing beside him, laughing along with the group. A stunning woman with the kind of confidence that radiated naturally, her honey-blonde curls falling like they were styled for a commercial. And she was comfortable next to him. Effortlessly so.
I saw the way her eyes followed him as he took a sip from his glass, her gaze lingering, like she already knew the taste ofhim. And when she placed her hand lightly on his arm—fingers brushing, thumb tracing idle patterns back and forth as if she belonged there—I stopped walking.
Oh.
I froze mid-step, the breath caught in my throat.
That laugh. That casual touch. The familiarity. She looked at him like I sometimes caught myself looking at him when I forgot to be careful. And he … he didn’t move away. He didn’t pull back. He just … let her.
