His eyes flicked over me — from the messy bun to the oversized sweater and then to my lips… Without my permission, my rogue tongue darted out over my bottom lip. “So,” he said carefully, eyes a little glassy, “am I a life-ruining choice?”
I choked. “I think I’m the one who climbed on top ofyou, actually.”
“Not complaining,” he said immediately. Too immediately. “I mean — God. I just meant?—”
I squinted at him. “Ansel. Are you nervous?”
“No.”
“You are, around me.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re doing the face,” I pointed out. “You’re scrunched up and uncomfortable.”
“I don’t want to make a mistake, June.”
I went very still. Because the way he said it — low and certain and almost scared — wasn’t about regret. It wasn’t about screwing up.
It was abouttrying.
And that scared the hell out of me.
I swallowed hard. “Why do you sound like you think I’m the mistake?”
His head snapped up. “Idon’t.God, Juniper?—”
“Because I’ve already been someone’s bad decision.” My laugh was bitter, quieter than I meant. “I know what that looks like.”
“You really think I’d be here if I thought that?”
I didn’t answer. I stared down at my coffee as if it had secrets to offer. “Hey,” he whispered, stepping closer. “I’m not him.”
I winced. “I know that,” I said. “It’s just… when someone loves you the wrong way for long enough, you start assuming the problem must beyou.”
He looked at me for a long time. Like I was a book he didn’t dare dog-ear. Like he wanted tounderstandthe whole story before he touched the page. “You deserve better,” he said softly. “Not just from me. Fromyourself.”
I hated how fast my throat closed up. “You have to stop saying things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to believe you.”
He took another step.
I took a half step back.
Not far.
But enough.
“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he said.
“I’m scared ofme,” I whispered. “I’m the one who doesn’t know how to stop.”
“Maybe you don’t have to stop,” he said. “Maybe you just have to pick someone who actually wants to catch you.”
My heart did something awful.
