And that almost did it, but I forced me and my pounding heart to leave him there with an unfinished sketch. I told myself that was it. That I’d done what I always did—kept my focus, stayed on track.
Except he kept showing up.
Morning after morning, like clockwork, always with that same quiet certainty that I’d come back through those doors. Sometimes with coffee. Sometimes just with that sketchbook documenting something only he could see.
It should’ve annoyed me, but his persistence and his ability to slow down undid me, until ignoring him took more effort than acknowledging him ever would have.
Three weeks.It took me three weeks to break.
“Alright, Mr. Architect,” I’d said, finally stopping instead of walking past him.“Let’s see what you think a wild time looks like.”
He smiled with cockiness. His cheeks flushed, and when he walked away, his shoulders slumped beforesquaring again, as if he was on the verge of giving up but his energy had been renewed.
And that should’ve scared me more than it did because the truth was, I didn’t say yes because I had time.
I said yes because I wanted him.
And for over two years, I let myself believe I could have both—that I could chase the life I’d worked for and still keep him. Spend all day giving at work and then come to someone solid and patient who didn’t demand.
Nate made it feel possible. He made it easy to believe I didn’t have to choose.
Until it stopped being true.
I just know that morning, standing there with the sun catching on his sketchbook and his attention fixed on me like I was worth waiting for—it felt like the beginning of everything, and now it’s the thing I can’t stop missing. I shake my head and keep my steps, one after another, away from him and the questions I have. In the past few months, I’ve also realized that the kiss and Nate’s accusations weren’t the only two things that broke us.
When I reach my building, Nate’s there. Not blocking the entrance, but positioned so I’ll have to slip past him to get inside.
He lifts his hand. Two fingers. Casual. Almost shy.
I lift mine back.
Cold air flows under my jacket and clings to the back of my neck. It smells of dewy pavement and pine, and sometimes, my breath wisps in front of me. I tuck my hands into my sleeves, eyes on Nate’s unusually dark gaze. As if the night has swallowed all the cognac out of his irises and left only black.
He shifts, and I notice a book beneath his arm.
“I’m not stalking you,” he says, a little breathless, like he hurried but doesn’t want to say so. The crooked hint of a wink shows at the corner of his eye. “I just… have a proposition.”
“I—”
“No, before you say anything, it’s not sexual.”
He lifts the book.The Tell-Tale Brain.The cover is pristine. No creases. No softening at the spine.
“I’m pretty sure you said, at some point, that you wanted to read this.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “How do you know I haven’t already?”
He arches an eyebrow.
“Fine—” I sigh, uncrossing them. “I haven’t. Happy?”
He shifts his weight. His sneakers scuff lightly against the concrete. “I already finishedThe Only Neurology Book You’ll Ever Need.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You did what?”
“It was… actually interesting.” He grimaces at his own sincerity. “Don’t wanna spoil it, but it broke stuff down pretty well—for people who copied answers in science class. Please don’t tell my mom.”
A breeze slices through the lot, tugging his jacket open enough to show an undershirt beneath, and it pushes my hair back from my face. He doesn’t step closer, and somehow, that makes the inches between us louder.
