His cheeks pinken. “Robyn, you know I was alittle,” he admits, falling into step beside me as I head toward the corner. “You never seemed to appreciate me getting you coffee.”
I lower my gaze for just a second. “I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. It’s just?—”
He raises his arms, palms stretched out. “It’s okay. Too many memories. I get that.”
We walk shoulder to shoulder, not touching. The sidewalk slopes gently downhill, past storefronts with their doors propped open, wind chimes clinking softly somewhere overhead.
“Did you watch the next season?” he asks.
“Ofthatshow?”
“Yeah.”
I tilt my cup to my lips, blowing once. “I did. Did you?”
He nods. “Of course!” He groans. “Right? Talk about a twist.”
I slap his bicep and nod excitedly. The rhythm between us is smoother than the few times we introducedbenefitsinto the friendship, and infinitely better than the last few times we met up—both of us haunted by exes of springs past and present. We reach my car at the corner of the block, and I fish my keys from my bag.
Zac clears his throat. “Hey,” he says, with a hitch to it, “I know I kind of left you hanging. Said I wanted more and then just… disappeared on you.”
The street hums around us—tires on wet asphalt, a cyclist gliding past, laughter drifting from a patio down the block.
I glance at him, then back at my keys. “Don’t even mention it. I think we were both forcing it.”
He drags his chin down until it hits his chest. “Maybe.” Then his lips twitch a little at the corner. “I needed to at least grow a little. You know?”
I unlock the car, the familiar chirp cutting through the moment. “Glad I could be of service.”
He winces. “Come on. You know I don’t mean it like that.”
“I know, I know,” I say, opening the driver’s door. “It’s good, Zac.”
He hesitates, one hand on the top of the door, tapping the frame and keeping me from getting in.
“Things okay with your ex?” I ask.
His expression dims—not dramatic, and he shakes his head once. “Not even close.” The sun catches the edge of his face, highlighting the tension on his corded neck, then he swallows. “Do you think people can regret doing something that absolutely tears you apart? Like so profoundly it changes who you are?”
I search for the right words before answering, twisting the coffee in my hand, the heat fading through the paper slip. “Probably, but I don’t think regret is all that important.”
His brow knits in a deep crease. “No?”
He has that need for answers written on his features, in the deep line forming at the corner of his mouth and the way his shoulders bunch up.
That’s the part I can’t quite shake yet—the way the ground I thought was so solid shifted under my feet. How something that had always felt safe suddenly didn’t. I was able to focus on my job, my next career move was up in the air, but my relationship was deeply rooted in a healthy soil.
I shrug. “I think whether they can show you they’ve learned from it is more important.”
Except it wasn’t healthy soil, was it?Nate didn’t return that kiss out of the blue. I missed the symptoms. Well, I didn’t miss them, but I didn’t come up with the right treatment plan.
“And Zac, you’re not responsible for someone else’s mistakes, but…”
“But what?”
I press my lips together. “It may feel like it, but relationships don’t crumble overnight.”
The creases on his face smooth—not peace exactly but pondering. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s a good point.”
