“Hey.”
The space between us feels tight.
“I’m glad you came,” he says.
“I am too.”
He gestures toward the dining table. “Can you sit for a minute?”
The request isn’t controlling. It’s careful. My stomach flips anyway.
I sit.
He walks over slowly and places a thick envelope in front of me. Then another. And another.
I stare at them, my breath catching before my brain fully registers what I’m seeing.
Plane tickets. Hotel confirmations. A printed itinerary.
My hands hover above the table.
“Colton …” I whisper.
“Italy,” he says quietly. “Tuscany.”
I look up at him, stunned.
“I booked it today,” he continues. “Everything’s refundable. This isn’t pressure but I needed to make it real.”
My chest feels too tight for air.
“And before you say anything,” he adds quickly, “this isn’t me avoiding what we talked about yesterday.”
I study his face and see the tension in his shoulders, the seriousness in his eyes.
“This is me choosing something instead of running from everything.”
I swallow.
“I owe you an apology,” he says. “For how I reacted on Sunday. It caught me off guard. Not what you asked, but how much it mattered.”
I nod slowly, my fingers brushing the edge of the papers.
“I wasn’t angry at you,” he continues. “I was scared of what you were right about.”
The honesty in that hits hard.
“I know I need to talk to my parents,” he says. “I know that’s a step I’ve been avoiding for years. I’m not pretending it’ll be easy.”
He meets my eyes.
“But I am promising you I’ll do it. After we get back.”
Something in my chest loosens with trust beginning to rebuild its footing.
“I’m not asking you to wait forever,” he adds. “I’m asking you to walk with me while I figure out how.”
I don’t speak right away. I just breathe. I stare down at the tickets for a long moment, like if I look long enough, they’ll turn into something less real.
