"Yeah." He rubs a strand of hair between his thumb and fingertip. "You sure you want to do it this way?"
I nod. "It’s just to give us some breathing space."
"I don’t need breathing space. I need you."
My heart lurches in my chest. He’s being so sweet. But I need to do what’s right for me.
"I still think it’ll help if I leave the restaurant."
He places his fingers on my mouth. "I won’t hear of that."
I search his features and realize he won’t be swayed from this.
"What’s right for the business may not be what’s right for the both of us,” I warn.
His expression turns stubborn. "I only care about what’s right for you."
Warmth coils in my chest. It feels significant that he’s not putting his business first. For the first time.
I feel emotionally closer to him now than I did a few hours. Maybe, being open with him about my feelings is helping him slowly come to terms with what he feels for me?
My deciding to move out is the right decision… It’s making him realize that he can’t take me for granted.
It’s giving me hope that, with time, he'll be able to share his emotions more openly.
“We need to get back to the kitchen for the dinner service.”
He nods slowly. “And after?”
“And after, I’ll ride home with you. I’ll pack a few things, and I’ll move to my sister’s place.”
His face falls. “I’ll miss you, Ember.”
The way his utters my nickname undoes me.
It always does. Heat moves under my skin. I hate how easily he can still reach me, even now, with my mind made up, and my heart already grieving that I won’t be physically close to him. It already feels like that’s where I belong.
He must feel the same, for he pulls me closer.
Like he is trying to solve this with his body, since his words keep failing him. And I feel it—the wanting, the need in his hold, everything he cannot say pressing through his hands instead.
I know he feels it. I have always known. Oh God. It makes me feel awful that I’m stepping away from him, because I want to hear him say it too.
But it’s important that he acknowledges what he feels.
That gives me the courage to take a step back.
Panic crosses his face, quick and unguarded, before he controls it.
He releases me.
When I take another step back, something raw and lost fills his eyes. He drags his fingers through his hair, a gesture I know as well as my own heartbeat.
He's trying. I can see it. More than he has ever tried before. And that small, stubborn flicker of hope in my chest almost destroys me.
Almost.
"I love you," I whisper.
