The walk back to his car feels too short. I don't want it to end.
The drive home alternates between quiet contemplation and fragments of conversation. We dissect the meeting—Tara's warmth, the breathing exercises, the relief of not having to share yet.
When he pulls into the plaza, I unbuckle slowly.
This feels like a date ending. My chest aches with want.
I want to kiss him so badly. I know it's a horrible thing to want, but I can't help myself. I wonder what his lips taste like. Boston cream, probably. Would he kiss softly or hungrily?
Stop it.
"Thanks for driving me," I manage. "I really appreciate it."
"Anytime."
"Maybe next time I'll trust you enough to reveal my actual address. Instead of making you drop me in parking lots like some weird spy."
"I don't mind. Keeps the mystery alive." He smiles. "Plus, you still don't know if I have a creepy basement… best to be careful."
"Do you?"
"Wouldn't you like to know."
I climb out, wave awkwardly.
When I slide into my Mini Cooper, I grip the steering wheel.
I'm in trouble.
Deep, deep trouble.
CHAPTER NINE
The scent of chocolate chips and butter fills Daniel's kitchen—my kitchen now, I suppose. I pull the last batch from the oven, golden brown and perfect. Colleen deserves something nice after everything she's been through with Claudia.
I stack the cookies in a vintage tin I found thrifting last month. The lid has painted daisies, cheerful and bright.
This is it. One more meeting with Julian, then I'm done. I'll tell him I can't go. I take a deep breath, my fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. The words replay in my mind like a mantra I'm trying to convince myself to believe.
This has to be the end of it. One final meeting with Julian—just to say goodbye properly, to give him some kind of closure, to explain that I can't keep doing this. It's not right. Not fair to Daniel, who trusts me, who's given me so much. Not fair to myself either, because I'm tearing myself apart with the guilt and the secrecy.
And it's definitely not fair to Julian, who deserves someone who can actually be there for him without all these complications, without being tied to someone else. I need tocut this off cleanly, before it becomes something I can't control, before someone gets hurt worse than they already might be.
The decision settles in my chest like a stone.
I grab the tin and head upstairs. The hallway smells the same—floor polish and someone's cooking. Colleen answers on the second knock, her auburn hair pulled back in a loose bun, reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck.
"Liza! What a nice surprise." She spots the tin. "Please tell me those are your cookies."
"Chocolate chip. Still warm."
"Get in here." She ushers me inside. The space looks nice with her choice of furniture and eclectic touches. Colorful. She and I go thrifting together, and she's always picking up the coolest stuff. She's fifty-three, but she seems ten years younger to me—petite and cute as a button. "Coffee?" she asks.
"Always."
We settle at her small kitchen table. She pops open the tin, and the smell intensifies. Heaven.
"So." She bites into a cookie, her eyes closing briefly. "These are dangerous. Now, tell me what's wrong."
