"It was just a kiss," I say steadily. "The world did not end so no worries."
Something tightens across his face, quick and unguarded. Intense Callahan is a sight to behold, and I wish I didn't see it.
"It wasn't..." He exhales, gaze dropping to the street again, several deep breaths moving through him before he finishes. "It wasn't a small thing. Not to me."
Oh. That's not fair. That's not a fair thing to say while standing three feet away from me with afternoon light doing something golden to his face and weeks of silence still sitting between us.
I want to shake him. I want to kiss him. I want to ask him to say it again, slower, so I can memorize the exact sound of his voice dropping on those words.
Instead I hear myself say, ”Callahan. Don't say things like that if you're not going to do anything about it."
"You know why I can't."
I see the agony he's in. It's written all over him, the wanting and the holding back, and maybe three months ago that would have been enough. Maybe I would have softened, given him more time, more grace.
But I'm fresh out of patience for men who won't stand up for what they want. Especially when what they want is standing right in front of them, offering freely, and they're holding back because of some bro code to a man who doesn't get a vote. Even if that man is my whole world.
"Actually, I don't," I say, and it isn't entirely true.
"Because every time I try to get a clear answer, I get Rome's name or my age. Or some version of you deciding what's good for me." I step closer. Not much, but enough. "Which again, for the record, is my call to make. Not yours."
He holds my gaze for a long second, and I keep my chin level. I've gotten very good at keeping my chin level around this man.
"You're leaving soon."
Apparently he's ready to name all the reasons we're wrong.
"I'm leaving next year. But sure. I'm leaving."
"So in your version of this, what, it's a summer fling? You go back to school and we..."
He doesn't finish. I don't want him to finish. Picturing an end to something that doesn't even exist yet is hard enough. Maybe he's right.
"I'm saying it doesn't have to be a whole entire catastrophe," I tell him, and I hear my own frustration bleeding through. "I'm saying other people have managed casual without the world caving in. I'm saying..."
"You're not someone temporary, though, are you?" he grits out and I am taken aback.
"Our lives are too entangled," he continues, leaning closer now, pointing between us. "Erin and Rome. Poppy and Ramsey. Which means you and me... is forever. Your grumpy-ass brother is someone I actually like, which doesn't happen often, and this isn't something we can just do and have it be nothing. For the other people in this equation, if nothing else."
I know what he means, I understand what he means. Ialso hate what he means. I want to cry and scream because he's right and I don't want him to be right and none of that changes anything.
"Fine."
Because I'm angry and embarrassed and frustrated. At him. At me. At everyone and everything.
"Fine?" He says it like he doesn't quite believe me.
"Yes. Fine!" I say evenly, though my throat burns with it. "That grumpy-ass brother taught me in sixth grade that I would never, not once in my life, chase a boy who didn't want me. So..."
I pick up my bag strap, adjust it on my shoulder, armor in place.
"You don't have to manage my feelings about it. I'm a big girl."
"Lily..."
He reaches for me. I take a step back.
"I mean it. You made your decision. I respect it."
