“Hi,” I said, suddenly very aware of how this looked, how close we were sitting, how my knee was still pressed lightly against his under the table.
Savannah’s expression didn’t change, but something amused sparked in her eyes, as if she’d just found a puzzle piece she hadn’t known was missing. To her credit, she didn’t comment. Yet.
“What can I get you?” she asked, pen poised.
Levi glanced at me. “Still a ginger ale?” he asked. “With extra ice and cherries?”
I blinked. “You remember that?”
He shrugged, like it was obvious. “You always said it tasted better with equal parts ice and ginger ale. Super cold.”
Savannah’s pen paused for half a second before she recovered smoothly.
“And let me guess,” Levi continued, “we’re splitting the pretzel bites. Extra mustard.”
I laughed despite myself. “Your memory is almost creepy.”
He smiled, unbothered. “Accurate, though.”
“Weird but awesome,” I said, smiling back before I could stop myself.
Savannah wrote everything down, face neutral but eyes dancing. “I’ll be right back,” she said, already backing away. She disappeared toward the bar, and I could practically feel the silent mental note she was filing away to discuss with her family later.
Levi rested his forearms on the table, his posture easy yet attentive, as if settling in for something important. I watched him without meaning to. Taking in the familiar line of his jaw, the calm confidence in how he held himself, the quiet certainty that had always been there, even when we were kids. Being here with him felt strange and right all at once, like muscle memory waking up.
He looked up and caught me staring. “What?” he asked gently.
I shook my head, heat creeping up my neck. “Nothing.”
His mouth curved like he didn’t believe me, but he let it go.
For now.
I felt the pull of him like gravity. Steady. Gentle. Comforting. And I didn’t want to fight it anymore. I reached across the table, letting my fingers brush the back of his hand.
He didn’t pull away. He turned his hand over instead, palm up, letting our fingers lace together in the quiet space between us. His thumb traced a slow circle over my knuckles. Once. Twice.
He held my hand, and it felt like an anchor in the middle of everything I was trying not to feel. The warmth of his skin seeped into mine, and for the first time in days, I could breathe a little easier. Not because the fear was gone. But because I wasn’t alone. The rest of the world—the river, the red light, the comment, the fear—faded to background noise, lost in the sounds of the pub.
His thumb kept moving in slow, soothing circles over my knuckles. The callus on the pad of his thumb caught slightly against my skin, a small reminder that he worked with his hands, that he built things, carried things, held on when it was important. I stared at our joined hands as if they belonged to someone else. Mine looked small against his. Fragile. I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. For the first time in longer than I wanted to admit, someone was touching me as if I might break, like I was worth being careful with.
My throat tightened. Not from fear. From something softer. Something I hadn’t let myself feel in years. He didn’t speak. Just let his thumb keep moving, steady as a heartbeat, until mine started to slow down and match it.
Chapter 9
Levi
Sitting across from Becca at Holloway’s felt strangely normal, which was probably the most surprising part of the whole thing.
The booth smelled faintly of old wood polish and lemon cleanser, the same scent that had clung to my jacket after every Friday night here. She sat with her leg tucked under her the way she always used to. Her ginger ale sweated on the scarred tabletop, condensation rolling down the glass in slow, fat drops, cherries bobbing like little red buoys. The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses wrapped around us, familiar as a worn quilt.
For a second, she looked around the pub, taking in the dark walnut paneling, the amber glow of the pendant lights, and Savannah’s quick movements behind the bar. She exhaled, and the tension in her neck eased. I could see it in the way the small muscle there finally relaxed.
I hid my smile behind my napkin. This was us. Same booth. Same table we’d claimed a hundred times before. And somehow, even after everything, it still felt like coming home. But underneath that warmth, something else twisted in mychest. I shouldn’t want this so much. I shouldn’t let myself hope so much.
She was still healing from Travis. Still figuring out who she was without him, without the version of herself she’d tried to become for him. And here I was, sitting across from her like nothing had changed, like I hadn’t spent years trying to convince myself I could live without her in my life. Every time she smiled, my heart lurched toward her as if it had never learned how to stop wanting to be near her.
I knew better. I knew pushing too hard would scare her off. I knew she needed space, time, safety. And yet every instinct I had screamed to close the distance, to hold on, to tell her she never had to be alone again.
