His throat bobs, and he glances at the theater entrance, laughter and music playing as guests arrive and mingle. He should be in there, greeting people, talking up his docuseries, but he’s out here because I asked him.
This is the last place he wants to be right now.
“I don’t know how to do this with you,” he says in a strained voice. “I don’t know if I can pretend that it was a fun fling. It meant something to me. I can’t forget that.”
My heart cracks. He spins away, and I panic, grabbing his hand.
“I don’t want you to forget. Ask me my secret, Jett.”
Hazel eyes meet mine, swimming in sadness. But behind it, there’s a sliver of something else, an emotion I cling to desperately. I witness the moment his resolve wavers, shouldersdeflating as he asks, “What’s your deepest, darkest secret, Sofía?”
With every ounce of strength and courage I possess, I whisper, “I fell madly in love with my boss.”
“What?” His hand slackens in mine. “What did you say?”
“I’ve done a lot since we left Australia. But mostly, I’ve thought of you. All the time.”
I can barely breathe beneath the intensity of his stare, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. I’ve never done this—laid out every emotion like it’s a hand of cards.
“Never in my life has someone consumed my thoughts the way you have. It’s debilitating. You are the first person I think about every day, and it hashurtbeing away from you. I think you’re my best friend. Not in the way you told me we were, but in the way where I could spend every waking moment with you and never need time alone. And I know we’re so different, and in another world, we would never work, but I don’t think any of that matters because I love you.”
“You love me?” he asks, the words barely a whisper.
“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, like it’s the easiest, most natural thing I’ll ever do. I didn’t even realize it had happened until you walked away in the airport and it was like my heart ripped from my chest.” I release his hand, wrapping my arms around myself. “And I know it might be selfish to tell you now, but I don’t think I could live with keeping it to myself, even if you don’t feel the same.”
Time suspends between us, and he stares, wide-eyed, blinking, mute. Sharp disappointment presses between my ribs. The dismissal is an ache I won’t shake, but I steel my shoulders. I prepared for this. Knew the potential outcomes, the risks of telling him before the premiere, of waiting these weeks.
So I offer him a smile, though it falls flat.
When the night is over and I’m at home, I’ll cry. I’ll allow the wave of emotions to sweep me under and mourn the loss. If I were braver, if I hadn’t let him walk away in the airport, then maybe it would be different. I missed my chance, and I’ll learn to live with that. Two things can be true: He can confess he loves me to his friends and still decide he doesn’t want to try again.
“I’m sorry to spring this on you before your speech,” I croak, reaching out to readjust his bow tie, allowing myself to touch him one last time. “I’ll give you some space.”
Pulling away wrings my heart, but he covers my hand with his palm, pressed over his heart. The pounding is erratic, quick. I snap my gaze to his, and my knees buckle from the weight of it.
I’m not convinced he’s ever going to speak, but he finally asks, “Do I need to fire you to kiss you again?”
All I can offer is a stunned shake of my head before his lips are on mine as he grips my hips tight like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
My fingers dig at the nape of his neck, ruining the neat bun. I clamp down on the hope that grows when he breaks the kiss and his forehead falls against mine, joyous noise from the theater filling the space between us.
“This is real?” he asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
A smile forms on his lips, which graze against mine in another kiss.
“Very real,” I confirm. “I’m sorry I froze in the airport. I’m sorry I was too chicken to chase you down. And I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t enough for me. It couldn’t be farther from the truth.” After a moment of composure, I launch into the rest of my practiced speech. “I don’t know what to do now. I can quit. Find a new job. We could go on a real date. Start over and do it right. I’ve thought of a few plans, if you want to give this a chance.”
I pull the folded piece of paper from my bra, unfolding it. He plucks it away and rips it to shreds. Mouth agape, I blink down at the wreckage.
Well, I did not expect that.
“Or we could do none of that.” He takes my hands. His are steady. Mine tremble like an earthquake. “No quitting. No new job. No starting over.”
“What’s your idea, then?”
“For starters, this.”
He cups my jaw and kisses me again. Deep. Slow. Greedy. I’m weightless when he releases me, far enough to stand, but I remain in his grip like he’s afraid I’ll flutter away.
