He makes sure there are fresh batteries in my smoke detector. A text that saysEat somethingwhen he knows I am pretending coffee counts as lunch. Cole has sat on the kitchen floor with me at midnight while I cried over a friendship that had never been what I thought and still hurt like it had been real.
He has never once made my fear feel like weakness. He has also never let it become a cage.
When the producer calls cut, the crowd claps, and I take one of the mocktails because hydration is professional and because the pineapple-cucumber one is honestly brilliant.
Talia rushes over first. “That was gold. Wind and all.”
“I told you the cilantro wanted fame.”
“The cilantro may need representation.”
“I’ll refer it to you.”
She laughs, then glances behind me with a look that softens. “Your man looks like he’s trying very hard not to interrupt production.”
“My man has resting perimeter face.”
“He has resting deeply in love with you face.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, which is ridiculous after a year, but love has a way of keeping certain things new.
“I heard that,” Cole says.
Talia jumps. He comes to my side, and the crowd noise around us seems to lower, or maybe my body simply chooses him over everything else. He takes the glass from my hand, tastes the mocktail, and nods with serious consideration.
“That’s good.”
“Try not to overwhelm me with praise.”
“It’s very good.”
“Careful. At this rate, I’ll be drunk on affirmation.”
His mouth curves. “Mocktail.”
“Emotionally drunk.”
He leans closer, his voice low enough that only I hear. “You were incredible.”
The words land deeper than all the applause.
I look up at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
For a second, the year folds in on itself. The marina behind him. The dock where everything ended and something else began. The memory is still there, but it no longer owns the whole place. That is healing too, I think. Not erasing the past. Returning to the scene and finding yourself bigger than the wound.
Cole’s fingers brush mine.
“Where did you go?” he asks.
“Nowhere bad.”
He studies my face because he knows my lies, even the tiny ones I tell to be polite to myself.
I smile. “I was thinking I’m glad we came back here.”
His thumb moves over my knuckle. “Me too.”
