Page 83 of Spring Break Fling

He finally looked at me, and I wished he hadn’t. His eyes were guarded, like he was pulling up walls brick by brick, shutting me out even as he nodded again. “I get it,” he said. “It’s your dream.”

“Thank you,” I said, though my words felt hollow, like tossing pebbles into a bottomless pit. “For everything. For—” I paused, searching for the right words. There weren’t any. “You’ve changed me.”

His brows pulled together, skepticism flickering across his face. “Yeah? How?”

“Before I met you, I wasn’t great at following my heart. Everything had to fit into a flow chart or a schedule. If it didn’t, I couldn’t trust it. But you…” I smiled, though it wobbled at the edges. “You’ve shown me that I can take risks. That I don’t have to have it all figured out to enjoy the ride. You’ve taught me to let my hair down. That’s a priceless gift, Nikko. And this?” I gestured to the tattoo. “This will remind me of you every time I see it.”

“That wasn’t the point,” he said. His voice had a hard edge to it.

I blinked, taken aback by his sudden sharpness. “What do you mean?”

He stood up, pacing a few steps. “The tattoo wasn’t supposed to be some fucking memento. It was supposed to be about you. About your journey. Not about remembering me.”

I could see he was struggling—not just with my impending departure, but with something deeper. Something that went beyond our brief, intense connection.

“Nikko,” I said softly. “What’s really going on?”

He stopped pacing, his back to me. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “I don’t do goodbyes well.”

I took a deep breath. “Goodbyes suck for everyone.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at me like he was trying to memorize my face. “So, this is over?” he finally asked, his voice low and rough.

I felt my throat tighten. “I think it has to be,” I said, hating the words even as they left my mouth. “Long distance never works. I don’t want to move to Miami, and I doubt you want to move to Idaho. We’re from two different worlds.” I gave him a weak smile. “Can’t we just be thankful for the time we had?”

“Thankful,” he repeated, the word dripping with bitterness. He shook his head and let out a sharp laugh. “If that’s all I get, then fine. I’ll take it.”

The tension between us was thick enough to sink in. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air. Nikko turned away, his shoulders rigid. I knew that posture. It was his defense mechanism, the way he shut down. I’d seen it before.

“Nikko, I don’t know what to say,” I said. “I’ve had such a good time getting to know you and stepping out of my comfort zone.”

“Good. I’m glad. I guess if I never accomplish anything in my life, I can at least know I managed to do that.”

There was bitterness in those words. I watched him blow out the candles and start turning off lights.

I opened my mouth to say something, but his words felt so final, like he was already closing the door on us. It wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy, this permanent. “Wait,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm. “I still have three days. I don’t have to work until I get back to Idaho. We could make the most of it. Maybe take your bike out to the beach tomorrow?”

He shook his head, his eyes dark. “It’ll just make it harder to say goodbye.”

As sad as his statement was, it gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling. It made me feel good to know it was going to be hard for him to say goodbye. I wasn’t alone in the way I felt. It wasn’t just me that felt like we had a special connection. Something that I never would have imagined. We were so different. He was the rough and tough guy, and I was the uptight corporate climber. We were oil and water. But dammit, we connected.

Nikko paused, his gaze lingering on my face as if he were tracing every contour, memorizing every feature before it faded away. The room had grown darker. The last song ended, and the playlist came to a close. In that silence, there was a tension that neither of us wanted to acknowledge fully. I was actually thinking about giving up everything to move to Miami and be with him.

It was a fleeting thought because it was not sustainable. But still, it lingered in the back of my mind like a tempting whisper. “You know, maybe… maybe trying wouldn’t be the worst idea,” I said.

I stared at him, trying to read his expression. Did he think I was crazy? Was he going to laugh at me? There was still that familiar feeling of fear. What was I thinking? Old negative opinions and my own self-consciousness reared their ugly heads.

Why would you think you’re good enough for him?

You’re too curvy.

He’s too hot.

My heart started to beat faster, hope fluttering like a delicate bird within my chest.

“Trying what?” he asked as if he didn’t understand.

“Us,” I said simply. “Trying us for real.”