Page 33 of Neap & Spring

“Did you ask her?” Hayes asks.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m angry,” I murmur. “Because she doesn’t get to just show up after five years and act like everything is fine. I told her the first day that we were keeping it professional and asking her why she ghosted me isn’t exactly professional.”

Beckett leans forward. “Okay, but do you want to know? Like, if you could wave a magic wand and get the answer, would you want it?”

I open my mouth. Then close it.

Would I?

Part of me wants to say no. Part of me thinks knowing would be worse. What if it’s something I can’t come back from? What if trusting her again — even just enough to ask the question — ends the same way as before? With me left holding the pieces while she walks away? Again.

“Yeah,” I say finally, despite everything. “I think I would.”

“Then ask her,” Beckett says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Because —” I try to find the right words. My fingers drum against the table. “Because what if the answer is that I wasn’t enough? That she got busy and successful and I just stopped mattering?”

The table goes quiet.

Dad squeezes my arm, his thumb pressing into my forearm. “Callum. Look at me.”

I do. His stare is unwavering.

“You matter,” His voice is certain. “Whatever her reasons were, they weren’t about your worth. You hear me?”

My throat is tight. I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“And if she can’t see what she walked away from, that’s her loss. Not yours.”

I nod again.

“But,” Dad continues, his hand still warm on my arm, “I also think Beck’s right. You’re never going to move forward if you don’t get answers. And right now, you’re stuck. Both of you are just dancing around each other, and it’s eating you alive.”

“So what do I do?”

“You talk to her,” Dad says simply. “Not as the chef and the consultant. But as Callum and Vivienne. Two people who used to know each other. Two people who used to love each other. You ask your questions. You listen to her answers. And then you decide what comes next.”

“What if she won’t tell me?”

“Then at least you tried.” Wesley’s voice cuts in. “At least you know you did everything you could. But Cal, you can’t keep going like this. It’s killing you.”

He’s right. I know he’s right.

I can feel it in my bones — the exhaustion and the anger. I’m running on empty and have been for days.

“Okay,” I say finally. “I’ll talk to her.”

“When?” Hayes asks.

“I don’t know. When the moment’s right, I guess.” I drag a hand through my hair. “I can’t force it. But I’ll do it. Soon.”