Page 89 of Neap & Spring

But I get it.

“Then we don’t need to talk about it. We’ll find someone else,” I repeat, making my voice as firm as I can. “I promise.”

Relief floods her face, washing away some of the terror. “Thank you.”

“Come on.” I realize I’m still holding her hand. I haven’t let go this whole time. “Let’s get you back.”

We walk the remaining block to the restaurant, my hand wrapped around hers. She’s stopped shaking, but her palm is still clammy with panic sweat. I can feel her pulse racing against my thumb on her wrist.

My mind is racing too, trying to put the information I have together like a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

Stellan Voss. New York. Six months. This panic attack. The fear in her eyes.

When we reach the front door of Neap & Spring, she finally pulls her hand free.

I immediately miss the contact.

“I should — I should go,” she mutters, not meeting my eyes.

“You should eat. Have dinner here. I’ll cook something special just for you.” The words come out desperate. But I don’t care. I feel desperate right now. “Whatever you want. Anything.”

She shakes her head. “I need to go back to the cottage. I need — I need some space.”

“Vivi —”

“I’m fine. I promise. I just need to be alone for a bit.”

She doesn’t look fine. She looks shaken and pale and fragile in a way I’ve never seen her before. Like she might fall over if the wind blows wrong or she might shatter if I touch her.

But I can’t force her to stay. I can’t fix this if she won’t let me in.

So I try something else. Again, I’m desperate.

“Come to my dad’s on Sunday,” I blurt.

She blinks, confusion replacing some of the strain in her eyes. “What?”

“Family dinner. At my dad’s. Sunday. Come with me.”

“Cal, I can’t just —”

“You can. I’m inviting you. Dad always makes too much food anyway, and I —” The words catch in my throat.

I want you to meet my family. I want them to see you the way I see you. I want you to see that there are good people in this world who won’t hurt you. I want you to stay this time.

I want you to stay forever.

“I want you there. Please.”

I can see her trying to decide whether this is a good idea or not. Her eyes flick back and forth between mine, weighing the decision against whatever demons are chasing her.

Say yes. Please say yes.

“I’ll think about it,” she says finally.

It’s not a yes. But it’s not a no.

I’ll take it. I’ll take anything she’ll give me.