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“We can rearrange them.”

“Into what?”

I moved the hearts around. “Swayal.”

“That isn’t a word.”

“It’s less threatening.”

Ryan returned them to their original positions.

ALWAYS.

His hand remained over the final heart.

The word belonged to promises and people brave enough to believe something could survive every version of them. Ryan and I had once spoken in forever without saying it aloud. Then he ended us with a finality so vicious that I built an entire life around never seeing softness in his eyes again.

“Does it bother you?” I asked.

“It’s wood.”

“The word.”

His thumb moved over the burned letters. “It’s part of a scavenger hunt.”

“You hate scavenger hunts.”

“I hate pastels. The scavenger hunt has improved.”

“Because you’re winning?”

His attention moved deliberately over my body. “Among other things.”

The heat in his expression almost distracted me from the word beneath his hand.

Almost.

“I meant it once,” I said.

Ryan’s face closed enough to warn me that I had stepped beyond flirting.

“I meant always when I believed we had it,” I continued. “I know meaning it didn’t make me capable of giving it to you.”

“No. It didn’t.”

His voice snapped across the space between us. I had pushed too hard. I heard it in those three words and saw it in the way every trace of warmth disappeared from his face. I should have stopped talking about how extraordinary we had been as though the memories belonged equally to us when he still carried the cost of them alone.

“I’m not asking you to make it a promise again.”

Ryan dragged both hands over his face, pressing hard enough to pull at his skin before dropping them to his sides. “Then what the fuck are you doing?”

“Reminding you that what happened between us was real.”

“I already know it was real!”

The answer struck deeper than I expected.

ALWAYS.