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My mind wanders to my family and the stable and loving environment I grew up in. I yearn for that kind of security and love in my life.
How much weight should I put on some esoteric attachment I feel with Peter—which started from the very first moment I saw him. Whether we’re fucking or fighting or bantering or cuddling, he’s feels like my home. My everything. Flaws and all. It crushes me to think of losing him forever.
Crushes me.
I suppose Peter and I need to have a come-to-Jesus talk before he leaves for London. Lay everything out on the table. For now, I need a few more days to process. It will give me time to heal. To think. To decide how and if we can move forward.
I lock up the shop, the weight of my heartbreak heavy on my shoulders.
When I step outside, I realize I’m not alone. Prickles of ice skate along my neck and race down my spine and I turn to face my fear.
“Jordan…” He steps in front of me.
It’s Peter.
So much for having a few more days.
I guess we’re doing this now.
Chapter twenty-three
Peter
A Few Minutes Earlier
In the week since the fallout with Jordan, my world has been a blur of introspection and regret.
Each day, I’ve battled the urge to reach out to her multiple times because I’m desperate to bridge the gulf of silence growing wider between us. Instead, I’ve opted for one heartfelt message per day. Her silence in response is a clear indication of her need for space. A boundary I’ve painstakingly respected but wish like hell wasn't there.
Being without her shreds me to the core.
She’s the blood in my veins. Necessary for my survival.
But life, as always, has its own plans.
Developments with Project SoHo have taken a sharp turn. The trip to London has been expedited due to an urgent need to meet with key stakeholders and investors who have advanced their schedules unexpectedly. I’m faced with a departure in a few days, a time frame leaving no room to delay the conversation I need to have with Jordan.
With a heavy heart and a mind swamped with what-ifs, I drive over to The Salty Siren—a decision born of desperation and deep-seated fear. If I leave things unresolved between us, Jordan won't give me another chance.
Not that I deserve it, mind you.
The familiar sight of the quirky, artistic exterior of her shop fills me with apprehension because it feels like my future hangs in the balance of whatever happens tonight. I wait outside, watching as the lights inside the shop dim, signaling the end of her day. My heart pounds when I see her locking up, her figure silhouetted against the glow of the streetlights.
When she steps outside, I take a deep breath and approach her.
“Jordan,” I call out faintly, not wanting to alarm her.
She turns, her expression of fear morphs into surprise when she recognizes me. “Peter? What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t mean to startle you, but I needed to see you.” I hate that I’ve scared her. “There’s something important we need to talk about.”
She hesitates, flicking her eyes around the area like she’s trapped, looking for an escape. “Uh…I’m still not ready…”
“Please.” I’m anguished, and it shows.
Her expression softens and she nods. “Okay. Just for a moment.”
We move to a nearby bench by Alki Beach. It’s a weeknight and the boardwalk is quiet with only the occasional passerby.
