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The song on the radio reminds me of her. Of that one night almost a decade ago when I was going to tell her how I felt. Where would we be if I’d had the courage to tell her then?
As the music gets louder, I realize it is the song from prom night, and I glance at the door as a dark-haired figure turns into my office.
“Mia?” I’m hallucinating. That’s the only explanation for why she’s in front of me now.
“I thought we talked about that,” she says. “When it’s only the two of us.”
“Ames,” I whisper, and she nods.
I must have fallen asleep on my desk. This is all a dream.
I twist the skin under my arm and grimace at the shot of pain.
I’m awake.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you be in Ireland with Fucker?”
Her teeth sink into her lower lip as it curves into a smile. “No.”
“No?”
“Well, I guess maybe I should be in Ireland. But I’m where I need to be right now.”
“What do you mean?” I ask and stand.
“I—I came to apologize,” she replies. “I should have told you about Tucker getting the other part.”
I shrug and try to come across as indifferent, but it’s hard considering my palms are sweaty and my heart is racing. My body has a mind of its own, and before I even realize it completely, I’m on the other side of the desk, leaning back, and only a small amount of space separates us.
“I need to apologize for something else,” she tells me, her eyes bouncing to mine before skittering away again.
“You do?”
She nods. “I—I’m sorry that I pretended there was nothing between us. That we were only friends.”
My heart thumps against my chest. Can she hear it?
“You’re sorry about that?” I ask, and she nods. “Why?”
“It’s not true.”
“What isn’t?” I move closer and eliminate the distance between us until I can tilt her face up with a finger and thumb at her chin. I want to see her eyes. “What wasn’t true about it?”
Her gaze locks on mine. “I—I do have feelings for you, Garrett.”
Disappointment pings through my body. Feelings aren’t love. I’m not any closer to calling her mine than I was an hour ago.
“Oh.”
“No, not like that.” Her fingers interlace with mine, and she moves until her chest is pressed against me. “I love you. I loved you even before I knew what that meant. Even when I buried it and told myself no more ‘regular guys,’ you were never just a regular guy.”
“Why not tell me the truth when I told you I was leaving?” So much of me wants to believe her, but the small voice in my head still has something to say.
What if she’s practiced this speech for the last week? She is an actress.
“I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
