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“I’m not asking you to forget what I did,” he says.

“I’m not asking you to make this easy for me.”

“Good.”

“I’m asking you not to pretend there’s nothing here.”

I stare at him.

“That’s convenient for you.”

“It isn’t convenient at all.”

“You’re the one who ended it,” I say, as my voice quivers.

“I know,” he says.

“You’re the one who decided I wasn’t worth the complication.”

His jaw tightens.

“I was wrong.”

The answer comes without hesitation.

That should make me feel better—but it doesn’t.

“Being wrong seven years later is easy,” I say.

“No,” Ross says.

“Living with it was easy. Standing in front of you and admitting exactly what I did is not.”

I go still.

He takes another breath.

“I know I don’t get to ask for you back because I finally learned something I should’ve understood then,” he says.

“I know I don’t get to walk into your life and expect you to trust me because I’m sorry.”

“Then what do you want?” I ask him.

“You.”

The single word lands harder than it should. I look away. Ross’s voice softens.

“I still want you, Blaire.”

My body responds before I can stop it. Heat rolls through me, low and immediate. I tighten my grip on the folio.

“That’s not enough.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that, Ross.”

“Because you keep telling me things I already agree with.”