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“I could have.” I don’t tell her that for three years I picked up my phone to call her but never went through with it. I made my choice when I told her I didn’t feel the same way and pushed her out of my life, to Chicago, when all I wanted was to lock her away in the workshop and spend the rest of our days together. Instead, I did the responsible thing and let her walk out of my life to pursue her dream.

Mae studies me with the suspicion I deserve, then squeezes Anissa’s shoulder. “I’ll be at the donut booth.” She gives me a look that lets me know she’ll gut me like a fish if I hurt Anissa again, then walks away.

“There’s a bench by the pond.” I step aside for a passing family. “Would you walk there with me?”

“You get ten minutes.” Anissa walks toward the path.

Our sleeves touch when someone walks by. She shifts away a little, and I remember when she used to lean into me without thinking—that small distance stings. I want her trust again, but I know I can’t rush her.

At the pond, she stays standing. I stop next to her and watch her fingers tighten around her bag, hating that I’m the reason she’s on the defensive.

“Your mother told mine you were home.” I shove my hands into my jeans pockets, so I don’t get tempted to touch her. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”

“Eleven days.” She looks at me. “You managed to stay unsure for a while.”

“I drove past your mother’s street twice,” I say. “Then I told myself you might be busy, or with someone, or finally happy enough to want me in the past.”

“That would have been convenient.” She rubs her upper arms against the cold.

“No.” I pull off my jacket and offer it. “Nothing about not seeing you has been convenient.”

She accepts it after a moment. As I hold the collar, her hair catches under my hand, and I carefully free it, grazing the skin beneath her ear. She goes still and so do I. Then she draws the jacket closed, leaving me to wonder whether she felt that touch as intensely as I did.

“I’m not with anybody.” She studies the cuff. “That isn’t an invitation.”

Relief hits me so fast I almost feel guilty. She deserved to be happy while we were apart. Still, the thought of someone else seeing her in the morning makes me ache for the life I was too scared to ask her to share.

“I know.” I wait until she looks up. “Neither am I.”

“You had something to tell me.”

“The night you came to my cabin before you left, I wanted you to stay.” I take a breath, but it doesn’t help. “When I said I didn’t think of you that way, that wasn’t true.”

Her face changes and she looks toward the water, then back at me. “Which part? That you didn’t want me, or that I’d imagined everything between us?”

“Both.” I force the words past the tightness in my throat. “I wanted you. I cared more than I knew how to handle, and you left believing the opposite.”

“You let me apologize.” Her voice catches. “I stood there telling you I was sorry for making things awkward.”

“I remember.” My hands curl against my palms. “Every word.”

She turns away, and I think I have lost even these few minutes. I want to ask her to stay, but I have already made her carry too much of what I couldn’t say. When she faces me again, relief nearly buckles my knees.

“Why?” Unshed tears shine in her eyes. “Start there, Silas.”

three

Anissa

“Your mother came to see mine that afternoon.” He pauses before continuing. “She told us about your scholarship. She was afraid you’d give it up to stay because of me.”

“I was going to tell you myself.” I take a deep breath, then blow it out. “That was part of why I came.”

“I know that now.” He looks down briefly. “I heard that you might not go, and I convinced myself I needed to make sure you did.”

“Did she ask you to reject me?” I draw his jacket closer, needing to breathe in his scent.

“No.” He answers immediately. “She asked whether I thought you’d go. Everything after that was my decision.”