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She slips her fingers underneath my chain, curling them around the links as if the metal is anchoring her to me. Then that look returns to her eyes. The one that tells me something's changed in her.

And history tells me this is where I should start worrying.

I know Lenny. I know that look. And everything in me screams to tell her she can't do this again—can't pull me back in just to remind me how easily I still fall for her.

But I don't.

I can't ask her to stay.

I won't.

No matter how much I want to, or how perfectly we still seem to fit.

Because no matter what she might have done in the past or what she put me through, Lenny never asked me to give up the one thing I've always wanted. A lot happened unexpectedly—some slowly over time—but she never planned to make me choose.

"Go slow," I say, holding her tighter—steadying her hips. Mine betray me as they buck in protest. "I want this to last."

Lenny nods, and her rocking eases.

But I hope she realizes—

I'm not just talking about this.

30

Lenny

"God, I'm so excited," Bridget sings, bouncing lightly on her toes.

I step into Drippy's, and we barely make it inside before reaching the back of the line. "Me too."

Bridge smiles at me. "I've missed it so much," she says softly.

"Aw." I grin, nudging her shoulder with mine. "I know. It's been too long since the last time."

She stares at the long auburn curls of the person in front of her. "This makes me so happy."

"Same." I blow a heavy breath through my lips thinking about all of the unpacking I hope to do with my sister about Jace and Alaska and my conversation with Mom. "I really needed this."

There's a quiet moment where we both let our eyes dreamily wander the café. Reflecting. Observing.

Then, Bridget speaks again.

"Do you think they have that cloud stuff you can put on top of the iced kind?"

My head whips toward her, brow furrowed.

"What?" she asks, shrugging.

My mouth drops open, then snaps shut again. "What have you been talking about?"

Her eyes slowly widen, then dart everywhere but up to mine. "What have you been talking about?" she asks in mock skepticism.

"Spending time with you," I shoot back, my voice high.

She clenches her teeth, her throat moving up and down as she nods too quickly to be telling the truth. "Yeah," she lies. "No, same."

The person in front of us moves forward, and Bridge takes full advantage of the opportunity to do anything but look at me.