But the thought of reverting to a casual acquaintance with Leif again claws at my heart, leaving me breathless and hollow inside.
I draw in a long breath, watching it bloom into a little cloud that drifts away on the bitter air.
“Saturday dinners are still a thing,” I say, my cheeks stinging where the frost clings. “You’re always welcome at the cottage.”
Relief pools in his eyes, almost too painful to bear. “Thank you.”
We linger there, the wind tugging at our coats and carrying the tang of seaweed and salt spray from the rocks below, while the distant cries of gulls fill the silence.
“Can I ask something else?” he asks tentatively.
I already know what he’s about to say before the words even form.
“What about Wednesdays?”
The question rips open every ache I’ve been trying to ignore.
Wednesday mornings, alone with just the two of us in the workshop, where I first began to feel the flutter behind my ribs and believed we could be more.
I stare out at the harbor, watching a buoy dip and rise with the slow pull of the tide. “Leif…”
He hurries to fill the silence. “I understand things can’t be the same. I just thought— If we kept working on projects together…” His words trail off on a shudder of breath.
My chest tightens. This is the half-step that would drag us back into something neither of us is ready for.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I force the words past the lump growing in my throat. “Not right now.”
The hope drains from him, like air escaping a punctured sail. “Right.”
“I’m not saying never,” I add, because the thought of never teaching him again is a knife to my soul. “But the shop… that was special. And right now, I need some distance from that.”
He accepts this with sorrow. “I understand.”
A gust of wind carries the tang of frost and seaweed over us, the harbor restless under a steely sky.
After a moment, he pulls back his shoulders. “I’m going to fix this.”
I turn to him, surprised by the quiet strength in his tone.
“I realize I broke something important between us,” he continues, thick with regret. “And apologizing alone won’t mend it. But I’m not giving up on earning your trust back. Yours and Jared’s.”
My stomach twists, hurt and sadness swelling in my chest until it feels like it might rupture my ribs if I don’t let it out.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” he rushes on. “I’m not asking you to. I just… needed you to know that.”
I study him through the salt spray dancing in the air. The swelling has subsided, but the faint bruise under his concealer is still there as a mark of what he endured. It’s nothing compared to the raw vulnerability shining in his eyes, though.
“I can’t promise anything,” I choke out.
“That’s okay.”
“But you’re still welcome at the cottage.”
A fragile ghost of a smile touches his lips. “That’s more than I deserve.”
Below us, the waves continue to crash while we stand side by side, the wind tugging at our coats as the water taxi comes into view on the horizon.
We’re not together.