His hand comes up slowly, tentatively, and when his fingers brush my cheek, our kiss in the library comes racing back.
“Tiff,” he breathes, as though it’s a question that he wants me to answer.
I close the distance.
My lips meet his, gently at first, and I feel him freeze up. He stays there though, so I kiss him again, a little more firmly this time. It’s nothing like the first kiss we had. We were just two broken people seeking comfort in the dark that night. This is slower. More deliberate.
His hand slides into my hair, holding me in place as his thumb grazes the edge of my jaw in a way that makes me shiver.
The chair creaks when he leans in, his knees brushing mine beneath the table, the warmth of him sinking into every inch of air between us.
The way he kisses me makes it easy to forget the truth—that I was the mistake, the mess, the one who broke everything. In his hands, I’m something whole again.
Then it hits—the truth we’ve both been pretending not to see. Everything between us is already broken.
I pull away, gasping, my hand coming up between us like a barrier. “I can't—we can't do this.”
Jamie freezes, his hand still hovering near my face. “Tiff—”
“No.” I shake my head, standing up so quickly my chair scrapes against the floor. I take several steps back, wrapping my arms around myself. “This isn't—you're not here for me, Jamie.”
“I'm not?” His voice is rough and confused.
“You're here for Ella.” The words come out firmer than I feel. “That's what this is about. That's what ithasto be about.”
He stands slowly with his hands raised. “It can be about both.”
“No, it can't.” I bite my lip, forcing myself to meet his eyes even though it hurts. “You've been here one day. One. You read her a bedtime story and helped me with homework and that's—it's wonderful, Jamie, it really is. But this?” I gesture between us. “This complicates everything.”
“Tiff—”
“You need to prove you're here for her,” I continue, my voice cracking slightly. “Not for whatever this is between us. Not because of one night four years ago that we both remember differently. Ella needs stability. She needs someone who shows up consistently, not someone who's here because he wants to recapture something that probably only existed in our heads.”
Jamie flinches like I've slapped him. “That's not what this is.”
“Isn't it?” I challenge softly. “You said yourself, I was the one thing that felt real, but Jamie, I'm not the answer to whatever you're running from. I can't be that for you.”
“I'm not running—”
“You gave up everything,” I say. “Your family, your money, your entire life. For what? A daughter you just met? Or for the girl from the library who made you feel like you mattered?”
The silence that follows is suffocating.
Jamie's jaw works, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “You think I don't know the difference?”
“I think you're trying to figure it out,” I say gently. “And that's okay. But I can't—” My voice breaks. “I can't be part of that equation, Jamie. Not yet. Maybe not ever. My priority is Ella. It has to be.”
He nods slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes even as hurt flashes across his features. “You're right.”
“I am?”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath. “You're absolutely right. I'm sorry. That was—I shouldn't have—”
“It's okay,” I interrupt softly. “But we need boundaries. Clear ones.”
“Boundaries,” he repeats, like he's memorizing the word. “I can do boundaries.”
We stand there in the kitchen, the space between us feeling impossibly wide now. The ghost of his lips on mine lingers, but I push it away. I have to.