Bridging Hearts

18. Just talk to him.

Him

I couldn't stop thinking about it—the kiss, that damn kiss. It played over in my mind like a loop I couldn't escape. I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did, and now every moment I was around her, I was reminded of how badly I'd screwed up.

The days after were a blur of awkward exchanges and failed attempts at making things right. I'd catch glimpses of her in the office, and every time I did, a pang of guilt hit me square in the chest. I knew I had to do something, but what? Apologizing seemed like the logical step, but it felt inadequate, like throwing a band-aid on a bullet wound.

I tried to keep things professional, but it was impossible. Every time I saw her, I was reminded of the way her lips had felt, the way she had looked at me in shock, and the way I had completely shattered any semblance of normalcy between us. So, I apologized. Once, twice, three times—each attempt more desperate than the last.

"Petardo, I'm sorry," I had said, trying to catch her as she walked past my office.

She barely paused, her eyes flicking to mine for the briefest of moments before she continued on her way. "It's fine, Mr. Grump," she'd replied, her voice cool and distant.

But it wasn't fine. We both knew that.

I couldn't get the right words out, couldn't find a way to undo what I'd done. Every conversation we had was stilted, awkward. She kept her distance, and I could hardly blame her. I wanted to explain, to tell her it wasn't supposed to happen, that I respected her too much to cross that line, but the words never came out right.

I started bringing her coffee, her favorite kind, hoping it would at least show her that I was thinking about her, that I wanted to make amends. She'd accept it with a polite nod, but that was it. No smile, no warmth—just that same cool, distant demeanor.

But I didn't stop there. I knew she loved fresh flowers—lilies, to be specific, her eyes lit up anytime she saw them—so I started leaving a small bouquet on her desk each morning before she arrived. They were always arranged just so, with a simple note attached that never said more than, "Have a good day, Petardo." She'd find them, look at them for a moment, and then carefully set them aside, as if unsure what to do with the gesture.

Days turned into a week, and nothing changed. I was starting to think I'd ruined everything between us. I was about to give up, to accept that maybe things would never go back to how they were, when my phone buzzed.

I glanced down at the screen, expecting it to be another work email or maybe a text from Brian. But it wasn't.

It was a text from Tara.

Her

I had been doing my best to avoid Dante since the kiss, unsure of what to do with myself or how to handle him. His attempts to make things right were relentless, each gesture more thoughtful than the last. I received coffee from his favorite café every morning, lilies on my desk every day, and a box of dark chocolates that I hadn't even had a chance to open. Every time I saw one of his gestures, it only made me feel worse.

I wasn't sure how to handle it, so I did the only thing I could think of—I called Urvi. I needed someone who could give me a reality check, someone who wasn't emotionally entangled in the mess I'd found myself in.

"Hey, Urvi, I really need your help," I said as soon as she picked up the phone.

"Hey, Tara! What's up?" she asked cheerfully.

"I've been trying to avoid Dante," I said, feeling the weight of my words. "But he keeps doing all these things. I don't know what to do. It's making me feel guilty."

Urvi let out a surprised laugh. "Wait, Dante's been doing all that? The same Dante who's usually all business and no-nonsense?"

"Yes, that's the one," I said, feeling the frustration creep into my voice. "I don't know how to handle this. It feels like he's making things worse."

"Wow, I'm impressed," Urvi said, still sounding amused. "I mean, that's seriously romantic. Dante's really pulling out all the stops. He's making you feel guilty? I'd say he's just trying to show you how much he cares."

"That's just it," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "It feels like he's making me feel worse on purpose. I don't want to lead him on, but I also don't want to hurt his feelings even more."

Urvi's tone turned more serious. "Tara, you're making this way more complicated than it needs to be. You're turning this into a guilt trip for him, and honestly, it's not fair to either of you. He's already feeling bad enough. Just talk to him. Be honest about how you're feeling."

I sighed, feeling the weight of her words. "You're right. I guess I've been trying to avoid confronting it head-on. But I'll talk to him."

"Good," Urvi said firmly. "Trust me, it'll be better for both of you. You don't want to keep this awkward tension hanging over your heads."

"Thanks, Urvi," I said, feeling a bit lighter. "I'll see what I can do."

The next day at the office, I found myself staring at the coffee cup that had been left on my desk. The sight of it made me feel even more guilty, and I realized Urvi was right. I needed to stop avoiding Dante and address things directly.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up my phone and texted Dante.

Tara: Come meet me on the office rooftop at 8 tonight.

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