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Y/n Rose
The address I sent her wasn't a restaurant. No cameras. No people pretending they weren't filming from across the room. Just a private studio tucked behind a row of buildings downtown. Quiet enough that we could actually talk.
I got there early on purpose. Sat sideways in the chair with my hood up, music low, trying not to look like I'd been rehearsing this in my head all day. When the door opened I turned the volume down before I even looked up.
She came in looking like she'd sat in the truck for a minute first. I knew that look.
"You came."
"You invited me."
She shut the door. "You thought I wasn't going to?"
"I didn't know what to think."
I stood up and immediately regretted how obvious it was that all the confidence from last night had left the building. In front of a reporter I could talk. In front of her I didn't know where to put my hands.
She noticed.
"You nervous?"
"A little."
"Why?"
"Because you're looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
I finally met her eyes. "Like you're trying to figure out whether coming here was a mistake."
She didn't answer right away. Walked farther in, set her bag down by the board, then looked at me again, softer.
"I don't think it was a mistake. I just don't know what this is yet."
"That makes two of us."
I sat on the couch and left space. She saw it. Sat next to me anyway. Not touching. Close enough that I remembered exactly how she used to sit.
"You meant what you said last night?" she asked.
"Which part?"
"The part where that reporter asked if you would take me back."
I rubbed my palms together. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."
"You answered fast."
"I've had a long time to think about it."
"And you decided you wanted me back?"
"I decided I never stopped wanting you."
She turned her face away and let out this quiet breath like it hit harder than she planned. I watched her the way I used to when her thoughts were moving faster than her mouth.
