1 I walked out on the love of my life when he loved me the most. That afternoon, he had been lying in a hospital bed, tears spilling down his bruised temples as he begged me not to walk out the door. I didn’t look back. Seven years vanished into that silence. Tonight, my best friend had dragged me to a crowded downtown bar, and I had drunk myself into oblivion—all because, earlier that afternoon, I’d caught a glimpse of a familiar broad-shouldered silhouette on the street. Just as my consciousness began to slip away, a low, familiar baritone cut through the pulsing bass in my ears. “Stop drinking.” I froze. I forced my heavy eyelids open, looked up, and found him standing right in front of me. It was really him. The thumping club music was hammering against my skull by the time Garrett Cole guided me through the heavy glass doors into the biting night air. From the moment he grabbed my wrist inside to the moment we hit the sidewalk, he hadn’t said a single word beyond those first two. The crisp autumn wind washed over my face, cutting through the alcohol haze just enough to wake my senses. “Nina… Nina’s still inside,” I stammered, pulling weakly against his grip. His profile was rigid, his jaw set in a cold, unbothered line. “You barely have enough sense to stand, and you’re worrying about someone else?” He tilted his head slightly, gesturing behind us. I looked back. Nina was already being supported out by another guy, staggering toward a cab. “Where are you staying?” he asked, his voice flat. I gave him the name of a midtown boutique hotel. I had only arrived in the city a few days ago and hadn’t found an apartment yet. Without another word, he opened the rear door of a sleek black sedan, helped me into the back seat, and walked around to the driver’s side. He has a car now, I thought numbly, leaning my head against the cool leather. Back in high school, he used to ride an old, squeaky road bike to my street corner every morning just to give me a lift to school. The winters back then were brutal. I would tuck my hands into his coat pockets, pressing my face tight against his back to block the wind. One morning, when we pulled into the school bike racks, he looked at my wind-chapped red cheeks. I gave him a silly, shivering grin, and he reached out, gently pinching my cheek with gloved fingers. “First thing I do when I grow up is buy a car,” he had murmured, his breath misting in the cold. “So my Nora never has to freeze again.” Later that same week, he showed up with a fleece headband, thermal earmuffs, and a thick woolen scarf, bundling me up until I could barely turn my neck. With him around, winter had never felt cold at all. The car’s heating vents hummed softly, filling the cabin with warmth and a faint trace of cedar and fresh laundry—a scent that belonged entirely to him. I leaned back into the shadows of the seat, quietly, greedily breathing it in, letting myself drown in a familiarity I had no right to touch. Garrett had always been soft-hearted beneath his quiet exterior. He shouldn’t have taken me out of that bar. He shouldn’t have let me into his car. He shouldn’t have driven me home. I didn’t deserve any of it. When he pulled up to the curb outside the hotel, I gripped the seatbelt, looking at the back of his head. “Do you… have a girlfriend now?” “None of your business,” he replied without turning around. He walked me through the lobby and up the elevator, leaving me at the door of my room. Just as he turned to leave, he muttered, “No.” It took my alcohol-dulled brain a solid minute to realize he was answering my question. When I finally opened my eyes, the digital clock on the bedside table read two in the afternoon. My head throbbed with a dull ache. I pushed myself up and noticed a tall glass sitting on the nightstand. The water inside had gone stone cold. I took a tentative sip—it was faintly, delicately sweet. Brown sugar water. Exactly the way Garrett used to make it. I drained the entire glass in one breath, my throat tight, then dragged myself into the shower. Steam filled the bathroom as my phone buzzed with a text from Nina asking if I’d made it back in one piece. I typed a quick reply, turned off the screen, and stared blankly at the empty glass by the bed. I had always hated plain water when I was a teenager. To get me to stay hydrated, Garrett would always stir a spoonful of brown sugar into my thermos before class so I’d drink it without complaining. Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them. I had sworn to myself that I would never disrupt his life again. So why did the universe have to cross our paths now? He hadn’t left a contact card, but I had his ten-digit phone number carved into my memory. My trembling fingers dialed the numbers on the keypad. To my utter shock, the line connected. “Hello? Who is this?” His voice was brisk, professional, entirely distant. “Garrett,” I whispered. “It’s Nora.” A brief, icy pause followed. “Is there something you need?” “About yesterday… thank you. Are you free sometime? I’d really like to take you out for dinner.” “Did you lose your memory, Nora?” I froze, words catching in my throat. “I’m not that generous,” he said, his tone razor-sharp. “Forgiving and forgetting isn’t something I do.” The line went dead with a harsh click. I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen. He was right. Garrett Cole despised betrayal more than anything in this world. I knew that better than anyone. How could I ever expect him to forgive me? I didn’t know why Garrett had been at that bar two nights ago, but like a moth drawn to a flame, I decided to go back. I told myself it was just a long shot—maybe, just maybe, I’d run into him again. I sat alone at a corner high-top, watching the stylish crowd sway under the dim neon lights to the pulsing rhythm of the music. Being a woman alone at a bar invariably invites unwanted attention. “Hey beautiful. Flying solo? Can I buy you a drink?” A guy with bleached-blond hair and an unbuttoned silk shirt slid onto the stool next to mine, flashing a practiced smirk. “No, thank you. I’m waiting for someone,” I said evenly, keeping my tone polite. “Waiting for who? Why wait when you’ve got me right here?” His voice dropped into a sleazy drawl, and he leaned in, his fingers reaching out to touch my chin. I flinched and pushed my chair back, standing up immediately. “What’s the rush? I’m not gonna bite.” The blond guy scowled, stepping closer, cornering me against the bar counter. Just as I raised my hands to shove him off, a strong hand gripped my wrist from behind and pulled me firmly behind a broad shoulder. “Get lost,” Garrett’s voice cut through the air, icy and lethal. The blond guy bristled, puffing out his chest. “Who the fuck are you? Telling me to get lost?” Terrified that a brawl would break out, my fingers instinctively caught the fabric of Garrett’s jacket sleeve, holding on tight. “Look at what she’s wearing,” the guy sneered, trying to save face. “She came here looking for attention, didn’t she?” In reality, I was wearing an oversized knit sweater and plain dark jeans. “What she’s wearing has nothing to do with you,” Garrett snapped, his eyes darkening with dangerous intensity. “Don’t flatter yourself. You look like a pathetic clown.” Before the blond could throw a punch, two bulky bouncers appeared out of nowhere, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him toward the exit. Garrett turned around to face me. “Are you hurt?” I shook my head quietly. “Coming to a place like this by yourself?” I could hear the sharp edge of anger vibrating beneath his words. “I wanted to see you,” I whispered. “See me for what?” “I wanted to buy you dinner.” He let out a short, mocking laugh. “Nora, I haven’t even asked—how are things going with you and Tyler Hughes?” All the color drained from my face. My lips parted, but it took several agonizing seconds before I could force a sound past my vocal cords. “We… we broke up. A long time ago.” “Broke up? So that’s why you came looking for me?” His gaze bore into mine, cold and unsparing. “Didn’t you move across the Atlantic to study fine art? What brought the great artist back down to our level?” He didn’t raise his voice, but every word felt like a tailored blade, slicing straight into my chest. “I… I moved back for good. I’m not leaving again,” I stammered, my hands fidgeting helplessly at my sides. “I didn’t reach out because we broke up, I just… I—” “Enough, Nora. Don’t come back here,” he said, cutting me off with a chilling finality. “In fact, I’d prefer it if I never saw your face again.” I stared at him, my vision blurring, clutching onto my desperate stubbornness like a lifeline. “Can I please just buy you dinner?” Garrett didn’t answer. He turned on his heel and walked away, his broad shoulders retreating into the crowd. He had forgotten. Back in high school, whenever we had petty arguments, even when I was completely in the wrong, I was always too stubborn to admit it. I loved watching his exasperated, flustered expression. But those moments were rare; Garrett almost never lost his temper with me unless I did something reckless and hurt myself. There was a steep grassy slope near our high school that turned into a slick, icy slide every time it snowed. Garrett had strictly forbidden me from going near it, but I snuck off during lunch break with a couple of classmates anyway. I went down too fast. The hem of my winter coat snagged on the sled base, and I took a violent tumble all the way to the bottom. I ended up with a bloody nose, scraped knees, and a huge tear in my favorite jeans. That was the sight that greeted Garrett when he came running over. He carried me on his back all the way to the nurse’s office, his jaw clenched, refusing to say a word no matter how much I sniffled. “Garrett, why are you ignoring me? Look how badly I’m hurt,” I had whined, lightly thumping his shoulder. “I’m bleeding and you’re still mad at me!” He set me down gently on the examination cot before finally speaking. “The nurse will be here in a minute.” He grabbed a damp paper towel and carefully wiped the blood from my face and chin. That was when I saw it—his eyes were rimmed with red. “I told you not to go there. Why don’t you ever listen?” “Everyone else was doing it!” I argued stubbornly. “And did everyone else end up bloody on the ground?” His tone was harsher than I’d ever heard it, and I burst into tears. “You’re yelling at me!” Garrett rubbed his temples, completely defeated. “Do you admit you were wrong?” “No!” He gave up and didn’t speak to me for the rest of the afternoon. It wasn’t until dusk, when the hallway emptied out, that I tugged on his sleeve and whispered, “Garrett… I’ll buy you dinner. Please don’t be mad at me anymore.” He had burst out laughing, ruffled my hair with a fond sigh, and said he’d be the one paying. Ever since that day, “Let me buy you dinner” was my secret white flag. It meant: I was wrong. I’m sorry. Please hold me. I walked out of the bar feeling hollow, sitting down on the cold concrete steps outside. His rejection was entirely reasonable. If he had welcomed me with open arms, he wouldn’t be the Garrett Cole I knew. But I wasn’t going to give up. It had taken me seven grueling years to earn the right to stand anywhere near him again. Back in my hotel room, exhausted beyond measure, I opened the messaging app on my phone and searched his number to send a friend request. Request note: I just want to thank you for helping me out twice. Can we please talk? Status: Declined. I stared at the screen, took a deep breath, and sent another. Request note: If you don’t add me, I’ll go back to the bar tomorrow to find you. Status: Accepted. A second later, a voice message popped up on the screen. I tapped it, and his voice came through the speaker, tight with irritation: “I told you not to step foot in that place again.” I quickly typed back: Then I won’t go. A friend recommended an amazing Italian bistro downtown. Would you let me take you there? A few minutes ticked by before he sent two curt words: Time. Location. He had agreed. But I knew him—he only said yes because he found me insufferably persistent and wanted to shut me down once and for all. I had made myself a nuisance to him again. I sent over the reservation details. It was an upscale, hard-to-book spot that Nina had pulled strings to get me a table at, using her connections with the owner. When Nina had asked who was important enough for me to ask for such a favor, I had simply said, “An old debt I need to repay.” What I didn’t say was: It’s penance. Between preparing for the dinner, I spent my days touring rental listings. My arrival in this city had been sudden, but I had no roots anywhere anyway. Wherever Garrett was, that was where I needed to be. On the evening of our reservation, I arrived forty minutes early. Garrett walked through the restaurant doors exactly five minutes before the scheduled time. “Garrett! You’re here,” I said, offering him a bright, eager smile as he sat down across from me. He gave a slight, indifferent nod, offering no reaction to my greeting. As the courses were served, the silence between us grew heavy. “Thank you,” I ventured softly. “For stepping in both times at the bar.” “That place belongs to Logan Evans,” he said, pausing slightly as he cut into his steak. “You remember Logan, right?” I nodded quickly. “Of course I remember. Logan was always trying to copy your calculus homework.” The air between us instantly thickened with an uncomfortable tension. I mentally kicked myself. Don’t bring up the past, I had warned myself repeatedly before leaving the hotel. Bringing up old memories now only highlighted the wreckage between us. “Right,” Garrett said with a dry, humorless smirk. “Funny how a trip across the ocean actually improved your memory.” Back in high school, I had been hopeless at memorizing literature passages. Garrett used to sit beside me on the bleachers, reciting the lines into my ear over and over until the words stuck in my head. “I never forgot,” I murmured, staring down at my plate. “None of it.” Garrett set his fork and knife down with a soft clatter. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his sharp eyes pinning me in place. “Let’s cut the bullshit, Nora. What do you actually want from me?” I looked straight into his dark, guarded eyes and said the words that had been burning inside me for years: “Garrett, I want to pursue you again. Will you give me a chance?” Garrett’s hands slowly clenched into fists on the tablecloth. “On what grounds? You think you can just walk in and out of my life whenever it suits you?” “I… I love you,” my voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “I won’t leave this time. I swear to you, Garrett, I’m never leaving again.” Bang. His fist slammed down against the sturdy mahogany table, rattling the silverware. “Nora, don’t you dare say that word to me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, trembling growl. “Don’t ever contact me again.” He pushed his chair back and stood up to leave. Panic seized my chest, and I rose instinctively, reaching out across the table. “I mean it! I know what I did to you back then was unforgivable, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Just give me one more chance… please?” My voice fractured entirely. Hot tears spilled over my lashes, rolling down my cheeks. I couldn’t keep the composure I’d practiced in the mirror all afternoon. We used to love each other so purely, so fiercely. Garrett stopped in his tracks. He turned and looked at me. The silence between us stretched, agonizing and heavy. It felt long enough for a lifetime of grief to pass, yet short enough that I barely had time to memorize the sharp angles of his face before he looked away. A bitter, self-derisive chuckle escaped his lips. “Fine, Nora,” he said coldly. “Let’s see what kind of game you’re playing this time.”
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