Page 15 of Izzy and Her Off-Limits Love

This is not the question I want to answer right now, though I’ve had a few similar questions myself since I ran into Izzy yesterday. I’d rather know how Izzyfeelsabout me breaking up with Natasha. And why the news made her practically sprint out of the restaurant.

It’s all I can do not to demand an answer.

But this feels like the beginning of a fresh start, maybe one leading in a new direction, and I don’t want to push too hard too fast.

“Maybe life is just busy for everyone?”

“Yeah, maybe,” she says. A thousand questions flitting around behind her deep brown eyes. “Was it—are you okay? After the breakup?”

“Definitely,” I say. “She wasn’t right for me. I never should have brought her home.”

I’m not entirely sure that’s true, as bringing Natasha to Oakley was what made me certain we weren’t a good fit. But I want to make sure Izzy doesn’t think I have any lingering feelings or regrets about the relationship.

“Wait—is the reason you’ve been so guarded around me because you thought I was with Natasha?”

Izzy hesitates, then nods. “I’ve been trying to keep a respectful distance. I thought you were in a relationship.”

And here I’ve been hoping for the opposite. No wonder she’s been so tense around me. At least now we’ve cleared the dead air.

I tug on her—or, I guess,my—sleeve. “Come on. Let’s get out of the cold and get some food.”

Izzy was right—Riley’ssweet potato fries are arguably marriage material. It also has both a solid cheeseburgeranda steak salad that checks all the boxes I need to eat and not feel like I want to die in the morning. I have a feeling I’m going to be frequenting the place a lot—and notjustbecause it’s around the corner from Izzy’s apartment. That’s just a perk.

Conversation is easy between us. We talk about college stories and our favorite shows, and Izzy asks if I’m still as much into dinosaurs as I used to be.

We don’t talk about anything too serious, not venturing into feelings or relationship territory at all, but Izzyissmiling a lot. Touching my arm as we talk. And on our way into the restaurant, she held onto my hand a little longer than necessary when I helped her around a puddle, her fingers wrapped in mine until we were all the way inside.

It’s a vast improvement from the way she treated me at work all day, keeping me at arms’ length, steering the conversation away whenever things felt too familiar.

With every passing minute, the hope in my chest grows brighter and brighter.

“So this company you’ve started,” Izzy says over the last bite of her dessert. We’ve basically closed down the restaurant, the waitstaff already cleaning up tables around us, but I don’t care. I’ll leave an enormous tip if it means getting to sit here like this, Izzy’s eyes on me and only me. “It’s a big deal, isn’t it?”

“It’s getting there,” I say. “Though company sounds like a big word because right now, it’s really just me. I have a few subcontractors helping with tech support, but otherwise, I’m a one-man show.”

“Don’t downplay what you’re doing,” she says with a shake of her head. “Doing all of this on your own actually makes itmoreimpressive. Though I’m guessing with the contract you signed with the Whitmire Group, you’ll need to hire some help sooner than later.”

“I hope so. Customer service. Tech support. Not to mention the tax accountants who will keep the software up to date. It’s a long list.”

“It’ll be amazing,” she says. “You’ll get it all done.”

I hear the pride in her words, see it in her eyes, and it makes warmth spread through my chest and up to my cheeks.

“So talk me through how you got from an accounting degree to writing software. I mean, I know your brain is amazing, but …”

I shrug, suddenly feeling a little sheepish. “I mean, it’saccountingsoftware, so I still put the degree to good use.I took some coding classes on the side just for fun and found it really interesting, so when I realized there was a gap in the market, I thought maybe I could fill it.” I hold her gaze for a long moment. “Actually, do you remember the summer we watched the turtles hatch out on Oakley?”

Her expression brightens. “Yes! It was amazing.”

It was the summer before my senior year, and we were in Oakley for the entire month of August. Izzy had found multiple nests along the shore behind her house, and she was basically living on the beach, wanting to be there when the babies finally hatched and made their long journey out to the ocean.

She called me at 3:45 in the morning, whispering excitedly through the phone to let me know the hatching had started and I better hurry if I wanted to see any of it. I borrowed Mom’s car and drove out to Hunter’s place. I spent the next three hours sitting on the beach with Izzy, still as a statue, while dozens of tiny turtles crept toward the water in the moonlight, the last ones making it just before the hot sun rose in the summer sky.

“You went on and on that morning, talking about growing up and starting your own nonprofit, going back to Oakley to take care of the turtles. You wanted to keep development in check so they would always have beaches to come back to.”

“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe you remember that,” she says.

“The day before, you’d had a long conversation with Merritt about everything you’d need to know to run your own nonprofit, and you couldn’t stop grumbling about it.”

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