Page 33 of Lovesick

When the night came, I stood in front of the mirror longer than I meant to. I didn’t want to look too polished. Too available. But I also didn’t want to look like I hadn’t cared. Because I had. I still did. And pretending otherwise would be a lie I was too tired to tell.

He was already at the table when I arrived. No tie. A little less guarded in his posture. He stood when he saw me, but didn’t reach for a hug or a kiss or even my hand. Just a quiet “Hey” as I sat across from him.

The conversation was slow at first. Surface-level. Food, work, the city. But after the wine came, something softened. We talked about music. About his friend’s new baby. About the book on my nightstand I was about to finish.

Not once did he mention the past. He didn’t push. Didn’t steer the night toward redemption or resolution.

And maybe that was what made it bearable.

Because I didn’t need a grand apology. I didn’t need him to fall on his knees or beg for another chance. I just needed to know he could sit across from me and see me as a person, and not a thing to win or control or keep secret.

When the bill came, he reached for it, and I didn’t argue.

Outside, the night was cool and quiet.

He pushed his hands into his pockets, clearing his throat before saying, “I meant what I said in my office. I don’t expect anything from you. But thank you for tonight.”

I nodded, unsure what to say back. So, I stayed quiet and waited for him to speak again.

“Can I walk you home?” he offered.

I shook my head. The restaurant I’d chosen was only a five-minute walk away, and I liked the idea of walking home alone, to let the dinner we had sink in. “No, thank you.”

“Alright.” He bit his bottom lip, then gave me a gentle smile. “Get home safe. I’ll see you in the office.” He reached out one hand to touch my arm, and that’s all I allowed him to do. As close as I allowed him to come for now.

I went home alone, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel hollow.

I felt whole.

Even if I wasn’t sure what came next.

***

Things got easier after that dinner.

Not all at once, not in any dramatic way. But in the slow, careful unfolding that happens when two people decide to stop hurting each other. Or maybe, to stop pretending they don’t care. He had been the one to hurt me. It wasn’t the other way around, and I had to keep reminding myself.

At the office, we returned to normal. Or at least something resembling it. Only this time, it wasn’t heavy with tension. It wasn’t cold. I didn’t avoid him anymore.

He was kind. Thoughtful. Present in the way I used to wish he’d be.

When he passed me in the hallway, he smiled. Sometimes he made a quiet joke under his breath, just for me. Sometimes I answered with one of my own. Sometimes we just looked at each other and moved on.

Slowly, quietly, we started to rebuild. Not through big conversations or grand gestures, but in the way we looked at each other a little longer. In the way he listened when I spoke. It wasn’t about sex anymore. It was something else. Something quieter. Closer.

I’d find him waiting for me by the elevator at the end of the day.

He’d bring me coffee just the way I liked it before a meeting he knew would stress me out.

The air between us had softened, and I let myself lean into that softness. I let myself speak to him again. Joke with him. Trust him in pieces.

And slowly, without me being able to steer this in any other direction, I started to fall for him again.

It wasn’t like the first time.

Back then, it was Dean who held all the power. Dean who kept me at a distance with cold eyes and clipped words, who pulled me into his office, then sent me home without ever asking if I’d made it there safely. I had fallen alone, quietly and completely, while he stayed untouched. Unmoved.

But now…something had shifted.

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