Page 34 of Worth the Wait

I swallow hard, blinking back tears. "I've spent eight years convincing myself I made the right choice."

"Maybe you did, at the time," she says gently. "But that doesn't mean you have to keep making the same choice now."

We fall silent as the server brings our dessert—tiramisu for Ellie, panna cotta for me. As I poke at the delicate custard, Ellie's expression turns more serious.

"Can I tell you something about Dad?" she asks.

I nod, curiosity piqued by her sudden shift in tone.

"He told me once, a couple years ago when he'd had a few too many scotches, that his biggest regret wasn't losing the business." She pauses, making sure I'm really listening. "It was showing you that surrender was an option."

The words hit like a physical blow. "What do you mean?"

"After the lawsuit, when he lost everything… he said he watched you transform. Before, you were this dreamy kid who wrote stories and believed in possibilities. After, you became so… practical. So determined not to be vulnerable."

"He had to file for bankruptcy," I protest. "We lost our home. I saw what happened when he tried to fight back and failed."

"Yes, and that changed you." Ellie's eyes are kind but unflinching. "He told me he wishes he'd shown you how to get back up after being knocked down, instead of teaching you to avoid getting hit in the first place."

Something cracks inside me—a hairline fracture in the foundation of beliefs I've constructed my entire adult life around. I've always told myself that watching my father's defeat made me stronger, more determined, more practical. I never considered it might have made me afraid.

"I'm not afraid of getting hurt," I insist, but the words sound hollow even to my own ears.

"Aren't you?" Ellie challenges gently. "You left Maple Ridge to pursue opportunities, not to become someone who's afraid to feel anything." She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. "Don't shut Jackson out because you're scared, Tar. At least notwithout finding out if what you still feel for each other is worth fighting for."

My apartment feels emptierthan usual after I drop Ellie at her hotel. Her words echo in my mind as I move through my evening routine on autopilot.

Don't shut Jackson out because you're scared.

Am I scared? The automatic denial rises to my lips, but in the silence of my apartment, I force myself to examine the truth.

I'm terrified.

Terrified of the way Jackson still makes my pulse race eight years later. Terrified of the feelings I've spent nearly a decade burying. Terrified that if I let him in again, losing him would destroy whatever carefully constructed walls I've built to protect myself.

I sink onto my couch, absently fingering the daisy pendant. The gold has warmed against my skin, familiar and comforting. How many times have I touched it when stressed or anxious? How many times have I caught myself thinking of him when my fingers find it?

You're still wearing the necklace he gave you. The one you've never taken off, not even for dates with other guys.

Ellie's right. I've been carrying a piece of Jackson with me all these years, even as I tried to convince myself I'd moved on. The pendant isn't just jewelry—it's a talisman, a connection to the girl I was before life taught me to be careful, to prioritize security over possibility.

My phone sits on the coffee table. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pick it up and send Jackson a quick text.

Me: I know I’ve said it already, but I’m so sorry, for everything.

A minute later there’s a response from him.

Jackson: You have nothing to be sorry for, Tarryn. I told you that. The only thing I want is for us to repair the past and maybe even have some semblance of a future.

Before I can respond, one more message appears.

Jackson: And to clarify, I'm not asking for anything, Tarryn. I just needed you to know that some things don't change. No matter how hard we try to convince ourselves they have.

I stare at his words, heart pounding. The professional woman I've worked so hard to become screams that this is dangerous, that I should maintain boundaries, that I'm risking everything I've built.

But another voice—softer but growing stronger—whispers that maybe some risks are worth taking. That maybe the greatest risk isn't in reaching for what I want, but in pretending I don't want it at all.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I try to find words for the storm of emotions raging inside me. Finally, I type back a reply.

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