Page 13 of Always Meant for You
I know exactly who she is.
I toss her passport on the bed, then take a step forward. Then another.
I reach for the M charm.
She doesn’t fight me.
My fingers close around the rose gold, and for a breath, I’m holding my last piece of hope. The same kind that gripped me beneath that tree years ago, when I brushed the rain from her cheeks and caught a glimpse of something in her eyes I wasn’t ready to see.
I ran that day. But I can’t run now. And we’re not teenagers anymore.
My knuckles brush the hollow of her neck. Her breath hitches. She holds my gaze, the fire in her eyes dialing down. “This necklace means everything to me, Cal,” she whispers. “Jamie left it for me on the table the morning he . . .” Her voice falters, words collapsing in the back of her throat. I feel her bracing. Grief lives in her body in ways I know too well.
And still, she stands steady.
I release the charm and trail my fingertips along her collarbone. Not rushed. Not careful either. I trace the delicate line of her neck, her skin warm beneath my touch. Then I move higher—across her jaw, the curve of her cheek.
I shouldn’t be touching her.
But I am.
And she’s letting me.
She’s not pulling back.
The room holds its breath.
So do I.
My grip on control thins with every second.
I’m trapped in her lavender and honey pull, tangled up in memories I could never bury.
Her phone slips from her hand and lands on the floor with a muted thud. Neither of us look. The sound feels far away compared to the weight of what’s building between us.
I want to speak. To tell her I’m sorry for that day beneath the tree, for the years that followed, for Jamie, for everything I never had the courage to say. I want to admit that I’ve carried the guilt, the silence, and the longing like a second skin. That I’ve seen her—truly seen her—for as long as I can remember.
I want to tell her that I dream about her. About the curve of her smile. The way her laugh lifts the room. The quiet way she arches her back when she gathers her hair into a bun, unaware of how it undoes me. She’s never known what she does to me, what she’s always done to me.
I tilt her chin upward. My fingers are steady, but my heart isn’t.
I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. Her breath brushes mine. Her lips are parted. Her eyes are fixed on me, and the rest of the world feels impossibly distant.
The pull toward her isn’t new. It’s lived in me for years, buried beneath reasons I told myself were enough to keep us apart. I reminded myself she was too young. That she was Jamie’s sister. That I wasn’t the best man for her.
But right now, none of that holds.
What’s between us is no longer theoretical. It’s real, immediate, and consuming.
I see her under that willow tree, rain-soaked, hair clinging to her cheeks. How she looked at me when I reached to brush it back. The truth in her expression. The truth I wasn’t ready to face.
I pulled away. Not because I didn’t feel it, but because I did. Because that moment had the power to change everything, and I wasn’t brave enough to let it.
I left her there in the storm.
And I’ve been avoiding her ever since.
I don’t want to walk away this time. I want to kiss her. I want to feel her lips against mine and let every boundary I built collapse. I want her to know I’m not going anywhere. I want her to know my heart belongs to her.
