Page 112 of Twisted Violet

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The concert is epic.

Pyrotechnics. Lights. Fog. People sobbing with joy. Someone behind me screaming like the guys just proposed marriage to her.

I should be euphoric.

But when the first slow song starts and I glance over to see Stevie wrapped in Ezra’s arms, with his chin resting on her shoulder like it’s his favorite place on earth, my chest twists.

I want that.

I want the guy who sends Ollie in a tactical vest like it’s a covert op for Operation: Win Back Girl.

The one who never asked for anything.

The one who was always there for me, even when I did everything I could to push him away.

I pull out my phone before I can overthink it.

My thumb hovers over the message, heart stuttering, then…

I hit send.

The response comes instantly.

I look around, and there he is. Walking down the aisle like this is the most normal thing in the world. A ticket in one hand. The other stuffed in his jacket pocket. That stupid, hopeful grin barely hidden behind his dimples.

He reaches me and doesn’t say a word.

Just holds out his hand.

I take it.

His fingers wrap around mine, warm, steady, familiar.

We don’t kiss, we don’t talk, we just stand there hand in hand.

In the glow of music and lights that make this moment feel like a new beginning.

FORTY-TWO

ROME

The first timeI see her name again, it’s on a maintenance report.

Unit 5C.

Intercom’s shorting out. Heater’s dead. The light in front of her door is flickering.

The building’s in decent shape overall. Same architecture firm that designed ours. Same clean lines, same minimalist finishes. I remember thinking she probably picked it for that reason, because it felt familiar without feeling like us.

I don’t know why I even looked at the report.

But I did, over and over.

Until I memorized every fault in her damn floor plan.

Then I called my broker and bought the building.

I said it was for logistical reasons.

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