3 months later.

I smiled at my work on display, still processing the accomplishment. It was one thing to print the pieces out on glossy paper and submit them for a grade. But to see my canvases embellishing the white walls of the Nevada Museum of Art?

Totally surreal.

And just when I thought the spotlight overhead couldn't get any brighter, Fontaine emailed her colleagues and past students and encouraged them to attend my opening night. And holy hell, did she know how to rally a crowd—over a hundred people poured into the exhibition this evening.

I stood awkwardly in the middle of my gallery, watching strangers examine my photographs and contract my subjects' infectious joy like some kind of emotional pandemic.

Even my parents made it out to support me, telling me where to stand and how to pose so they could snap a million pictures. They both seemed genuinely impressed with the quality of my portraits, and even though my father was probably brainstorming the ways he could capitalize on my talent, at least he wasn't his usual critical self.

"I'm so freaking proud of you, Rivas!" Baker exclaimed, and I ventured to the far end of the wing, pressing my phone tightly to my ear. "I'm sorry I can't be there, babe."

"Given your inability to keep inflammatory thoughts to yourself, I'd say it's probably for the best," I joked. 

"Fuck off. Those abstract artists need to be humbled."

Baker had left for her journey abroad over a month ago, and while I ached for her company, we'd established a routine check-in—mostly to ensure her survival, but also to catch up on her life overseas and my days managing the coffee shop.

I'd started working at Grounds soon after quitting The Orchard, and just like that, I no longer woke up before work with suicidal thoughts. Go figure.

I also understood why Theo spent so many years cooped up in that brick building; the environment was as soothing as its coffee, and the staff repelled the brunch-loving Karens. And hey, if my attempt at art therapy went south, I'd happily man the counter for a decade or two.

"Well, I'll let you know how it goes," I promised, my gaze raking over the gallery and the guests perusing my art.

Then a young man strode in wearing a black suit and tie, and my heart forgot its cadence.

I blinked a few times, confused by the pretty face, the lean build, and the messy hair. What the hell? Had I just spoken the barista into existence? Or was I hallucinating?

"Theo," I breathed into the phone, spinning to face the wall before he recognized me.

Baker made an unintelligible noise from the device in my hand. "Excuse me?"

"Theo's here," I whispered. "In a suit."

"Theo, as in The Ghost of Semester's Past, Theo?"

I threw a sneaky glance over my shoulder, watching him make his way down the corridor with his hands in his pockets. He appeared captivated by my photographs—more than most—and he looked as handsome as ever, too.

Dammit.

My gaze snapped back to the dead-end before me. Maybe I could throw myself out the window. A three-story fall was totally survivable, right?

"The one and only," I muttered.

I barely recognized him at first without his beanie and black jeans. But his luscious hair and sculpted features were as unmistakable as the self-assurance he exuded.

Fuck.

He reached the end of the first wall, and as he pivoted to observe the second half of the exhibit, his gaze brushed mine. Then froze.

Our eyes locked, and I swore the collision knocked the earth off its axis.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck...

I swallowed, startled by how much this man still affected me. But if his deer-in-headlights expression was anything to go by, he was just as unprepared for this reunion as I was.

"...I gotta go," I told Baker.

"For the love of god, keep me on speaker phone!"

"No."

"Please, bitch—"

I hung up on the wailing woman, then offered Theo a feeble grin. "Hi..."

My greeting eased some of the stress on his face, and he tilted his head at the closest photograph. "How much for the coffee portrait?"

"Free of charge," I offered. "With that prison cell of an apartment, you need décor more than anyone."

"...I didn't realize you were the interior design police."

"That's your mistake."

He grinned at our old repartee, and we drew closer to one another, the first of many barriers destroyed.

Honestly, I didn't know how I'd react if I ever saw him again. Over the past three months, I'd played out a hundred hypothetical situations in my mind, some of them pleasant, some of them petty. But now that I was standing in front of him, doing my best to avoid the gravity of those kind, hazel eyes, I realized I had no reason to be paranoid.

Theo had always been a safe place for Carl and me, and his absence hadn't changed that. He was still as warm and prickly as a Cholla cactus, and despite what we'd been through, a refuge to this desert settler.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice low and raspy in his throat, as if he hadn't spoken at all this summer.

"I'm...doing okay." All things considered. I reflected on my busy year and the progress I'd made—internally and otherwise—and lifted my shoulders. "I'm happy."

He lowered his chin and smiled. "I can tell. It's a good look on you."

I wanted to tell him the same thing about his fancy ass suit, but I knew better. Flirting couldn't hide the bruises. "Don't take this the wrong way...but what are you doing here, Theo?"

In all our time together, he'd never once expressed interest in the fine arts. Unless you counted anti-capitalist graffiti and political cartoons. But standing in a pristine hallway, dressed the way he was...he looked like puzzle piece thrown in the wrong box.

"I saw your name in the alumni newsletter," he said, biting his lip like he was afraid the real reason might slip out. "Thought I'd come support you."

Bullshit.

"Well...thanks."

We stared at each other for a while, tiptoeing around the craters in our hearts.

There was so much to be said between us, so much pain clouding the water...that I wasn't sure wading any further was worth the effort. But I couldn't deny that I'd learned invaluable things about myself because of him. And looking back now, the mistakes that brought us down seemed so trivial and juvenile in the grand scheme of things.

All but one.

"How's Alyssa?" I asked, sprinting for the point and running it over before my emotions got the better of me.  

Something akin to humor swam in his eyes, and it wasn't the reaction I expected. "Pregnant."

The air whooshed out of me, and surely, I deserved an award for my cool, measured reply. "Wow...congratulations."

His lips twitched, and he took another step forward. "Thankfully, not with my genetic contributions."

Confusion wrinkled my brow, and he let out a weary sigh. 

"Sleeping with Alyssa was a fucking dumb decision, drunk or not," he said, and my heart scrambled for cover.

Fuck, this was really happening, wasn't it? Here, in public, and now, at the opening night of my exhibit. What was he thinking?

And why the hell was I letting him pick at this scab?

"I was ready to kick her out that day, but you told me to give her another chance, so I did." He inclined his head. "...For about a week. Then we recognized that too much had changed. We didn't fit together anymore."

My voice came out much less even this time. "You didn't fit?"

"I was chipped. She was looking for the man before the heartbreak. The man before you." His gaze was potent, and I glanced away. "We just didn't match up. Who we were last year...we aren't those people anymore."

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't speak at all. But I could feel my mother's eyes on us, speculating, and I could already hear the shrill questions climbing her throat.

"After we ended things, Alyssa moved to Sacramento with some older guy. Like...old, old. And according to Charlie, she just posted a pregnancy announcement. She's ten weeks."

I studied his face, but there wasn't a single crumb of regret or limerence there. In fact, for the first time this year, he didn't look plagued by his past. He'd recovered from betrayal, and by the looks of it, his wounds had healed up well enough.

At least...the wounds she'd inflicted. Mine were still plainly visible. 

"Damn," I managed. 'She moves fast' passed through my filter as, "She's a whirlwind, isn't she?"

"More like a hurricane."

"...So you guys are over?" It was probably a redundant question, but I'd asked him that once before, and he hadn't done enough self-reflection to answer honestly.

"Yeah, mutually this time," he affirmed. "And I'm glad I gave us an honest shot, as short as it was. I didn't realize it before, but we both needed closure after dating that long, and we needed to know it couldn't be mended. Logically, I should have known that anyway, but I guess my heart wasn't there yet." Remorse trickled in. "So, thank you...for making the call when I couldn't."

My gaze dropped to the floor. I was happy to give him what he needed, but I hated what it had cost me. What it had cost us.

"...Yeah."

It was quiet for a beat, and our combined sadness was so palpable, I could probably carve an escape route through it. Then Theo stepped even closer, shrinking this confusing world so it fit just the two of us. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Moe," he whispered. His hand twitched for mine, but he stuck it in his pocket to kill the instinct. "I hope you know my feelings were genuine."

Saltwater blurred my vision, and I nodded at the hardwood. I did know that—long before I'd read his coffee cup sleeves.

"I just...I wasn't ready for another relationship, but I knew if I let you go, I'd regret it for the rest of my life. So I agreed to your proposal, despite knowing it wouldn't end well." I chanced another glance at him, and he shook his head. "I was selfish."

He was only as selfish as I was stupid. He'd acknowledged how terrible the idea was from the get-go, but I'd insisted, claiming I was immune to his charm.

Immune to his love.

"I'm sorry I ghosted you," I said quietly, dabbing at my eyes as discreetly as possible. I'd drawn enough attention to myself as is with my golden maxi dress—I didn't need my mascara running too. "That wasn't the way to deal with my insecurities. I just...I didn't want you to break my heart, so I ran away before you could." I was so sick of being disappointed and let down, I'd sabotaged my first shot at a healthy relationship. "I wasn't ready either."

His smile was tender. "I know."

A few people passed us by, and we moved to the window for a semblance of privacy. "I have to ask you something that's been bugging me for months," I said, begging my tears to evaporate.

"Shoot."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "What exactly did you and Jay talk about? Before he died?"

Theo looked at my shoulder, suddenly unwilling to meet my gaze. "You."

I'd suspected as much. "What about me?"

His resistance had Carl leaping to the front of my brain, eager for a place at the podium. But then he answered, and the resignation in his voice made me wonder if this can of worms should have remained closed.

"He...told me that I'd scared you off for good, and that he didn't know what I'd done, but I'd definitely lost you."

My jaw dropped an inch, but he kept going before I could curse my uncle's stupidity.

"He said it was useless trying to win you back because he'd only ever seen you that way once before—right after his diagnosis, when you stopped going to church...and when you stopped believing in god." A pause, a loaded breath. "...He said it was the look of unwavering conviction."

Fucking hell, Jay.

No wonder Theo said yes to Alyssa after that; Jay had all but destroyed his hope in salvaging our relationship. The man had taken it upon himself to hammer the last nail in our coffin. "He said all that?"

Theo nodded. "I'm pretty sure he thought he was doing me a favor, you know? Like he was setting me free? But all it did was send me to the brink."

No kidding. I'd expected him to relay a wise man's parting advice on young love. Maybe a dirty joke or two. But not this. Not from Jay.

"Did he say anything else?"

He winced.

"Theo."

"He said his death was probably the only thing that could bring us back together," he revealed, and pure mortification filled his eyes. "Then I joked about smothering him with a pillow to hasten the process."

I stared at him for a couple seconds before a huff of laughter burst through my lips. "You're joking."

"I wish." He looked out the window, distraught and embarrassed. "I had no idea he died right after my visit until I saw the funeral announcement. I felt sick."

Jay...you bastard.

That old man really gave up living on the off-chance I would seek comfort in Theo. And it was probably why his death had felt so premature, too—he'd mentally checked out before his body shut down.

He'd bailed on purpose! And he'd nearly succeeded. I'd blocked the barista out of my headspace for self-preservation, and there was a good chance I never would have seen him again, not with Carl at the helm. It was Jay's death that sent me to Theo's doorstep, and somehow, the half-bald asshole had foreseen that.

...Just not how much alcohol Theo would consume the night before.

"For the record, I told him that as much as I loved you, he better not fucking die anytime soon," Theo stressed. "I never would have wished that on you."

The L-word twisted up my insides. "I know that, Theo."

"I never would have wished any of that pain on you," he amended, closing his eyes. "The last thing I wanted to do was make you feel the way I'd felt that winter."

I knew that too. 

He looked at me, his wet eyes holding me hostage. "I'm sorry I didn't wait. If I'd known you wanted more from me, I would have waited a lifetime."

A shaky exhale left my lips, and perhaps it was just the romantic in me that refused to retire, but I believed him. Every word.

A pair of tears dribbled down my face before I could swipe at them, and I silently cursed the barista for fucking up my makeup. "It's okay. You can't wait for something you think will never happen," I reasoned.

"No. I guess not."

We shared a sad smile, acknowledging how far we'd wandered off trail and how traumatizing this unnecessary detour was for everyone involved. Then he glanced at his watch and rubbed the back of his neck. "I probably need to head out soon. Duty calls."

"Duty?"

"Yeah, I landed a research position at the university a while back, so I'm getting paid to finish my thesis now, which helps a fuck ton."

Ah. That explained his retirement from Grounds, then.

"That's great, Theo. You earned it." I spent a minute taking in his expression, his eye color, his lips, knowing it would be the last time I'd have the opportunity to do so—and probably the last time I should. "I um...I'm gonna go ahead and tend to my exhibit, then."

"Okay."

Neither one of us moved, unwilling to say goodbye, unwilling to ride the recoil of our impact. Eventually, though, I backed away, breaking the spell, and he offered me a friendly nod and turned around.

"See ya, Moe."

"Bye, Theo."

He admired the last of my portfolio on his way out, and I tossed my flustered gaze elsewhere—anywhere and everywhere but him. My eyes flitted over the clusters of chatty alumni, couples, and fellow students before snagging on the last piece in my exhibit.

My favorite piece.

From his canvas, Jay stared back at me with his wry grin, and it almost looked like he was mocking me from this angle. The fucking meddler.

Look what your guidance did for us, I complained. You died early for nothing, you ham.

All of it, in vain. All of it, pointless.

I glared at those squinty brown eyes. Then the mischievous dimple on his left cheek.

Unless...this was the plan.

Unless Jay had known Theo and I needed our time apart to grow, to heal, to improve ourselves. Unless he'd predicted the diamond in our paths all along.

Look around you...find what you want...

I glanced at Theo one last time, catching a brief glimpse of his profile before he vanished around the corner. 

And grab hold of it while you can...

Jay had told me to seize my happiness myself, and while I'd snipped the weeds stunting my growth, I'd yet to claim my plot. In fact, I'd refused to take root anywhere. Too afraid. Too cautious. Too intimidated by the morning frost.

But Theo was what I wanted, wasn't he? Someone ambitious and sensitive and down-to-earth? Someone as thoughtful as he was thought-provoking? A fellow atheist who enjoyed sunsets, and who made Reno of all places feel like a place worth settling in?

So what if we'd had a rocky start?

So what if he'd hurt me, and I him?

So what if he'd loved someone deeply before me?

We'd shed that skin; we were different people today. And now...now we knew what not to do—what not to bury.

My feet started moving before I even gave them a command, and I found myself outside a minute later, scanning the world for the tall brunette in a suit. I descended the steps of the museum and skirted the perimeter of the building, desperate to find him. And just as I was about to give up my search, I spotted him in the harsh shadows of a dying sun, slowly walking down a grassy hill toward the parking lot.

Unthinking, undaunted, I kicked off my heels and followed.

The grass was cool and damp beneath my feet, and I hurried after him, unsure what to say or how to say it, but determined to speak my mind. I gained on him quickly—too quicky—and I stopped just short of his spine, struggling to find the appropriate words.

Just say something, Moe!

Anything!

But it was at that moment when he decided to throw a suspicious glance behind him, sensing a presence in his vicinity. And unfortunately, he wasn't expecting my stalking ass to be two inches in front of his face.

"Ffffuck!" he hissed, staggering away from me.

But his heel landed wrong on the sharp, slick incline, and suddenly he was falling to the ground.

Falling, and rolling.

Horrified, I hiked up my dress and raced after him, too scared for his safety to laugh. But he managed to slide to a stop a few feet from the deadly sidewalk, and I bent over my knees to inspect him for injuries. "Oh my god, Theo. Are you okay?"

He lay flat on his back, his labored breaths devolving into exasperated snickers. "You scared the shit out of me."

Amusement tugged at the corners of my mouth, and I straightened. "I couldn't get the words out!"

"So you decided to kill me instead?" His dramatics pulled a snort out of me, and he sat up to look me in the eye. "What was so important that it had you running after me shoeless?"

I looked at him and his puzzled brow, and finally—for once in my life—my mind felt completely resolute. Completely calm.

"What if."

He frowned at me, his irises burning like wildfires in the sunset. "...What?"

"That's all I ever think about. What if this goes wrong? What if I had done that differently? It's Carl's favorite game."

He waited for me to continue, aware that I was about to cut myself open and bleed for him in a way I never had before—and up until now, never could.

"And I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I'd told you how I felt back in Vegas. Or if Alyssa had left us alone. Or if I'd joined you in the shower that day and never looked under your bed." I swallowed my fear of tomorrow, refusing Carl's safety measures. "I'm sick of asking that question over and over again, Theo. I'm done wondering."

His hands curled into the grass, and he searched my face for clarity. "You're saying you want...closure?"

"I want to try again. For real." His eyes widened comically, suggesting that he hadn't sought anything but my forgiveness tonight, and that just made me love him even more. "I want to go on dates and hang out in public without tiptoeing around friends and family. I want the right to feel jealous or mad over the dumb things you do. I want girlfriend privileges. And I want to see if this is something worth reviving." I paused to catch my breath, my confidence wavering slightly. I hadn't even bothered to check if he was dating anyone. For all I knew, he'd moved on at the same time Alyssa did. "If...if you do. Want to do that, I mean. With me."

With a soft breath of laughter, he reached for my hands, and I slid my palms in his, melting at his familiar touch and calloused fingertips. He pulled me down to him, slowly, gently, until my knees touched the grass and we sat face-to-face. 

"Are you sure?" He cupped my cheek, and his watery smile squeezed the oxygen out of my lungs. "...Is Carl?"

I nodded, grinning a little. "It's a unanimous decision to revise and reinstate our contract."

"Alright, then." He brushed a stray curl out of my face, staring at me like he still couldn't believe I'd opened a locked and rusty door. "Where do I sign?"

I placed my hand over his, holding it there in place before he slipped away again. "Actually...I was thinking we could seal this one with a kiss."

Playfulness danced in his pupils, and he pulled away. "I don't know. That seems a bit unprofessional."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, old man. You want to get it notarized or something?"

He laughed and yanked me in for a kiss. But just before we made contact, I noticed the grass stains I'd put on his knees and elbows, and I pressed my hand to his chest, halting him. "Oh no."

Theo followed my gaze and tutted. "Don't act so surprised. It's your trademark."

"Fuck. I'm so sorry. How do we even get that out? Hydrogen peroxide?" I lifted his sleeve to the sunset for a better view. "Oh, it's bad. I think we should take this to that Latina laundromat on—"

"Moe."

I turned to him again, the fondness on his face, the love in his eyes, and I forgot what I was saying entirely. "...What?"

"I don't own a single piece of clothing that you haven't branded with coffee, sauces, or foundation." His thumb caressed the pink tint of my cheek, and my lashes fluttered. "I worked hard to purge you from my mind this summer. And just when I thought I'd finally succeeded, there you were again, mucking up my favorite t-shirt."

I smiled at the thought of tainting his entire wardrobe, and I nuzzled into his palm.

"I'm in this," he promised. "Textiles and all."

"...What about car seats?" I asked, already leaning in.

"You already ruined those."

I smiled against his mouth, closing my eyes as his hands carded through my hair—a few inches more than he'd ever had to work with.

We sat there at the base of the hill and kissed like no time had passed at all, falling back into the choreography we'd perfected. Pushing and pulling. Leading and following.

His lips were as warm and addicting as ever—just like the coffee he brewed. And a daily cup of coffee was good for the heart.

Or so I'd been told.

***************************

And that's a wrap!!

OMG. We made it! Punched out over 90k words in less than a year.

This was such a fun and challenging break from my favorite genre (fantasy), and I can't believe how much love this book received. Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and voting on each chapter. It really means a lot. <3

If you enjoyed my writing style, please do check out my other series, The Ephemeral. A lot of sweat and tears has gone into this trilogy, and now that my Creators contract is complete, I will be giving the third and final book my full attention.

(I also have a Discord server "The Gritz" if anyone is interested in staying up to date with bookish updates, book art, etc. Link is listed in my profile).