Page 86 of Mending Hearts
“Okay,” he says finally. “We date.”
The word still feels almost ridiculous after everything. But also earned. When he first mentioned it, I felt like he was throwing me a lifeline. This time, it feels different. True and strong.
“We date,” I echo.
He leans in and kisses me—slower this time. When he pulls back, his hand stays on my waist.
“Tomorrow,” I say before he can. “We get coffee. I walk you there. In daylight.”
A small smile tugs at his mouth. “Bold.”
“Maybe even holding hands.” I swallow hard at the thought. But I’m in this. It’s also what I’ve always wanted. “I’m done hiding,” I tell him.
The ease of it surprises me. The steadiness.
We’re not running.
“Slow,” he says again, like he’s testing it.
“Slow,” I confirm.
But when he rests his forehead against my neck, when the steam thins and the world outside this bathroom waits to dissect whatever we are, I know something neither of us is saying out loud.
This time, I’m the one stepping forward, and I don’t plan on stepping back.
14
RAFE
We leaveOllie’s loft through the underground. That doesn’t matter. They’re waiting anyway.
By the time Vinny pulls the SUV around, there are cameras clustered near the exit ramp like birds that learned how to use lenses instead of wings. Someone must’ve tipped them off when the contractor vans left. Or maybe they never left at all.
The second the car noses toward daylight, the shouting starts.
“Rafe! Are you together?”
“Ollie! When did this start?”
“Are you confirming a relationship?”
The flash of cameras bounces off the windshield even in afternoon light.
Vinny mutters, “Eyes forward,” though none of us are looking at them anyway.
Ollie’s hand finds mine before we even clear the garage. It’s instinctive, his grip firm. It’s that there’s no hesitation that has me swallowing hard. I still can’t believe he’s doing this, that he’s here after all this time.
I look at our hands like I don’t quite recognize the image. Twelve years ago, this would’ve been unthinkable in public. Eight years ago, it would’ve been a fantasy.
Now it’s just… happening.
He doesn’t squeeze too hard. Just enough to anchor.
When Vinny stops briefly to let a pedestrian cross, a photographer lunges closer to the car window, crouching to get a clear shot of our hands intertwined. Ollie doesn’t let go. Neither do I.
The drive back to my house is quiet at first. Not strained, just… absorbing.
Ollie’s leg starts bouncing halfway across the bridge. I notice immediately. He’s holding it together—shoulders squared, gaze steady—but his lips are pressed closely together, and there’s a faint tremor in the hand still wrapped around mine.
