Page 123 of Cross Ice

But I did. I’d gotten good at recognizing the angle, the deliberate positioning, the way she kept glancing our way while pretending not to.

“Even if she is,” Nico said. “I know that’s scary. But we’re just having lunch.”

“We’re having lunch and in an hour it’ll be online with our location tagged. Five clients have already dropped me because of photos taken without my knowledge. A neighbor talked to a gossip site about my daily routine. I couldn’t go to your charity dinner because I can’t be in a room full of press cameras.” I pulled my hand back. “I can’t sit here knowing someone’s documenting us right now.”

“Okay.” He leaned forward slightly. “So we leave. We’ll find somewhere else.”

“There isn’t somewhere else, Nico. This is what it’s like everywhere.”

His phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it, and his expression shifted.

He turned the phone toward me.

An Instagram notification. Someone had tagged him in a photo of the two of us at this table, taken maybe ten minutes ago. Spotted: Nicolás Briggs having lunch with his boyfriend in Santa Cruz. Already thirty reposts. Comments rolling in.

The air left my lungs. “It’s already out there.”

“Yeah.” He put the phone face down on the table.

We looked at each other across the table, the food between us going cold.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly.

He stood, put cash on the table, and I followed him out in silence.

We walked back toward the car, and I could feel the argument coming before either of us said a word.

“It’s not fair,” I said when we reached the beach. “None of this is fair.”

“I know it’s not fair.” He turned to face me. “It’s not fair that someone took our picture without asking. It’s not fair that your clients dropped you. It’s not fair that a neighbor sold your routine to a gossip site. But it’s what we’re dealing with.” He paused. “And I need to know if you can deal with it, or if you’re going to keep waiting for it to stop.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then tell me what you are doing. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re waiting for a version of this that isn’t coming.”

I looked at him—frustrated, hurt, and still trying to find a way through. That was what kept me here. Nico didn’t give up. He showed up. He fought for things.

He was fighting for us right now. Even angry, he was fighting.

“Tell me how we make this work,” he said. “Not ‘I’m trying.’ Tell me what it looks like.”

“I don’t know.” The words came out before I could dress them up. “I’m trying, but I don’t know if trying is enough when I keep failing at it.”

He stared at me. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with you, and I still don’t know if that’s enough when everything else about this is impossible.”

He froze.

I realized what I’d said. The first time either of us had used that word, and I’d said it in the middle of an argument on a beach, attached to but I don’t know if it’s enough.

It was true. Somewhere between the secrets and the confession and all the weeks after, I’d fallen in love with him. With his persistence. With the way he’d chosen honesty even when it cost him. With how hard he kept trying, even when I made it difficult.

But loving him didn’t make me less afraid. If anything, it made it worse, because now I had something real to lose, and I still didn’t know how to keep it without losing myself in the process.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’m in love with you.”

“And it’s not enough.”