"Are you okay?"
"With leaving?"
I nod.
"No. But I'm getting there."
"Thank you for helping her," I say. "Both of them."
"You're welcome." She looks to the ocean. "I'm sorry you lost them."
"They're still alive."
She nods.
"That's what matters."
"It's not easy," she says. "To put that ahead of everything."
"You do this every weekend?"
"No. I schmooze every weekend. I don't interact with survivors very often." She lets out a soft laugh. "But even this… I'm close to it. Thinking about it all the time. And since I haven't processed what happened with my mom… I guess I have to stop and do that before I can decide."
"That's brave."
"Quitting?"
"Taking care of yourself."
"You're not doing too bad yourself. Spending two weeks locked in the mansion."
"I have nothing on Adam."
She smiles. "Do you think it's easier for him? Having the scars outside?"
"He has them inside too."
"He's stronger than us, facing it."
"No one is stronger than you."
She looks me in the eyes. "You really see me that way?"
"Always."
"There's strength in vulnerability. And you're—" She reaches out, brushes my hair from my eyes. "You're rocking the unkempt look. And the rest too."
"I'm trying."
"It's scary."
"Terrifying," I say.
She rests her head on my shoulder. "I didn't come here with a plan. I just wanted to see you."
"Let's start over," I suggest.
"How?"
"Try this the normal way."
"I'm not familiar with this concept of normal."
"We date."
"Dating? That either."
"I call and invite you to dinner."
"A call? That's normal?"
"As normal as I get."
She smiles true.
"I call, pick you up—"
"I'm thirty-one and we live in Manhattan. You don't need to pick me up."
"I'm calling," I say.
"Fine, but we'll meet at the restaurant."
"We dine, drink, talk."
"Fuck on the balcony?"
"Not until the third date."
"What about the good night kiss?"
"If the moment strikes."
"And good night fuck?"
"Fourth date."
"The balcony was the third date."
"Special balcony exception. I'm not easy."
She laughs. "I have to make it through four dates without mounting you?"
"You do."
"Can each course count as a date?"
"Dinner and dessert, but not appetizers."
"What about a movie?"
"Only if it's a serious movie."
"What qualifies as serious?" she asks.
"Black-and-white photography."
"Subtitles?"
"Either," I say.
"In that case, how about a double-feature, then dinner?"
I laugh. "Impatient."
"Very."
"I like that about you."
"I know." She runs her fingers over my chin. "How much time do you need?"
"Two weeks."
"Two weeks is good."
"Then we start over." I offer my hand.
She takes it. Then she leans in and presses her lips to mine.
An approval kiss.
Not a normal way of accepting an offer.
Not a traditional makeup or apology.
The two of us, leaning to soften, trust, compromise.
It's a mess.
But it's perfect.
Chapter Forty-Six
VANESSA
Warm air hits me as I step out of the elevator.
The soft murmur of conversation.
The orange glow of sunset.
This is it. Friday night. Rooftop restaurant.
My reunion with Simon.
Has it really been two weeks since I sat next to him?
We've texted here and there. Small updates and words of encouragement.
Mostly, I've been busy. I hate to use the cliché, but it's true. I've been working on myself.
In the last two weeks, I've resumed therapy, confessed my utter lack of togetherness to my family, and arranged a six-month sabbatical from work.
As of today, I'm officially on leave.
For the first time in my adult life, I'm not trying to build a business or change the world.
I'm focusing that energy on myself.
Am I ready to touch Simon? I want to drag him to my bedroom. I want to spend the weekend fucking his brains out.
But my heart can't handle it.
I have to go slow this time.
With my next step, I see him.
Simon is standing at the bar in a dark grey suit, tall and broad and strong. He turns to me and flashes me a panty-melting smile.
Then he does something even more irresistible—
He blushes.
My heart thuds with every step. My stomach flutters. My body buzzes.
He watches me approach. Offers his hand. "Aviation?"
I run my fingers over his palm. "That depends."
"Oh?"
"Does a drink count as a date?"
"If we finish at the bar."
"Is that why you're early?" I ask.
His smile widens. "Is that why you're early?"
No. I'm early because I'm terrified. But I don't say that. Instead, I rise to my tiptoes and press my lips to his.
He tastes good, like whiskey and Simon.
Need floods my body. The intense, physical craving. And something else, something deeper.
A desire for his heart and soul.
He pulls back with a sigh. "I missed you."
"I missed you too."
"You look gorgeous."
"Thank you."
He runs his thumb along the straps of my eggplant dress. "New?"
I nod. "And this?" I tap his silk tie. "You stole my color."
"Borrowed."
"Did you ask?"
"Do you like it?"
My lips curl into a smile. "It suits you."
"Does it?"
"Very father of an NYU student."
He laughs. "Older brother."
"Very older brother of an NYU student."
He touches his forehead to mine.
My body hums. With warmth and need and affection and that indescribable feeling of safety.
He's safe.
I trust him again. Have the ability to trust him again.
I'm not past my fucked-up thoughts, but I'm making progress.