Chapter Thirty-Three

Nora

Three days, as it turns out, is far too long to wonder what the hell is going through a man's head.

Tairn and I guard the bookstore's checkout counter all through Sebastian and the other mentors' tutoring shift. I've kept to myself back here so the kids could concentrate on their studies without me hovering.

But have I been able to concentrate on anything other than Sebastian and trying to read his mind across the store? No.

His texts have been sweet the last few days. Normal, I think. But they've done nothing to shake me of the mounting dread as the days and hours tick by without quality time.

When the last mentor exits, leaving Sebastian and I alone in the store, I march up to the front door and lock the deadbolt.

Sebastian halts in packing up his computer in the café area. His hair falls in a perfect wave, and his facial hair is a touch long, like he's been letting it go. "Closing early today?"

"I'm the manager, so I call the shots." I strut toward him and grab him by the wrist.

He stumbles over his barely laced work boots as I drag him toward Benji's office. "Am I getting another tour? What is this?"

I shut the heavy wooden door behind us, securing us privacy from the store's bay windows, and back him into it.

He flips our positions on a dime, caging me in.

His breath is hot on my skin as he skates his lips across my jaw. " Hi . Fuck, I've missed–"

"We're running out of time," I blurt, fisting his cotton T-shirt as his mouth roams to my neck. "You say you'll never stop wanting me, but you didn't want to see me for three days when we have only weeks left together? You didn't want to come inside and see my place? Help me understand what the hell is going on, here. I'm going out of my mind."

His lips halt beneath my ear. "You didn't invite me inside the other night."

"Uh-uh. I was not the one acting weird."

"We were both acting weird," he argues, pulling back. "And we both know why, Nora. That fight with Enzo and Ro hit a little too close to home, didn't it? I saw the look in your eye when Ro said all that stuff about pain now to avoid pain later. You turned skittish in an instant. It was written all over your face."

My blood ices over. I've never needed his warmth more, but I lean back against the door, hugging myself.

"And all of that happened," he continues, " right after I told you I'm never going to stop wanting you. Right after I realized you're it for me. I thought I scared you. That's why I was anxious in the car. But then you told me you felt the same, and then I got confused all over again, and for days I've just been thinking what the hell do we do now? You think I don't know we're out of time? Not one fucking minute goes by where I don't think about it."

I'm breathing like I just ran a 5K, panic gripping my body. You're it for me would make me so deliriously happy if it wasn't followed by a but . It's the reality I want. But everything I've been avoiding, everything I'm afraid of, closes in on us in this dusty, claustrophobic room, and now I'm forced to face it.

I was never supposed to get this attached. I was never supposed to fall for him, knowing we couldn't see it through. "I don't know what to say."

"I'll say it: we've done a damn good job dancing around the fact that I'm leaving, but we can't avoid it anymore."

"We have, because this sucks . I try not to wish things were different because then you wouldn't be doing what you love. I'm glad someone is trying to save this dumpster fire world one town and kid at a time. I would never ask you to give it up for me. But how am I supposed to—"

Let you go?

I can't even say the words.

His gaze snaps to mine. " I wish things were different. That this career I've chosen wasn't what I wanted. Do you know how much easier things would be?"

I smother that small flame of hope igniting deep inside my chest. "You don't mean that. Your job is who you are."

"I just wish it felt like enough," he says quietly. "Enough to justify having no life of my own. Is this forever, Nora? When I'm fifty, sixty, seventy? Is this all I get?"

The words are on the tip of my tongue.

You can have me .

What if I come see you in Nebraska? What if we try?

But I can't get them out. The idea stirs my nervous system into a frenzy. My life with him would be starting over forever on a loop. I've only just escaped that life. It was impossible to bear before. I can't do it again.

It's not fair to offer to try things with him if I know, deep down, I can't see it through. Long distance won't work. Living for stretches of time where we can be together, spending weekends together here and there, and saying hundreds of goodbyes a year is no way to live. We'll grow apart. Worse, he'll grow to resent me for not giving up the long-distance fight to move with him.

And it's not fair to expect him to stay, as much as I want him to. He should be with someone less dysfunctional than me who will view his life as the adventure it is and stay beside him every step of the way. I'm just not built for it. And if this conversation feels hard now—like I'm being obliterated by a weapon of my own creation—then dragging out our relationship and postponing the inevitable failure will make it infinitely worse when it finally happens.

Pain now to avoid more pain later .

I do the impossible thing and say nothing, even as it kills me. Even as my brain screams make him some kind of promise.

We stare at each other, frustration fading into something softer.

"Nora." He takes my hand and draws a circle on the back of my wrist, touching me like it's second nature, like something he'd do while we both read books or watched a show side by side on a couch. I cling to the gesture, even as it brings tears to my eyes. "What are you thinking?"

I'm thinking about him. I'm never not thinking about him these days. I know all about firsts and new, but Sebastian's presence is bone-deep familiar. Sometimes when he looks at me, I get the same feeling as when I open the hatbox I keep under my bed where I store the things I'll never part with, the brittle paper coasters from rare restaurant visits, tarnished jewelry from quarter machines at the mall, and cracked old paperbacks from different seasons of my life.

But I don't get to keep him.

"I'm thinking you can still have a full life that's more than just your job," I say, throat on fire from swallowing down swell after swell of emotion as the vision of our future I've constructed bit by bit slips through my fingers. "A damn good one. Look at your parents. They love the same thing, and they're doing it together."

The unspoken is louder than my words: I'm not that person for him.

His gaze is probing. "And what does it say about me that right now, I can't see myself caring about my job a fraction as much as I care about you? If it's down to a choice, what if you win?"

My heart plummets so hard I swear I hear it hit the ground and shatter. "I don't want it to be an either/or scenario. I don't ever want you to feel like you have to choose between me and the thing that's most important to you. I couldn't live with myself."

"Long distance," he counters, like we're bargaining.

"Never works. And I'm afraid it'd ruin us."

He falls silent, his rich eyes full of anguish.

The weight of this conversation and everything we stand to lose bears down on me until I can hardly breathe. Maybe I wasn't ready for this conversation today. But it won't be any better tomorrow, or the day after.

"So, what if I don't choose?" He steps closer. "What if I do the selfish thing and ask the question I know you could never say yes to?"

The world goes still as his words hang in the air. "Which question?"

"If there is even a fraction of a chance you'd be willing to consider it, I have to try." He takes a step closer. "Will you move with me? Now, in a month, in four months—it doesn't matter when, as long as I know you're coming."

I've waited a lifetime to see my own longing reflected in someone else's eyes. To be needed as strongly as I need. To feel like I'm on the same page with a person so it'd be safe to fall.

And I finally have it. He and I are on the same page with how we feel about each other.

But we won't be finishing the book. And on top of everything else, I'm the one who's forced to say it. I'm choking on the intensity of how much I want him—to say yes—but my roots are here. Finally here .

"Sebastian…" It's more of a whimper than a word because I'm not strong enough to say no outright. "I can't. I have a job, friends, volunteer work, and a whole life—"

"I know. You're right." He drops my gaze.

The tether holding us together snaps.

I crumble inside, ready to turn away and put us out of our misery.

But he tugs me to his chest and surrounds me in his warm embrace.

I take a masochistic moment to soak in his warmth, the smell of him, pressing my nose to his warm neck as his fingers thread my hair and grip. As soon as he lets go, he'll go from being the man holding me together to the reason I'm falling apart.

"I thought it would be you," he murmurs as he holds me tight. With our chests pressed together, our hearts beat in tandem as if syncing up. And then mine beats even harder, as if trying to claw its way out of my chest to nestle beside his. "I could picture it. Our life, our house, our friends. You with our child."

If he's trying to break me, he's a breath away from succeeding. "I saw it, too."

But I saw it here .

How could we possibly have the rest of the things on his list if we never stop moving?

It doesn't matter, because we aren't going to find out.

At the first hint of a slackening in his hold, I lunge for the doorknob.

The faster he's gone, the faster I can get better at living without him.