Chapter 1: The Confession

The New York skyline stretched beyond Evan Cole’s window, a mosaic of neon and glass. The city’s pulse—horns, distant sirens, the low hum of traffic—seeped into the apartment, grounding the moment in something real and immediate.

Evan Cole’s lips parted. His usually cool, reserved face now looked dazed and vulnerable, his brows knit tightly together. A bead of sweat traced down his temple, his breathing shallow and uneven, as if the air in the room had thickened with possibility.

The city lights outside flickered against his features, lending a softness that rarely broke through his guarded composure. The room felt warm, almost stifling, and the faint whir of the air conditioner was drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat. His jaw clenched and unclenched, betraying a storm of emotion beneath the surface, while somewhere below, a cab’s horn blared and faded into the distance.

"Wait, what are you saying?" His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, his words catching in his throat.

The words seemed to hang in the air, caught between hope and disbelief. His hands, usually so steady, fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve as he searched Lauren’s eyes for any sign of what she truly meant. He could feel the roughness of the fabric beneath his fingertips, grounding him in the present.

He desperately needed Lauren Archer to say more, to confirm what he was starting to believe. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the city’s noise fading until all he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears.

A hundred different scenarios, all the late-night scripts he’d rehearsed in his mind, unraveled at the sound of her voice. The walls he’d built up over the years began to crumble, leaving him exposed in a way he’d never allowed himself to be before. He pressed his palm to the cool glass of the window, feeling the vibrations of the city, needing something solid to anchor him.

All those imagined, dramatic reunions and stubborn, bitter thoughts began to crumble in the face of this simple question. The steady hum of a subway beneath the building seemed to echo his racing thoughts.

It was as if all the baggage and pain from the past years had been rendered weightless by the possibility of something new, something hopeful. The bitterness that had kept him awake so many nights now felt almost childish in the quiet, charged air between them, the taste of hope sharp as the city’s night air.

...Did he like her?

The question echoed through his mind, impossibly simple and impossibly huge. His heart beat so loudly he was sure Lauren could hear it, thudding like a drum in the hush of the apartment.

How could he not?

Every moment with her had always felt like the tides—inevitable, inescapable. The idea of not caring for her felt absurd, like denying the blue of the sky or the rush of wind off the Hudson.

Was his sister’s question truly what he thought it was?

He tried to steady his breathing, but his thoughts raced. Was she really asking what he thought she was? The possibility made his chest tighten with anticipation and fear, a cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck.

His fingertips trembled, and he found himself clenching the fabric of her shirt, knuckles white, desperate for some anchor in this moment. The world narrowed down to the space between them, the unspoken words, the heat of her body pressed against his.

He gripped the fabric of her shirt, desperate for some anchor in this moment. The world narrowed down to the space between them, the unspoken words, the heat of her body pressed against his.

Then, a kiss landed gently on his lips.

He froze, startled, then melted into the sensation. The world seemed to stop spinning, time pausing as her lips touched his. The faint scent of her vanilla perfume mingled with the clean, citrus tang of her shampoo, and for a moment, nothing else existed.

All the turmoil inside him stilled, leaving only the sound of two quick, interwoven heartbeats in the night. The soft press of her lips, the warmth of her skin, the distant echo of a siren outside—all of it blended into a single, perfect moment.

He could feel her pulse thrumming against his chest, matching his own. The city outside faded, leaving just the hush of their breathing and the faint sound of rain tapping against the window, the glass cool beneath his hand.

It was Lauren who leaned in and kissed him—a gesture of comfort and a confession all at once.

She drew back just enough to search his face, her eyes shining with a vulnerability that matched his own. The kiss was gentle, but it spoke volumes—an answer and a promise. Her breath lingered on his lips, sweet as the memory of summer.

"Evan, I’ve lived a long time, so long I can’t even remember my age. Honestly, I feel like a grandma sometimes—always lost in my own head, getting nostalgic, zoning out, moving slow."

Her words came out in a soft, self-deprecating laugh. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze drifting to the ceiling as if searching for the right words. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, cheeks tinged pink.

"I’m sorry for loving you so slowly." Lauren spoke slowly, but with determination, no longer avoiding her feelings. The air felt thick, heavy with meaning, the room warmed by the golden glow of the bedside lamp.

She squeezed his hand, grounding herself. Her voice was steady, her eyes unwavering, as if she’d finally made peace with what was in her heart. She traced his knuckles with her thumb, feeling the calluses she’d always known.

"I don’t know what the definition of love is. But now, I think, I love you very much."

Her voice cracked slightly on the last words, and she bit her lip, cheeks flushing. She twisted her hands in her lap, then glanced away, blinking rapidly as if holding back tears. The confession hung between them, fragile and brave.

"And you, do you still li—"

Her question trailed off, her voice trembling. She searched his face, her hands twisting nervously in her lap, afraid of the answer. Lauren’s words echoed in his mind, the question lingering like the aftertaste of bittersweet chocolate: Did he still love her, or had his heart closed off, leaving only resentment?

Do you still love her, or has your heart closed off, leaving only resentment? If that were true, what would she do?

She swallowed, eyes shining with unshed tears. The thought of losing him after coming so far was almost unbearable. Her breath caught, her shoulders hunched as if bracing for a blow.

Before she could finish, Evan answered with a fierce, passionate kiss.

He pulled her in, his hands cradling her face, pouring all his longing and love into the embrace. His lips were insistent, desperate to erase any doubt she might have. The taste of her lips—warm, a little salty from her tears—sent a shiver through him.

He loved her. He loved her deeply.