Page 41 of Stay

There’s no other man for me. There never has been.

If we’re going to give our relationship a second chance, I need to bare my soul.

We drove separately—Cole’s idea, not mine. When he pulls into the parking spot next to mine, I compare us, just like I always used to do. He has a black, sleek Mercedes. I’ve got a fifteen-year-old Subaru with a big dent in the front fender. I’ve never been one to give a shit about vehicles. If mine gets me from point A to point B safely, I’m happy. But as Cole climbs out of his car, he looks successful, powerful, and fine as hell. I probably look like a bum.

“How long ago did you move here?” he asks, walking over to me.

“About a month ago. It took me a while to find an affordable place in the area. Even longer for an apartment to open that I could snag. All my money is tied up in the office space, so no house for me yet.”

He frowns. “You’ve dumped all your money into that office?”

“Into my future success, yes.” I unlock the door and let us both into the building. “I saved enough to put a mean chunk down on construction and furniture, and signed a seven-year lease, which was the only way I could even get that damn property. Might as well make it exactly what I want the first time around instead of settling and making do with how it is for a few years.”

He grabs my arm, stopping me mid-way up the stairs. But he doesn’t say a word. His expression is filled with questions, though, and I can read him well enough to know what they are.

I guess it’s easy to think my actions are out of character for me. “I meant what I said, Cole. I’m not running anymore. I want roots.”

And I want to plant them with him.

After opening the door to my not-too-shabby apartment, I shake off the urge to apologize for the messiness. Cole won’t care if I have clothes and stuff everywhere. Since I’ve been working out of my house all month, there are folders, binders, and party supplies everywhere. Votive candles, glass vases, linens, and all kinds of shit I’ve collected on my own are stored in boxes stacked in the dining area I never eat in. If I can rent those things, I will, but if my client is on a tight budget, I use what I have so their parties are more budget friendly. I know what it’s like to not be able to afford the things I’d like. It’s become a mission of mine to give others the best events possible without breaking their bank accounts.

“I’m going to get into something a little more comfortable,” I say, heading to my bedroom. “Make yourself at home.”

“Okay.”

It takes me less than two minutes to strip out of my stuffy clothes and into something way better. Keeping quiet, I cautiously watch Cole in my living room. I knew he’d snoop. It’s why I wanted to bring him here. Cole’s a curious guy who will ask a million questions until he knows everything about everything. He made it so easy to open up to him back in the day. It never felt like he was prying and being nosy. He genuinely liked knowing even the most insignificant things about me.

No matter how opposite we were, he’d find a way to relate to me. I did the same with him.

Cole casually walks over to my small bookshelf. Little notes are taped all over it. The one he’s reading now says, “You’re not a hindrance just being in someone’s life. You’re a human, not baggage.”

His jaw ticks. He swallows hard when he reads another one that says, “No one can make you feel worthless without your consent.” And next to that one is, “Love yourself how you want others to love you.”

My chest feels like it’s cracking open only because I sort of feel like a weirdo having all these notes and sayings plastered in places. But I still have bad days when I need the reminder that I’m not trash.

Working on undoing the damage my parents did to me is an ongoing process.

He plucks a book off the shelf and fans through it. Colorful tabs stick out from the pages. I’ve written all over the margins of just about every book I own, marking things so I can reference them when I need to. His mouth moves as he reads, his finger running along the words. He slams the book shut and pulls out another, then another. “Jesus,” he whispers.

“I told you I had to work on myself.”

Startled, he drops the book on the floor. “Shit.” He picks it up hastily, but when he looks at me, he almost drops it again. “Is that…”

“Your emotional support hoodie?” I tug the hem which reaches my mid-thigh. “Yes. It’s seen me through a lot.”

Cole silently places the book back on the shelf, but his eyes remain fixed on me. “It’s seen me through a lot, too.” He closes the gap between us and runs his hand down my arm. “Was it always this small?”

“I think you’ve just grown.” My heart skitters when he pulls the hood over my head, cocooning me like how he used to always wear it.

“I thought you would have tossed it out the window.”

“Never.” I exhale a shaky breath. “It’s all I had left of you.”

He tugs the hood back down and brushes the hair from my face. “Did it help?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

His gaze drifts back to the bookshelf. “Yeah, you are.”

---