Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
That lands differently.
I let out a breath. “Savannah Diane Joy, you were always good at dramatic exits.”
She smiles a little smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m trying to grow out of that.”
“I can see that.”
We move to the side, away from the rush. The noise dulls, but it never disappears. It just waits.
“I’m not staying,” she declares. Straightforward. Brave. The way she always is when it matters most. “New York is still my life. My job. My dream. Everything I built and worked so hard for.”
I nod. I don’t look away. I don’t flinch. I’ve learned how to hold hard truths without breaking them.
“But I’m not disappearing either,” she adds. “Not again. Not with you. Not with… all of this.”
Something loosens in my chest that’s been tight for years.
“I don’t need you to choose Pineview,” I cut in. “I just didn’t want to feel like I imagined us.”
Her eyes soften. “You didn’t. You never did.”
God.
I step closer without thinking, close enough to breathe her in, the familiar, scent of her anchoring me. Close enough to feel the weight of every version of her I’ve ever loved, standing right here in front of me.
“I don’t know what this looks like,” she admits. “Distance. Time. Figuring it out as we go.”
“I can do patience,” I tell her. “I’ve had practice.”
She swallows. “I don’t want you waiting.”
I shake my head. “I won’t. I’ll be here. Living my life. You’ll be there, living yours. And we’ll see what fits, when it fits.”
It’s not a promise. It’s better than that. It’s choosing.
The boarding announcement crackles overhead, loud and final and rude.
“This is me,” she says.
I nod once. My hands are sure when I lift one and brush my thumb along her jaw. Her skin is warm despite the cold. She’s real. She’s still here.
“Come back,” my words light, not with demand, not as a plea but with hope.
“I will.” The way she says it, like she’s choosing the words carefully, like she understands the weight of them, makes me believe her.
I kiss her forehead and feel the truth rise up, unguarded.
“I love you, Savannah,” I profess. “I never stopped loving you.”
She stills. Then exhales like she’s been holding that breath for years.
“I know,” she whispers. “I’ve loved you for a long time. too I just didn’t know how to carry it without losing myself. Without feeling stuck here.”
“You never lost yourself,” I reassure her. “You were learning how to bring yourself back.”
She leans in first.
The kiss is gentle at first, then grows surer, like it remembers us even if we try not to. She tastes of coffee and cold air and everything I never truly let go of. My hands settle at her waist without thought, familiarity grounding us both. For a moment, there is nothing else. No impending flight. No time. Just us.
When we pull back, our foreheads rest together. Her breath shakes. Mine does too.
“This isn’t goodbye,” she whispers.
“No,” I agree. “Just… later.”
She steps back before I can speak, before hope can make a sound. Before I can ask for the ring, the house, the future I’ve never stopped picturing, even when I pretended I had.
She turns toward the doors, then stops and looks back at me.
I don’t wave. I just stand there, hands in my pockets, watching her walk away, not like someone being left behind, but like someone who knows this story isn’t finished yet.
When the doors close behind her, the ache hits, but this time, it’s threaded with something new. It’s threaded with hope.
First time in many years, I don’t feel like staying means losing. It just means trusting that what matters will find its way back.
18
Savannah
New York doesn’t ease you into Christmas. It keeps moving, lights blazing and streets crowded, daring you to notice anyway. I used to think that meant it didn’t care. Now I think it’s asking you to choose it, to find meaning without being handed a pause. Maybe the magic here was never in stopping at all, but in the way the city carries on, making room for meaning even as it moves forward.
It’s time to let the magic in.
I take a cab home through streets that feel familiar again, but changed somehow, less cold, less lonely than they used to.
As soon as I’m in the cab, I text Jack. I consider seeing him in person, but I know this conversation doesn’t need more than that. Ending things with him is quieter than I expect. There’s no anger and no blame, only honesty. I tell him he was never a mistake, just a moment I needed while my heart caught up to itself. He understands, and I’m grateful for the kindness in his response as I let him go. Some goodbyes don’t hurt because they’re wrong, but because they finally make sense.
As I’m about to stash my phone back into the pocket of my coat, a text comes through from Lena.