Chapter 65 065
EMILY
Good morning Em. I’m so sorry about yesterday. Let’s try again and I promise it’s going to be worth it.
I stared at the text on my phone screen longer than I should have.
Ryan Thompson. Eight letters that still knew how to make my heart misbehave.
The kitchen smelled like fresh coffee and buttered toast. Morgan stood by the stove in an oversized T-shirt and pajama shorts, humming off-key while flipping pancakes with dramatic flair, like she was auditioning for a cooking show no one was watching.
The morning light poured in through the window in soft gold streaks, dust particles floating lazily in the air. Zara was still asleep upstairs, the house quiet in that rare, peaceful way that only existed before she woke up demanding cartoons and snacks.
Everything felt normal.
Except my pulse wasn’t.
I let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, and shook my head at the phone. Of course he texted. Of course he apologized. Ryan had always been good at apologies. Sometimes too good.
I typed back slowly.
I told you we shouldn’t force it, Mr. Thompson. I thought you got the message last night.
I hit send and immediately felt that familiar twist of nerves, like I had just stepped onto unstable ground.
His reply came almost instantly.
Well… I didn’t. And we’re definitely not forcing things. I’ll talk to you later Em, but you’re free to drop me messages.
I smiled despite myself, the corner of my mouth lifting before I could stop it. My thumbs hovered over the screen, indecisive.
Where are you going? Work? But it’s Sunday.
The reply came fast again, like he had been waiting.
Going to see my therapist.
“Ohhh…” I said out loud, the sound slipping past my lips before I realized I’d spoken.
Morgan glanced over her shoulder. “What was that ‘ohhh’ for?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, then sighed and dropped my phone onto the counter like it had burned me.
Morgan turned fully this time, eyebrow raised. “That was Ryan.”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah…”
She slid a plate of pancakes toward me and poured syrup in a careless spiral, like presentation was optional when emotions were involved. “You still haven’t told me about the date.”
I groaned and dragged myself onto one of the stools, resting my elbows on the counter. “It was awful, Mo. I was the only one at the table.”
She froze mid-flip, spatula hovering in the air. “Wait. What?”
“I mean, physically he was there at first,” I clarified, rubbing my forehead. “Emotionally? Spiritually? Mentally? Man disappeared.”
Her mouth fell open slightly before she dropped the spatula into the sink with a loud clatter. “Emily. Seriously?”
I nodded. “He got a call and stepped out. Then fifteen minutes turned into an hour. I finished my food. Alone. On our first date in years.”
Morgan stared at me like she was trying to process something deeply offensive. “That is criminal behavior.”
I shrugged, forcing myself to sound casual even though my chest still ached when I replayed the scene. “Something happened at work. I guess it was really urgent. He had to handle it immediately.”
She crossed her arms. “And?”
“And I got mad,” I admitted, poking at my pancakes without eating them. The syrup was soaking in, getting cold. “I told him to take me home.”
“Damn, girl.” She leaned back against the counter. “That was a lot.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “He apologized though. Like… really apologized.”
Morgan tilted her head slightly, studying me. “And now?”
“He wants to fix it,” I said quietly. “He’s asking for a second date.”
Her eyebrow shot up. “And?”
I stared down at the plate, suddenly fascinated by the pattern of syrup. “I told him let’s start with friends.”
She didn’t respond right away. The hum of the stove filled the space between us, steady and warm. Finally she spoke, softer now. “You still love him.”
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t need to.
Morgan turned back to the stove with a slow exhale. “Okay then. Since we’re confessing things this morning, what’s the tea between you and Aaron?”
I looked up just in time to see her go red. Like, instantly. She grabbed the spatula again like it was armor.
“I like him,” she said, voice defensive, shoulders squared.
I smiled softly. “I know.”
She shot me a look. “You do?”
“You’ve been smiling at your phone for weeks, Mo,” I said. “Also, you’ve started wearing more seductive clothes…I see you girl.”
She groaned dramatically. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
Before she could come back with a response, soft footsteps padded into the kitchen.
“Mummy…”
Zara stood in the doorway, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes barely open, dragging her blanket behind her like a cape.
My heart softened instantly. I slid off the stool and scooped her up. “Hi, my baby.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck and buried her face into my shoulder, warm and sleepy. I breathed her in, that familiar scent that always grounded me, that reminded me why I tried so hard to keep everything together.
I glanced back at Morgan. “So… are you guys dating now?”
She hesitated, biting her lip, then nodded. Her cheeks were still pink. “Kind of.”
I laughed quietly. “That’s pretty chill. Aaron is one of the good ones.”
She smiled, shy and pleased. “He really is.”
The doorbell rang.
Morgan frowned. “Who is that this early?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shifting Zara on my hip. “Were you expecting anyone?”
She shook her head and walked toward the door.
Then she screamed.
High. Loud. Delighted.
“OH MY GOD.”
My heart jumped. I rushed into the living room, Zara still in my arms. “What happened?”
Morgan flung the door open wider, nearly bouncing on her heels.
A huge bouquet of flowers sat on the doorstep.
Roses. Lilies. Peonies. Soft pinks and whites, full and lush, wrapped in brown kraft paper and tied with twine. Elegant. Thoughtful. Completely over the top.
Way too much for a Sunday morning.
Attached was a small cream-colored note.
I’m so sorry, Baby.
My breath caught.
Morgan gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Ryan Thompson is insane.”
I smiled.
Big. Helpless. Stupid.
The kind of smile that made my cheeks hurt and my eyes sting a little, the kind I tried very hard not to let happen anymore.
Morgan helped me pick up the bouquet while I set Zara down on the couch. Zara was suddenly wide awake, fascinated by the petals, reaching out carefully like they were something sacred.
“Pretty,” she whispered.
“Very pretty,” I agreed, even though my heart was doing backflips.
I grabbed my phone immediately and texted him.
I got the flowers. Thank you.
I stared at the screen, waiting.
Nothing.
I glanced at the time. He was probably already at his therapy session.
A therapist.
The word echoed in my head as I looked back at the bouquet resting on the counter, bright and beautiful and completely unnecessary.
A therapist.
I felt my cheeks warm slightly.
I exhaled slowly, letting the thought settle instead of pushing it away.
Maybe I needed to see one too.
It’s not a bad idea.