Chapter 110 Not Ready to Let Go

Chapter 110 Not Ready to Let Go
I pulled it out and it was a small, faded photograph of Joan, taken years ago during our dating era.

She was leaning over the railings of her house, hair falling loosely around her face with a soft smile on her lips as she pointed at the flowers. I must have taken the photo without her noticing. 

I stared at it for a long while.

The edges were slightly bent and there was a coffee stain in the corner, but her face was exactly as I remembered it… alive, focused, and beautiful in that effortless way she never seemed to realize.

My thumb traced the edge of the photo as I continued to stare at it.

Because holding that photo brought back memories.

The late nights we spent together working side by side, the way she would challenge my designs with confidence during meetings, the accidental brushes of our hands over the same sample swatch, the night we almost kissed in the empty conference room before she pulled away and the day we had sex after a very long while.

But I threw everything away just to be alone in a tiny apartment with nothing but boxes and silence.

I missed her though I didn’t know if she still thought about me at all.

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by the wreckage of my life, I allowed myself to feel the longing and the regret fully.

And I hoped that someday I might get the chance to tell her how sorry I was.

I finally set the photo down on the floor, still staring at it.

Then one thought came to my mind.

If I was going to rebuild my life from nothing, maybe I needed to start by facing the one person I had wronged and never stopped missing.

I picked up the photo again and slipped it into my wallet…

… and that felt like the beginning of something.

JOAN COLE’S POV

Lena had been on my case for weeks.

Every time we sat down for a drink or cooked dinner together, she would go back to the same topic with that gentle but relentless persistence she had always pulled off.

“You need to get back out there, girl,” she said, chopping vegetables while I was stirring the pasta sauce.

“Not for a serious relationship. Just… casually. You know… a few dates here and there.”

I sighed, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot before covering it with the lid.

“I’m not ready, Lena. After what happened with Dave… I feel like I’m still picking up pieces of myself. Dating sounds exhausting.”

She pointed the knife at me playfully. 

“Don’t say that. It will be just dinner. Maybe a drink to see if anyone makes you feel something. You’ve been stuck in my head for too long. Your business is steady now and those comments have died down. It’s time to live a little, girl.”

I didn’t answer right away but deep down, I knew she had a point. The quiet nights alone had started to feel heavier and the sensual moments I allowed myself in the bathroom or in bed didn’t satisfy me. I missed the heat of a real connection.

But admitting that felt dangerous.

Still, when Lena set up a double date for the following Friday, I didn’t say no.

The man’s name was Michael. He was a marketing consultant, thirty-four, tall with kind eyes and a charming smile. Lena’s date was his friend, a graphic designer named Ryan. 



Friday evening came within the twinkle of an eye.

We met at a cozy Italian restaurant with soft lighting and music. It was the kind of place that encouraged conversation without forcing it.

Michael was nice.

Really nice.

He pulled out my chair, asked thoughtful questions about my work, and laughed at my jokes even when they weren’t funny. He talked about his recent trip to Italy and how he loved cooking authentic pasta on weekends. He was attentive, respectful, and clearly interested.

But as the evening went on, I felt nothing.

There was no spark, not even a flutter in my stomach when his hand brushed mine.

He was safe and he was the kind of man who would never make me question my worth or lose my sleep wondering where we stood. He was more like Dave that was one of the problems.

I wanted the fire, the intensity that would make my pulse race and my thoughts scatter, and the passion that felt dangerous and alive.

I wanted what I once had with Alex.

Maybe I was beginning to lose my mind.

By the time dessert arrived, I was smiling on autopilot, and nodding at the right moment, but my mind kept drifting. Lena kept giving me encouraging looks across the table, clearly hoping I was feeling something. 

Ryan was charming and funny and making Lena laugh effortlessly. But for me, it was all surface.

When the bill came, Michael wanted to pay for my share. I thanked him politely and insisted on splitting the bill.

Outside the restaurant, we exchanged numbers and he gave me a gentle goodbye hug.

“It was really nice meeting you, Joan,” he said. 

“I’d love to do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I smiled.

Lena and I rode home in silence for the first few minutes. Then she turned to me in the passenger seat of my car.

“So… how did it feel?”

I kept my eyes on the road.

“He is nice, kind, and funny. He’s also a good listener.”

“But?”

I let out a long breath.

“I didn’t feel anything, Lena. I kept waiting for that feeling… You know, the one where your stomach flips, but it never comes.”

Lena was quiet for a moment, then she spoke.

“That’s okay,” she said gently. 

“You don’t have to feel fireworks every time. Moreover, this is just the first try.”

“I know,” I replied.

Lena reached over and squeezed my arm.

“You will get there, okay? You don’t have to force it,” she muttered.

“Give yourself time.”

When we got home, I kicked off my heels, took a quick shower, changed into soft pajamas, and crawled into my bed.

I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

The date had been fine, but fine wasn’t enough.

I closed my eyes and let my hand move slowly down my body.

My fingers slipped under the waistband of my pajama shorts, finding warmth. I touched myself gently in light circles first, making my breath hitch as the sensation built. I imagined strong hands on my skin, a rough grip on my skin, and a deep, hungry kiss that left me gasping.

Alex’s face flashed in my mind.

The way he used to pin me against the wall. The way his mouth would trail down my neck enough to make me shiver and the way he would thrust into me like he needed me to breathe.

My fingers moved faster, and a soft moan escaped my lips.

The pleasure built quickly and I arched into my own touch, spreading my legs wider as I thrusted my fingers deep into myself.

I fingered myself, letting my boy feel the sensations as I grabbed the bedspread.

When I came, it was intense. My legs trembled and his name almost slipped from my lips before I stopped it.

I lay there afterwards, breathing hard.

The orgasm was good, but it left me feeling even emptier than before.

Because no matter how hard I tried to lose myself in the moment, my body and my mind kept reaching for someone I couldn’t have.

Then I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket up to my chin.

Tears pricked at my eyes.

How long was I going to keep doing this?

How long was I going to compare every touch and every moment to a man who was no longer part of my life?

But as I lay there in the dark, the quiet ache in my chest told me one thing for certain:

I wasn’t ready to let go.

Maybe not yet.