Page 38 of Hale Yeah, It’s You
After I hang up with my parents, I jot down a few bullet points for my hardware store pitch this weekend—just enough to quiet that corner of my brain still craving control. But sleep doesn’t come. I lie in the dark, flipping the pillow, kicking off the blankets, pulling them back on. Nothing works.
When my phone buzzes on the nightstand, I roll over, flooded with relief. At least someone else is awake tonight.
I pull the covers up to my chin and unlock my phone.
My pulse stutters.
Roman.
ROMAN
What are you doing?
The ceiling fan stares down at me like it’s judging all my life choices. Get a life, it seems to say. I snort softly and type back.
ME
Watching the ceiling fan go around and around.
His response comes immediately.
ROMAN
Why?
ME
Can’t sleep. Pretty sure my parents think I’m the worst daughter ever.
ROMAN
Are you?
ME
Debatable.
ROMAN
What are they upset with you about that would warrant that title?
ME
I maybe didn’t tell them I was moving out of Clay’s house.
ROMAN
Maybe, or you didn’t?
I roll my eyes. Semantics. But still—admitting I’d done it intentionally makes my stomach twist. It's the truth though. Time to stop adding lies to the pile.
ME
I didn’t. I didn’t want my mom to try and talk me out of it. She’s a meddler. Like, Olympic-level meddling.
ROMAN
I always liked your mom.
ME
Well if you see her, maybe you can put in a good word for me then.
ROMAN
Can’t Patchouli Sarah charm them for you?
ME
She could. But I think “Dr.” in front of your name carries more weight.
ROMAN
What are you doing up?
ME
You mean besides spiraling? Why are you up? Did you forget it’s a school night, Dr. Principal?
ROMAN
I can’t sleep either. I miss you.
My heart does a slow, deliberate flip.
ME
You saw me a few hours ago.
ROMAN
I did. But we’ve been doing this weird dance and I want to clear the air… no more hiding.
ME
Dancing can be fun.
ROMAN
Have you been drinking?
ME
Only my weight in anxiety tea. Why?
ROMAN
Want to come over?
Do I want to come over?
Yes. God, yes.
Better than lying here counting how many times my heating unit kicks on. Better than staring at the fan and waiting for dawn.
But… what does he mean? What kind of come over is this?
ME
Is this a booty-call? Because I don’t answer those.
ROMAN
No, Frankie. It’s not a booty-call.
ME
Okay good, just checking.
I laugh quietly at myself, shaking my head. Why am I like this?
His next message dings through, and I sit up in bed, my breath catching.
ROMAN
Just come over. We don’t have to have all the answers. We don’t have to fix everything tonight. I just want to see you. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but right now I know I want to be with you. When I’m with you, nothing else matters.
ROMAN
Please, Frankie. Come over.
His voice seems to rise out of the words, as if I can hear him saying it—pleading, quiet but certain. I can picture the way he rubs a hand over his jaw, eyes intense, focused entirely on me. Roman rarely begs. But he’s asking now. Not just for company. For me .
What does this mean?
Does it even matter?
I’m going. He asked. And I’m going to show up.
No more running. No more hiding. We’ve both done more than enough of that.
I glance down at my pajamas—a cozy matching tie-dye shirt and shorts set—and briefly consider changing into something hotter. But in the end, I fluff my hair, swipe on a bit of mascara, and brush the lingering chamomile off my teeth.
My nerves are buzzing. It’s not like I haven’t spent the night at his place before—wearing his clothes, no less. But this time is different. This time, I’m walking in not because I’m lost, but because I’m choosing to.
I’m in charge of my own future now. And maybe—just maybe—this is a piece of it.
And suddenly, everything is sharp-edged and real. Our connection never died. It just hibernated. And now that it’s awake, it’s ravenous.
But does Roman want the same future I do? Is he staying in Pinewood, or is London—or something else—still on the table?
I grab my coat and keys, fingers trembling enough that they jingle in my hands. I glance down at my phone.
Does it matter what the future holds?
Maybe it does. But right now, I know one thing with complete clarity: I want to spend every second I can with him. Even if it ends in a spectacular, flaming dumpster fire.
At least I’ll know I didn’t walk away from what I wanted.
I send one final text.
ME
On my way.
Roman is watching from the window when I pull into his driveway. I tuck my coat around me and run from the car to the porch steps. He looks comfortable, in a black shirt and plaid pajama pants, and I’m glad I stayed in my own pajamas.
As the front door opens, I launch myself into his arms. He laughs and spins me around, pulling us both into the warmth of his home.
Once the door closes behind us, Roman wraps his strong, tanned arms around me, holding me with a delicate kind of reverence, like I’m something precious and breakable.
“I’m glad you came.”
I press my lips to his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his soap and cologne, his hair still slightly damp from a recent shower.
Roman brings a hand to my face, tilting my head up until our lips are a breath apart.
He holds me there, still and close, until all I can hear is my own heart pounding.
And then he kisses me.
It’s not urgent like the others we’ve shared. This one is slow, deliberate, like every part of him is trying to tell me something in a language only our bodies understand. Something cracks open in my chest, and the warm, gooey center of it all spills into every inch of me.
This kiss feels like love.
Not the fiery kind that blazes and burns. But the kind that stays. That sees. That chooses. The kind of kiss that leaves your soul naked and says, Finally. I don’t care who sees. I choose you .
We sway together, kissing like we’re both remembering something we never want to forget. When we finally pull back, Roman rests his forehead against mine.
“Wow,” I whisper.
The fireplace is going again, soft light flickering across the room. The warmth of it seeps into my bones, mingling with the rush of everything I’m feeling.
Roman presses a kiss to my forehead, then leans back with a crooked smile.
“I made us some tea. Do you still like chai?” He gestures to the coffee table.
I nod, slipping off my sandals by the door. “I told you I already drank my weight in tea today, right?”
“You did,” he grins. “But I figured if you could drink that much, it must mean you love it a whole lot.”
“Well, lucky for you, that’s true. And chai is way better than the chamomile I was drinking earlier.”
Roman takes my hand, leading me to the couch where two steaming mugs wait beside a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“Tea and cookies? Is this because you’re about to tell me you’re moving to London?” I hadn’t planned to bring it up unless he did—but the words slip out anyway.
His eyebrows lift, and he shakes his head.
I curl my legs beneath me as I sit beside him. “Sorry. I wasn’t going to bring it up. The tea-and-cookies thing kind of triggered it.”
“It’s okay. I’m happy to talk about it—I’m just surprised you heard.”
“You don’t have to,” I say quickly. “It’s just... it’s like we’re walking a tightrope right now. Balancing between the past and the future, and I don’t know which way we’ll fall. I’ve been loving this—getting to know you again—but you don’t owe me anything, Roman.”
He studies me, his hand flexing gently on my shoulder. “What exactly did you hear about London? ”
“Kate mentioned something about you taking a job there. Teaching. Meeting the queen, seeing Big Ben.” I try to sound casual, but my pulse is erratic, my skin buzzing with nerves.
“I should’ve known it was Kate,” Roman mutters. “I swear that woman was a mosquito in a past life—one of those nasty little ones that are more like teeth with wings.”
“Do mosquitoes even have teeth?” I try not to smile.
“Not the point,” he says, flustered. A faint flush creeps up his neck. “I had this whole speech planned. I was waiting for the right moment. But I guess now’s as good a time as any.”
Silence settles between us, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and the ticking wall clock. I reach for him, grazing his arm with my fingers. He presses his hand over mine.
“It’s true,” he says. “I was offered a teaching job in London. One of my old college friends—he went through the whole process, got certified, moved there, all of it. Apparently I made an impact on his career, because he recommended me. But when the offer came… it didn’t feel right.
Starting over like that—it’s not so different from what I did when I left home. But this time, it felt off.”
He takes both of my hands in his.
“I was sitting there, trying to write the nicest rejection letter I could, when I got a DM from Principal Garrett. Said he’d read an article I was featured in, wanted me to know how proud he was.
It felt like divine intervention. The next thing I knew, I was trying to convince him to let me take his job. ”
“You gave up London to be principal at Pinewood High?” I blink. “Is the offer… gone?”
He nods. “I left this town and did everything I said I would. I finished school, traveled, built a career. I didn’t even know I wanted the ‘Doctor’ title until I earned it.
But something was still missing. When Garrett said he wanted to retire and spend his golden years on a boat with his grandkids. .. it just clicked.”
“You want to be an old man with a boat someday?” I tease.
“Frankie, can you hush before I mess this up? ”
“Sorry,” I say, laughing. “Continue.”
He exhales slowly. “I realized I never stopped hoping you’d come find me. And this was my chance. Not only to keep doing the work I love—but to stop waiting and come back to find you instead.”
My throat tightens. I blink fast.
“What if I wasn’t here anymore?” I whisper.
He smiles. “I figured someone in your family would know where you went.”
“And if I was married?”
“Then I guess that would’ve been my answer,” he says simply. “It was a leap of faith. But then, before I even had the chance to go looking, you walked into that school. Like fate was yelling at me.”
“Except you thought I had a secret love child.”
He smirks. “Seeing you at Jake’s with your family, all picture-perfect, it knocked the wind out of me. I was afraid I was too late.”
“And now?” I ask softly. “Now that you know it’s not too late?”
Roman’s hands tighten around mine. His eyes don’t waver.
“Yes,” he says. “This town, your beautifully chaotic family, you —that’s what I want.”
He clears his throat. “I could’ve gone to London. But hearing from Garrett, and the chance of you again—it made me realize I’ve been looking for home in all the wrong places. I didn’t just want to come back. I wanted you to be here when I did.”
I’m still wrapping my head around all of it when he speaks again.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“If it had been true—if I was leaving for London—what would you have done?”
I’ve thought about that, so the words come easily .
“I would’ve told you I wished you wanted to stay, but that I understood.
The last time you left, I was ready to abandon everything to follow you.
But I’m not that girl anymore. I know who I am.
My family needs me, and I have dreams for the store.
I love you, Roman. I’d love you across an ocean.
But I wouldn’t lose myself again to prove it.
And deep down, I think I always knew... if we were meant to be, someday we’d get it right. ”
He nods slowly, eyes full.
“Sometimes I wonder,” he says, “if I could go back to that day in the parking lot. Say the right thing. Tell you I loved you. Maybe we could’ve built a life together then.”
I start to respond, but he lifts a hand.
“But I don’t think it was our time,” he says. “I needed to prove something to myself. And you—you needed those years with Alayna and Clay. You wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. And I wouldn’t want you to.”
His voice softens. “The way you love them—the way you show up, without hesitation—it’s one of the things I love most about you.”
Tears spill freely now. His words are stitching closed places I didn’t know were still torn.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I’m ready,” Roman says. “That I’m not going to run. I’m yours—if you’re willing to take a chance on us again. If you’re willing to trust me with your heart.”
I lean in, catching his bottom lip gently between my teeth, and he groans softly.
“Are you finished?” I murmur.
“That depends,” he whispers, eyes locked on mine. “Are you convinced?”
“Roman, I didn’t need any convincing.” My voice trembles. “I loved you then, and I love you even more now. Since the moment you ran into me on that soccer field, my heart has always been yours to break. ”
Relief floods his face. He cups my cheeks, dimples deepening. “I love you, Frankie.”
I trace my fingers along his jaw, anchoring us in the present. “Do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“Please don’t break it this time.”
Roman rests his forehead against mine, voice barely a breath.
“I won’t.” He says it like a vow.
And this time, I believe him.