Page 79 of Just A Little Joy

Casey sank onto the couch, and instinct took over. I grabbed the quilt and draped it across his lap. He pulled it close, tucked himself in, but stayed silent. The quiet between us grew thick enough to cut. I wanted to ask why he was here, but the fear of pushing him back out the door held my mouth shut.

Shit. Rip off the Band-Aid time.

“Did you forget something over here? I mean…besides the onesie I said I’d drop off?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did forget something.”

The pressure in my chest tightened like someone had cinched a belt around my ribs. I refused to let myself break in front of him. He wouldn’t judge me, but I sure as hell would judge myself.

“What is it? I’ll see if I can find it.”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Casey’s voice was rough and uneven. “I got to thinking and figured out a few things.”

“What were they?”

Hope ticked awake in my ribs. I tried to cage it, but it pushed anyway. I could barely breathe.

“I was doing one last check through my bag, and I saw your hoodie.” He gave me a sheepish look. “Sorry. I lied when you asked.”

“It’s okay. I knew you had it. I liked it. Kind of felt like we were back in high school and wearing a hoodie meant you were serious.”

He huffed out a weak laugh, then went quiet again while he gathered himself. My fingers ached to touch him, but I held still and let him speak.

Casey drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to move on.”

His voice thinned out toward the end, like the words had scraped their way out. He looked down at the blanket in his lap and picked at a loose thread, his shoulders curved in tight like he was trying to protect something breakable inside himself. I held myself still, terrified one wrong move might shatter him.

He swallowed and lifted his eyes. “I don’t want to go,” he repeated, softer. “I thought I did because I get twitchy and leave, and that pattern feels familiar. But tonight, I packed my bag, looked at the flight confirmation, and that stupid hoodie, and everything inside me pulled tight like I was trying to breathe underwater.”

He pushed a hand through his damp hair. It fell right back into his face. He let it stay.

“It hit me that if I went to Alaska, I’d be starting over again, and usually, that doesn’t scare me. But it did tonight. I kept thinking about my notebook and the food truck and how I actually have someone in my corner now.” His laugh cracked in the middle. “Then I thought about how you looked at me earlier. Like you were working so damn hard to let me go, even though it was the last thing you wanted.”

The blanket slipped again, and he hugged it closer. “I realized I wasn’t ready to start over somewhere else. Not because Alaskais bad, and not because running is bad. But because leaving here meant walking away from the first place I’ve felt at home. I’m not ready to move on from this. From you. From what it feels like when I’m with you.”

He met my eyes again, steady even though his voice trembled. “I came here because I didn’t want to leave without telling you the truth. I didn’t want to get on that plane pretending I didn’t care. I didn’t want you thinking I was choosing Alaska because you weren’t enough. You are enough.” His throat worked as he swallowed more emotion. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay. I want to stay with you.”

Casey’s words hung between us, filling the living room in this soft, trembling way that made everything inside me settle and spin at the same time. He looked like he had used up every ounce of courage he had left just to get the words out. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and from all that honesty, his lashes still a little damp, and that blanket pulled up like armor he didn’t know he didn’t need.

For a second, I couldn’t move. My body knew before my brain did that this was the moment. No fireworks. Just us.

I sat beside him, close enough that our legs brushed under the quilt. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into the contact like he had been waiting for it, like the couch wasn’t big enough and he needed to be here, tucked under my arm, tucked into whatever space I made for him.

His breath hitched when I reached up to push his damp hair off his forehead. He closed his eyes, just for a second, like the touch hit deeper than expected, like he was letting himself rest for the first time all night.

“You staying,” I said quietly. “That’s your call.” My thumb grazed his temple. “But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t want it. I want you with me.”

His lips pressed together, shaky on the edges. He nodded like he understood exactly where I was coming from.

I took a breath that felt like it came from somewhere deep, somewhere I had boarded up years ago. “I’m proud of you for coming here.”

He pressed the blanket higher against his chest and whispered, “I just… I don’t want to lose this.”

“You’re not losing anything,” I said. And it felt true. It felt truer than anything I had said in a long time.