Page 41 of Remain
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.