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“Thank you,” she says as we head for the door. As soon as we step outside, the cold Virginia air hits us both at the same time. “I don’t mean for this to sound so forward, but did you maybe want to come back to my place for some hot chocolate?”

My eyebrows shoot up, and before I can stop myself, I nod.

“Trust me, I would have offered to go out to some sort of coffee shop or something, but I assume they’re all closed.”

“It’s okay, Ames,” I say as I look around. The parking lot is fairly empty, but as she starts for her car, I grab the bag from her hands and escort her. “I’ll follow you?” I say as I grab the top of her car door, handing her the tote bag.

“Sounds good.” She smiles at me. “I’ll try not to drive too fast.”

“Mhm, I bet,” I say as I shut her door, a memory of Ames driving back in college popping into my head.

As I get back into my car, I let myself remember all of it. We had left the grocery store one night, and she had her windows rolled down, music blasting how it always was, and then we heard sirens behind us.

Ames got pulled over. The cop gave her a ticket for driving fifteen over the speed limit in a school zone. I never let her forget it, and even Paige and Oliver brought it up the entire semester.

Lately, I’ve been letting myself remember all the things I tried to push out, and while the ache still exists, Amelia has really surprised me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into what I assume is her complex.

We haven't really talked much, besides updating one another on our days. Hers are mostly filled with applying to jobs. Mine are usually filled with writing or admin tasks. Even so, it’s nice having her take an interest and be consistent with reaching out to me.

I’ve been leaving that up to her. I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to stop chasing her, and every time we’ve talked, it’s been because she has wanted to, her always reaching out first.

But I’m still cautious. Sure, she can do this for a few weeks, but I need to see the longevity in her showing up and proving she’s not going to run again. Until I’m sure of that, we’re going to keep doing whatever it is we’re doing now.

I follow her to her place, watching her turn the key in her lock before she opens the door to a place that screams Amelia.

Photo frames with her favorite lyrics line the walls of her living room, all her furniture a different shade of blue that reminds me of the ocean.

Most of her bookshelves seem to be out here, and I even see some National Geographic magazines on an entire shelf.

I wonder if those are just her favorite issues, or if those are the ones she worked on in England.

I’m about to ask her about it, but she beats me to the punch.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says as I stroll around her place. “The couch is brand new, along with half the other furniture.”

“It’s all new?” I swing my head around to her in the kitchen, where she’s prepping the hot chocolate.

“When I sold my place in England, I sold it with all my furniture. I got more money for it being furnished, but I had to get out of there.” She scoffs. “It seems I have a track record.”

“Had,” I tell her. “You had one.”

“Right.” She grabs her necklace as she pours hot chocolate into mugs for us. “Thank you for giving it back to me.”

I don’t ask for context; I know what she’s referring to.

“It was the right thing to do,” I say as I head over to her small counter, leaning on my forearms as I look at her. “It will never belong to anyone else but you.”

She stirs my mug before handing it to me, leading me over to her couch. I take a sip, thankful to have something to hold while we talk.

“So, why did you really invite me over, Mills?” I ask, wondering if another shoe is going to drop kick me any second .

“Well, I wanted you to see how serious I am about staying here. Not only do I have a job interview next week, but I have a new place. This is my fresh start, Henry, and I’m not going to fuck this one up.”

“The hot chocolate was just a ruse, then?” I say as I shake my head, setting my mug down as if I’m annoyed. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“You poor man,” she jokes. “Held hostage by hot chocolate.”

I take a sweep around her place, noting how much it feels like I just walked into her brain, and I take a deep breath. I can almost believe her, but there will always be a part of me waiting for her to leave. Maybe in time, that will go away, but for now, I have to protect myself.

“It’s a beautiful place, Ames,” I tell her.

“Thanks.” She smiles. “I’m thinking of having the girls over for a housewarming party next weekend.”

“It sounds like they’ve forgiven you,” I say as I sip my hot chocolate.

“As much as they can, I guess,” she says, gripping her mug with both hands. “But like I’m doing with you, I’m still proving to them I can show up and stick around. It may not look like it, but I’m trying my fucking hardest to have my actions match my words.”

“Everyone can tell how hard you’re trying, Amelia. Sure, we might be a little worried about the future once this sudden urge to fix things ends, but we can all tell you’re trying.”

“I worry it’s not going to be enough,” she says, her eyes falling.

“Why? Why do you always think you’re not enough?”

“I’ve been trying to be enough my whole life, Hen.

People either couldn't understand me or didn't want to stick around enough to deal with me and my not-so-glowing personality. Now, I realize it’s my ADHD that has made me think and behave how I have my entire life, but the fear is still there. It still lingers until I’m asking the people who love me if they still like me, or if I’m too annoying. ”

“Then they’re not the right people for you,” I remind her. “Only you can decide what’s good enough. Don’t let other’s skewed projections of you cloud who you know you are.”

“Trust me,” she wipes a tear from her face, “my therapist and I are working on it.”

“That’s good, Ames,” I say as I grab her hand. “I’m proud of you.”

“You are?” Her face is more shocked than I thought it would be. “I’ve barely done anything, Hen.”

“Stop selling yourself short,” I remind her. “You're trying. The hardest I’ve seen you try at anything, really.”

“Henry, I didn't bring you over here for this. You should not be making me feel better. I should—”

“You need to hear it, Ames. Because if you keep assuming you're not good enough for the people around you, you’ll run again. You are enough for the girls, and you are enough for me, even if I’m still terrified you’re going to wake up one day and leave.”

She lets the words sit for a second. “Then I’ve got more work to do to prove your mind otherwise,” she says as she takes my mug from me. I follow her to the kitchen, grabbing my jacket off her coat rack.

“Thanks for the hot chocolate,” I tell her as she heads to the front door with me.

“I’ll call you at some point.”

I press a small kiss to her cheek, unable to help myself but knowing I can’t fully kiss her.

If I do, I’m not sure I’d stop, and right now, I can’t afford to give in.

I need a little more from her. It’s only been a few weeks since she declared on my doorstep that she was back for good.

Two weeks is nothing compared to the scale I’ve known Amelia on.

She tripped and fell into my life over three years ago, and since that moment, I’ve never been the same.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about my life as two different periods: before Amelia and after Amelia. Now, I'm starting to think there is no after Amelia, at least not for me. I’m starting to think there is no without Amelia.

Maybe in my head, after Amelia simply means we’re an us again. Maybe this is the point in our story where we make it to the ending neither of us thought we would write.

“I know you will, baby.”