Page 30

"So," he says finally. "Is this where we pretend to be casual acquaintances having coffee? Or can we talk about what happens now?"

The directness makes me smile. "I thought small talk was a necessary evil."

"We’re way beyond that." His voice drops lower and he winks at me.

I take a deep breath, willing myself to slow down. "I told my dad I was leaving because I need my own identity. That's true, but it's not the whole truth."

"What's the rest?"

"You. Us." I meet his eyes steadily. "What happened between us made me realize I need clearer boundaries. But it also made me question if I was hiding behind my career, using professional ethics as a shield against actually connecting with someone."

His eyebrows lift slightly. "And what did you decide?"

"That I want both. My career and..." I hesitate. "And whatever this could be between us."

Nate looks directly into my eyes. "I want that too. More than I've wanted anything in a long time."

"But it has to be different this time." I lean forward, intent. "No sneaking around. No power imbalance. No pushing each other away when things get difficult."

"Agreed." He nods seriously. "Complete transparency."

"And I want it to be more than just physical." I feel myself blush. "That part is... well, it's obviously not a problem for us."

His lips twitch. "Definitely not a problem."

"But there has to be more. I won't be with someone who's just looking for the next thrill."

"Elena." He reaches across the table, his fingers hovering just short of mine. "That's never what this was for me."

I believe him but that feels so scary for me.

"I know I have issues," I say quietly. "Things I need to work on too."

"Like what?" His question is gentle, inviting rather than demanding.

I look off to the side, gathering courage. "My relationship with my dad is... complicated. After my mom died, he became everything to me—father, protector, coach, cheerleader. He set impossibly high standards, and I killed myself trying to meet them."

Nate listens, silent but attentive.

"When I realized I'd never be the perfect daughter he wanted, I swung the other way for a while. Rebelled. Made some stupid choices." I glance up. "But eventually I circled back to trying to earn his approval."

"Like becoming a sports psychologist."

"Like becoming the best damn sports psychologist I could be," I correct with a small smile. "But the pattern stuck with me. In relationships, I sabotage things the moment they get real."

"That sounds familiar." Nate's voice is soft. "Different trigger, same response."

"Exactly." I look at him directly now. "And I see how I've been doing it with you. When things got intense, I hid behind professional standards."

"Because it meant actually risking something real."

"Yes." The simple admission feels like jumping off a cliff. "And I'm terrified of that. Terrified of wanting something I can't control."

Nate finally bridges the gap between our hands, his fingers brushing mine. "I get that. Better than you might think."

"I know you do." I turn my hand over, palm up, and he slides his hand into mine. "That's part of why this feels so... possible. You understand that part of me."

He brushes his thumb against my palm, sending tiny sparks up my arm. "I've been working on my stuff too. The therapy is helping. So is the journaling."

"Tell me about it."

"I'm learning why I push people away before they can leave me. Why I sabotage good things because I don't believe I deserve them."

I nod and wait for him to continue.

"My parents made it clear I wasn't worth their time or attention until I was bringing home NHL paychecks." His jaw tightens. "I internalized that pretty young. Figured if my own parents couldn't love me, why would anyone else?"

My chest aches for the little boy who carried that burden. And for the man still carrying it.

He continues. "But I'm tired of living that way, Elena. Tired of being alone even when I'm surrounded by people. Tired of keeping everyone at arm's length."

"I know that feeling." I squeeze his hand. "So what do we do about it?"

"We try again," he says simply. "But this time, we do it right. We go slow. We talk about the hard stuff instead of running from it. We see each other as we really are, not who we're afraid to be."

"That sounds terrifying," I admit.

"It is. But I think it could also be incredible." His eyes hold mine, serious but warm. "I'm willing to take that risk if you are."

I think about everything that's happened between us—the electric connection that first night, the complicated dance of attraction and resistance, the pain of separation.

I think about his efforts to change, my own journey toward self-understanding.

I think about what we could be to each other if we stopped fighting it.

"I want some ground rules," I say, business-like despite our joined hands.

His lips twitch. "Of course you do."

"I'm serious. We need to agree on some basics." I straighten in my chair. "First, complete honesty. Even when it's uncomfortable."

"Agreed."

"Second, we take the physical side slow. We need to build the rest first."

He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Define 'slow.'"

"Nate."

"Okay, okay." He laughs. "Slow it is. Though you should know that's gonna be torture."

"Third," I continue, ignoring what his voice is doing to me, "we commit to working on our own issues. Separately and together."

"I'm already doing that," he says. "But yes, I agree."

"And fourth, we keep it between us for now. Not because we're hiding, but because we need space to figure this out without everyone watching."

He nods. "Whatever you need, Elena. I meant what I said—you set the rules this time."

I study him across the table—this man who's turned my carefully ordered life upside down, who's shown me both incredible pleasure and genuine connection, who's working to be better just as I am. And I realize I want to try, really try, to build something with him.

I slide my hand further across the table, interlacing our fingers completely, and lean forward to whisper: "Let's try again. For real this time."

His eyes darken slightly, and he brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "For real," he echoes, his voice a promise.

The coffee shop continues its morning symphony around us, but I barely notice. In this moment, there's only Nate and me, and the fragile, hopeful thing growing between us—something that feels like it might actually last.