Page 116 of The Love Operation

“That’s not fair,” I say.

“No, it isn’t.” He stands and walks away. “I need a drink.”

I sit in the silence he leaves behind, count four full beats, then rise and follow him to the kitchen. “He fell asleep on my couch,” I say the second I enter. “He never touched me. What was I supposed to do—wake him up and tell him to Uber back to the hospital?”

He throws his hands up. “If you’d been thinking about me at all, he wouldn’t have been in your house to begin with.”

“You’re making it sound like I wanted to cheat on you.”

“No, Cordelia, that’s just how it sounds.”

I start to answer, but the kitchen lights flare impossibly bright. By now I know this isn’t happening in Isaac’s kitchen. It’s happening in my brain. My system’s already on edge, and this threatens to kick it right over the cliff.

I close my eyes, brace my palms on the sparkling countertop, and wait it out. When I open them, it’s gone. But the unease stays, lodged somewhere behind my ribs.

I push forward anyway. “I told you I made a mistake,” I say slowly. “And when I woke up, I knew just how badly I’d screwed up.”

“So you took him to breakfast to make up for it.” He rolls his head on his shoulders. “Now it makes sense.”

“I agreed to breakfast,” I snap, “because I needed to understand why he left. I wanted to know what went wrong—so I wouldn’t make the same mistakes with you.”

“That sounds like a story you’re telling yourself so you can do what you want.”

“Will you stop being so antagonistic?” My voice cracks. Because the worst part is—I’m not even sure he’s wrong. And that terrifies me. “Maybe last night, I did enjoy being with someone who took care of me. Who appreciated what I did for his father. And maybe that was wrong. I’ve said I’m sorry. But this morning—this morning was different. I needed answers.”

“Don’t tell me this is a confidence issue.” His voice is flint on a machete. “You of all people don’t expect me to believe you don’t know your worth.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I shoot back, sarcasm bleeding in. “I guess a hotshot like you believes in himself one hundred percent of the time. No doubt. No fear you’re not good enough. No reason to look back and see what you’re missing so you can make the future better. Yours is already pitch perfect.”

He swallows, and his face relaxes, like he might finally see my point.

I turn away and push my fingernails into my palms.

From behind me, Isaac is quieter when he asks, “Did you at least get the answers you needed? Because I’m ready to move past this.”

“No,” I say, turning back to him. “I didn’t get closure.”

His shoulders drop.

And then I let go of more honesty, like a bird taking flight from my hands. “He told me he loved me, that he never should’ve left.”

Isaac closes his eyes. “Dammit.”

“That’s how we left it.”

Isaac shakes his head, a bitter curl in the corner of his mouth. “Nobody leaves it there. A man you used to love tells you he’s still in love with you, and you feel . . . what? Nothing?”

“I haven’t let myself think about how I feel.” That’s the truth. Logic’s been my lifeline.

“Then I guess you better start. Because I’m here, Cord, but I don’t want to be the guy who’s always one step behind. I don’t want to hear that someone else brought you dinner when I didn’t think to. I don’t want to hear about your shared history. Or that you might still have feelings for him.” His breaths come faster in his agitation, and he ends with, “But I do still want you.”

Our eyes lock across the island. A troubled silence stretches between us, sharp with unspoken things.

“But I want all of you,” he adds.

I nod, fighting back the relentless sting behind my eyes.

He comes around the counter, wipes a tear from my cheek with his thumb.