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Lucy couldn’t believe she’d said yes to Tim again.
She was sitting across from him at his kitchen table, the warm light of the overhead fixture casting a soft glow over the two of them. The silence between them felt both comfortable and loaded. They hadn’t shared a meal together in so long, and yet, it felt like no time had passed at all. But beneath the surface of their easy conversation, Lucy could feel the tension of everything unsaid.
Tim was talking about something trivial—some case from earlier in the day—but Lucy’s mind kept wandering back to the moment when she had agreed to stay. When she had said yes to dinner, yes to being with him in this quiet, intimate space. She’d been so close to walking away. So close to shutting this door for good. But something inside her had told her to stay. And so, she did. She stayed.
“You okay?” Tim asked, looking at her with those concerned eyes. “You’re quiet.”
Lucy blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. She didn’t want to lie, but she wasn’t sure she could find the words to explain everything swirling inside her. Not just about Seth—although that was still eating at her—but about them. The way she had said yes to him, knowing exactly what it meant and also knowing how much it could hurt if things went wrong again.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, offering a smile she hoped was convincing. "Just... thinking."
Tim didn’t press. He never did. That was one of the things she always admired about him—the way he let her come to her own conclusions in her own time. But that didn’t stop the weight between them from growing heavier with each passing minute. She could feel the walls she’d carefully built around her heart start to crack. Tim Bradford had a way of doing that. Of breaking down barriers without even trying.
The meal was nearly finished when he set his fork down and met her gaze directly. There was an intensity there, a question in his eyes that she knew wasn’t just about the food or the conversation.
“Lucy, I… I missed you,” Tim said quietly, his voice thick with something she hadn’t expected. She hadn’t expected him to say it—certainly not like this. “Not just, you know, as a partner or a friend. I missed you.”
Her heart skipped a beat, the confession hanging in the air like a confession she’d been avoiding for months. She could feel the pull of him, the way he still made her heart race despite everything they’d been through. But she also knew how dangerous it was to give in to that pull, how fragile everything was between them.
"I missed you too," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. The words came out before she could stop them, but as soon as she spoke them, she felt the weight of them. Not just the words, but the implications behind them. The way they would haunt her if she let herself believe them.
Tim’s gaze softened. “So why the hell did I let it all fall apart, huh?” he asked, his voice low and regretful.
Lucy’s chest tightened. She wasn’t ready for this conversation—not yet. But she couldn’t avoid it forever, could she? She’d been trying to bury the hurt, trying to ignore the way her heart still ached when she thought about them. About what they could’ve had. About what they’d lost.
She looked away, unable to meet his eyes for a moment. “We didn’t know how to fix it,” she said quietly, almost to herself. "We were both broken in different ways, and we didn’t... we didn’t know how to make it work."
Tim’s expression shifted, the hint of pain in his eyes that had always been there whenever they talked about their breakup. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why I couldn’t make it work, Lucy. I'll always be sorry about the way I handled things. But I do know I’m not the same guy I was then.”
Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. “And I’m not the same girl I was either,” she said, her voice a little shaky. "But that doesn’t mean we can just... pick up where we left off. It’s not that simple.”
The words hung between them, charged with everything they’d never said before. Tim opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Kojo padded into the kitchen, wagging his tail happily when he saw Lucy. She smiled at the familiar face, bending down to pet him.
Tim watched her with a mix of admiration and something more — something that looked suspiciously like longing. "You always did have a way with him," he said softly, a small, almost sad smile crossing his face.
Lucy chuckled, her fingers running through Kojo’s fur. “I missed him,” she murmured, her heart tightening as she looked down at the dog, trying to steady her emotions. Kojo was a reminder of simpler times. Of a love that had been pure and easy. The kind of love she wasn’t sure she could trust to be simple anymore.
And then, as she stood to leave, Tim’s voice stopped her.
“Stay. Please.”
She turned back to face him, feeling the rawness of the moment. He was standing there, vulnerable and open, his eyes locked onto hers in a way that made her chest tighten.
“I’m not asking for anything,” Tim said quietly. “I just… I don’t want you to walk out the door and pretend like this doesn’t matter. That we don’t matter.”
Lucy swallowed hard, torn between the desire to walk away and the desperate need to feel something—anything—that felt right. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say that she’d stay and let everything between them fall into place. But the reality of the past, the scars they both carried, made her hesitate.
“I can’t…” she began, voice trembling. “I can’t just go back to pretending like nothing ever happened. I’m not ready for that.”
Tim nodded, his expression resigned but understanding. “I know. I just thought... I don’t know. Maybe we could try to figure it out. Slowly. No pressure...small doses, right?”
Lucy closed her eyes, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She loved him. She always had. But love wasn’t enough. Not now, not after everything.
“Maybe,” she whispered, stepping toward the door. “Maybe one day I'll be ready for more than small doses again.”
As she walked out of Tim’s apartment, she couldn’t help but feel like she was leaving a piece of herself behind. But the truth was, she wasn’t ready to pick up the pieces yet. And maybe that was okay. Maybe, in time, she would be.