“Had Riley help,” Blake admitted, not even pretending to play innocent. “She loves me.”

I scoffed. “She tolerates you. You’re seriously going to sit here and watch my favorite movie like that’s going to fix anything?”

“Thought it was worth a shot.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“Okay, listen⁠—”

“No.” I held up a hand. “You can’t⁠—”

“Before you say anything,” he cut in, “I came to apologize.”

I lifted an eyebrow.

He nodded. “Yeah. So, go ahead. Let me have it.”

Oh, this was going to feel good.

I could practically taste the satisfaction already.

“You hurt me,” I began, taking my time with every word. “You really think one measly apology is going to fix that?”

His throat bobbed. “No.”

“You think I’m just going to forgive you because you showed up here with your sad little eyes and your messed-up hair?”

He dragged a hand through his dark blond hair, which did nothing but make it messier. “No…”

“You think just because you finally realized how you feel, I should fall into your arms and act like nothing ever happened?”

He hesitated. Then, quieter, “No.”

I stepped closer, close enough to see the guilt burning in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach for me but didn’t dare. Crossing my arms, I said, “So, apologize.”

“I’m sorry.”

I raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Beverly—”

“No, no, no. That’s not good enough. Try again.”

“Beverly,” he said again, quieter this time. “Please.”

I wasn’t going to make it that easy for him.

I glanced at the glowing exit sign, weighing my options. Then I took a step back, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. “Not good enough,” I repeated, my tone colder this time.

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

I let the silence stretch, enjoying the way he shifted restlessly, the way his hands flexed as if he was dying to touch me but knew he didn’t deserve to.

I smiled, slow and sweet. “Beg.”

Blake’s eyes gleamed under the flickering light of the movie screen. He let out a slow breath, his gaze flicking over my face as if he was trying to decide if I was serious.

“You heard me,” I said. “You want my forgiveness? Beg for it.”

He pushed himself up from his seat and dropped to his knees, right there in the empty theater.

“I’ll do it,” he said, spreading his hands wide, looking utterly miserable. “I’ll beg until my knees give out if that’s what you want. Beverly, I’m sorry. For every time I made you doubt how I felt. For being a coward when you needed me to be brave. I’m—” He swallowed, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out.

“That’s it?” I said dryly. “That’s the best you’ve got?”