Leaving Sophie had been a terrible mistake. A decision based on fear instead of love. And this was the second time he’d left her. Sophie might have loved him once. She might have even loved him twice. But given the fool he’d been, why would she give him another chance?

He slumped in his seat. He’d be an even bigger fool to hope. She hadn’t contacted him since he left. He had no reason to think she still wanted him. Sure, she had her own issues. But hers seemed minor compared to his own.

He flicked off the TV. What had he done? How could she ever trust him to stick around when he’d proven himself to be a flight risk?

God, what do I do?

His phone buzzed with an incoming text. Sophie. His hopes rose like an underwater buoy popping to the surface. He pressed it down, the wishful thinking. But that didn’t stop him from going to the kitchen where his phone was charging.

The notification on the screen squelched the last of his hopes. The long text was from his dad. Aiden opened it and managed a small smile at his dad’s request for advice on what to wear for his date. Two photos of outfits accompanied the long text. He could hardly believe this was his dad—a man who lived in blue jeans and T-shirts, on or off the job. He must be desperate if he was asking Aiden’s opinion.

He suggested the first outfit—dark jeans and a black button-up. He was just about to set down his phone when he saw that another text had come in.

Sophie. He opened it.

I’m sorry.

His breath hitched, and his fingers tightened on the phone. He read the message over and over. It had come in fifteen minutes ago.

Was this a sign? Did she still want him? She wouldn’t have reached out otherwise, would she? He was afraid to believe it. Hope was a dangerous thing—a riptide threatening to pull him out to sea.

And what should he do? His thumbs poised over the phone, his heart thrumming in his ears.

I’m sorry too, he typed, his hands shaking.

He reread the simple phrase. The words didn’t say nearly enough.

I love you, Sophie, he added.

He frowned at the proclamation. He couldn’t tell her that in a text. And even that monumental truth wasn’t enough. He could fill a book with his feelings for her.

He should call. He should’ve called her days ago, in fact, instead of leaving the ball in her court. He was the one who’d left, after all.

But he didn’t want to declare his love over the phone. What he had to say needed to be said in person. And after he had his say, he wanted to wrap his arms around his girl and kiss her senseless.