The vague awareness of his body leaning closer to mine pokes through the watery haze that’s developing at the corners of my eyes. I don’t know if I realized how bad off I was five years ago until I said it aloud just now. But I know it’s true in the way I know it when my words are hitting right on the page; it’s a gut feeling, and I’m not deleting any of it.

“I wasn’t,” Ryan whispers. He clears his throat, then speaks louder. “I wasn’t better off without you.”

The blue fabric of his sweater blocks my view of the counter as he steps in front of me. His hand comes up to cup the side of my face, the warmth of his palm incongruous with the cold metal of his ring lightly scraping against my skin.

“Look at me, Scarlett.”

I take in a deep breath before I do, the aroma of vanilla and almond and coffee working its way into my senses. Slowly, I drag my eyes up his chest, letting my gaze linger on the brown stubble that speckles his usually clean-shaven skin before I meet those dark eyes, framed by even darker glasses.

He’s everywhere. He takes up so much space that it’s hard to breathe.

“You are more important than the sum of all your words.” There’s an intense seriousness in his voice that’s matched in his eyes. The press of his palm won’t let me look away.

“I’m not suicidal, Ryan. I’ve been depressed. There’s a difference.” I don’t know why, but it’s important to me that he knows that.

Those brown eyes assess me for a moment before he nods once. “Right. But you’re not really living like this, either, are you?”

My gaze falls again, even as he holds my face in his hand. I had thought I was doing okay. And maybe I was, though I can see how he, as an outsider, doesn’t think so. But is okay really something to strive for? Is that the kind of existence I want?

No. I want words and pages and the high of holding my book in my hands, of trailing my fingers over the beautiful cover, letting them linger over my name on the spine. The way it used to be, before everything went to shit.

“We did it,” I said, my grin stretching so wide it hurt as I drank in the cover art, the way the letters of the title curled into the drawings below and gave way to my name at the bottom.

“You did it,” Ryan corrected, but his smile rivaled mine.

I shrugged. “You helped. I mean, you’re in the acknowledgments.”