Time slows down when you’re in hell. It took me twenty-seven hours and seventeen minutes—give or take a few seconds—to work up the courage to talk to him, but those hours without him were excruciating. I was a fish scooped out of the ocean, terrified and suffocating, only able to flop around uselessly until I eventually die.

Despite the fact that we haven’t talked since I stormed out of his house, he doesn’t seem surprised to see me. His face doesn’t even hint at recognition, much less show any sign of missing me. I won’t let his indifferent stare deter me. I have a point around here somewhere and if I keep babbling, I’m sure I’ll find it eventually.

“I’ve been trying to think of why. I mean, it was just three weeks, right? No big deal. I should be able to go back to my life.” I’m staring down at my hands, flailing as I talk. Stupid things have a mind of their own. “But I can’t. And there are a lot of reasons, I guess. I miss watching you cook dinner. I miss talking to you about my day. I miss the way you touch me. I miss the sound of your laugh. I even miss that stupid, smug smirk of yours. I miss all of you.”

There’s only one thing left to say, the only thing that matters.

I take a deep breath and spit it out, “And I’m pretty sure it’s because I love you.”

I risk glancing up into his piercing eyes and that’s when I know beyond any shadow of a doubt. “Yep. I’m totally, idiotically, obsessively in love with you.”

It’s a relief to say it out loud. His mouth drops open at my words, but he doesn’t seem to have anything to say. It makes my heart stutter. I wasn’t expecting him to say it back, but at least some form of acknowledgment would be nice.

“I know you don’t believe in the whole love thing and you don’t do forevers,” I add quickly, making sure he knows I’m not expecting the romantic happily ever after. I just want to be with him. To go back to how it was before I told him he wasn’t important and ruined everything.

“You are important to me. And I was hoping we could go back. To how it was before. We’re still friends, right?”

His stoic face reveals a hint of something I can’t quite read.

Longing?

For a brief moment, his eyes search mine and I think I have him. Then something shifts. He’s pulled a veil down between us. I don’t recognize him anymore. His expression is hard and his eyes are cold.

A chill runs up my spine when he says, “Fifty thousand dollars.”

“What?” I gasp, pulling back and shaking my head.