But I was wrong.

He left because he loved me. That was the only conclusion he came to, but I still need to hear him tell me. I thought that was why he asked for another chance a year ago.

It’s harder for me to remember the pain I was in when his intentions were good, generous, and because he loved me. He wouldn’t have done it otherwise. I just wish he would have trusted me enough to tell me back then. So much time has been wasted. And for what?

I slink my hand under his and look at him. He faces me with questions rising in his eyes but doesn’t dare tempt fate in the opposite direction we’re heading. His fingers fold together with mine, and though his eyes are forward on the road again, he’s smiling like he just won the lottery.

Since I’m in unfamiliar territory—emotionally and in Manhattan—I ask, “Where are you taking me?”

“To where I live. I thought it was only fair since I know where you live.”

I can’t wait to see where he lives. I don’t know enough about him these days to even have a prediction, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s including me in all parts of his life—past and present.

Also, I’ve already duly noted that we’re in Tribeca, so he’s fancy just like he was back in college. Some things never change.

He pulls into a garage and then parks. Looking at me, he says, “I thought this would go differently.” He glances at our hands, twisting them and bringing them to his mouth, and kissing the top of mine.

“How did you see it?”

“I thought there’d be more animosity.” He releases my hand and turns off the car. When he comes around to my side to open the door, I slip my hand in his again and step out to stand before him. “Last time didn’t go as planned. I upset you.”

“I was still hurt.” I should be more nervous than I am, but I know what I’m doing, and it feels right.

“You’re not hurt anymore?”

I’m no longer scared to fall in love with him. I’m scared of losing him again. “I am hurt, Harbor, but I’m seeing things in a whole new way.”

“What changed?” He holds my hand, and we walk together to the elevator.

“Everything.”

We get in the elevator, and though I can see from the way his expression isn’t eased that he still has questions, he’s patient, willing to let them unfold naturally.

The doors open, and we walk down a hall. “I kind of expected you to live in a penthouse.”

He holds up a key card pulled from his pocket, and we gain entrance to the apartment. Shouldering it open, he says, “Hopefully, it doesn’t disappoint.”

I walk in, and my breath catches. My hand is against my chest as I take in a view of what feels like the entire city. Harbor guides me forward by the lower back and then shuts the door. “House sweet house.”