Page 79 of Better than Yesterday
She nodded, and we ducked out of the hall toward Memorial Park. Our footsteps were the only sound, the rest of Dove Key settling into the quiet of night around us. The park was empty, the beach beyond it dark and peaceful. We made our way to the gazebo in the middle of the lawn and stepped inside. The wooden railing was cool under my palms as I gripped it, trying to gather the words that felt too massive to fit in my mouth..
“What you did tonight,” I started, then had to clear my throat, “that took a hell of a lot of courage.”
She didn't accept the compliment immediately. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes searching mine. “I meant every word. But I need to know... why areyouhere? Did you come because you hoped I was staying? Or did you come to tell me it’s too late?”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and that vulnerability nearly undid me. “It’s not too late. You weren’t the only one who needed to stand up.”
Her shoulders dropped, a long, shaky exhale escaping her lips as the tension drained out of her frame. She offered me a small, tentative smile. “You did too. Showing up and giving me a chance to write a different ending this time.”
I turned to face her, and the starlight caught in her eyes. She was waiting, patient and uncertain, and that’s when I realized she didn’t know. That was why she was so uncertain. Tessa couldn’t possibly know the trajectory of my recent thoughts—the journey from cowardice to regret to the desperate hope that maybe, somehow, I could fix what I’d broken.
“I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled out of my soul. “For everything. But especially for making your choice for you.”
She started to speak, but I held up a hand. I had to get this out. “When your parents came to dinner, you defended me. What you said about my work and about what I’ve built, was the first moment I feltseen. Not just by you, but by someone I’d been scared would always see me as less.” I paused, letting that admission sit between us. “You listed my awards like they mattered. You talked about the community work, about how the place runs because I built it. You made me matter.”
The wind carried salt air, and in the distance, I could hear the gentle lap of water. “But then that email came. The Australia job. You hesitated, and I told myself a story. I convinced myself it was already decided. That you were leaving, and I was just delaying the inevitable pain. So I ended it. Not because of logic or because it was the right thing, but because I was so afraid of being left that I wanted to control the outcome by leaving first.”
Tessa’s eyes were bright with tears, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I was a coward. And worse, I didn’t give you the chance to choose. I made that choice for both of us because what you might choose scared the shit out of me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not trusting you. For not trusting us.”
She stepped closer, reaching out to take my hand.
“I forgive you.” She took a breath as if to gather her own courage. “And I need to apologize too. Twelve years ago, I let my parents make me believe I had to choose between my future and you. I chose the safe path. And when they came to dinner and made you feel small—when they sat in your business and called it charming like it was something silly rather than something you built into atowering success—I realized what I’d done. I wasn’t living life at all.
“When that job offer came and you looked like you already knew I was leaving, it broke something in me.” She squeezed my hand, her voice trembling. “I was overwhelmed and angry at my parents and unsure about everything. But the whole debacle made one thing crystal clear. I had to stop letting other people’s expectations dictate my life.”
“Tessa—”
“Wait. I need to say this. When you ended things, it hurt. God, it hurt so much. But it also woke me up. Because if I was going to stand up for myself, I couldn’t do it for you. I had to do it for me. I had to choose this place not because you came back to me, but because it’s whatIwanted.”
She looked directly into my eyes. “So I’m staying. Not because I’m settling or giving up on being successful. I’m staying because I finally figured it all out. But I’m greedy—I want more. I wantyou. Braden, you’re what makes it all real. You make it home.”
My throat constricted. My chest felt too tight for the emotions inside it.
“I love you,” I told her, the words coming out rough and raw yet absolutely certain. “I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen. I spent twelve years trying to prove I was enough. And I was so convinced I wasn’t that I threw away the one thing that actually made me feel worthy. You. Us.”
“I love you too.” When she said those words, the last of my defenses came crashing down. I pulled her against me and kissed her, my hands tangling in her hair. It was a kiss of profound relief, of coming home after a long, stupidjourney away. It was slow and deep and everything that mattered.
When we finally broke apart, she rested her cheek against mine, her breath warm against my skin.
“I really thought you wouldn’t believe me,” she murmured, her voice thick. “I thought my one chance at this was gone for good. I felt so lost.”
“You were never lost.” My thumb traced the line of her jaw. “I was. I was so lost in my own head, in my own history, I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”
We stood in silence for a long moment, just holding each other, the rhythmic shush of leaves in the trees the only sound. The energy of the town hall felt a million miles away. Here, there was only the quiet certainty of her in my arms.
Finally, she pulled back just enough to look at me, a small, hopeful smile on her face. “So we’re really doing this? You and me?” The hope in her voice was tempered by her innate practicality.
A smile lit up my face. “We’re really doing it, Donovan.”
“Buthow? The town council approval is huge, but it’s not funding. Without the grant, securing a location is the biggest hurdle. It could take years to raise that kind of capital, and they want a site plan by the next meeting.”
“I know.” My mind raced ahead, connecting dots I’d been too afraid to connect before. “But what if we didn’t have to wait years?”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“The McGregor place. The one we mapped out that day in your office. The one we both agreed was perfect.”
