Page 71 of A Thousand Second Chances

“It’s fine,” Owen growls, even though it’s so obviouslynotfine that I’m tempted to laugh. He swipes angrily at his eyes. “Forget it. Everyone else always lets me down. Why shouldyoube any different? Here’s your stupid drink. Have a nice life.”

Somehow, he’d finished mixing my latte while we talked, and he shoves both it and the muffin I’d requested across the counter to me. I hesitate, torn between fleeing and trying to salvage this doomed conversation. Owen makes my decision for me when he storms off, retreating through a door into the cafe’s tiny kitchen.

That went well. Nice work. He seems super eager to open up.

Sighing, I return to Chris and slide despondently into my seat.

He takes one look at me and demands, “What’s wrong?”

I toy with my cup. “Nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I just had your cock down my throat, andthisis where you draw the line at intimacy?”

I choke on my drink, fighting down a furious blush as I glance around on instinct for anyone that might’ve overheard. As I do, I catch Chris suppressing a grimace.Great. Look at me, somehow fucking up today even more.

“I tried to talk to Owen,” I admit to mollify Chris. “It didn’t go well.”

Chris’ eyes flick to the counter from which Owen is still conspicuously absent. “Yeah, I deduced that much. I couldn’t catch what you two were saying, though. What’s his deal, anyway? His hatred of you is one of the few constants I can count on across every loop, no matter what we change.”

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t do that. Don’t you dare shut me out—not again.” I wince, and his face softens. “Come on, Perce. You can trust me.”

AndGod, how I want to. The words come tumbling out before I can second-guess myself because Chris is right—if I can’t talk to him about any of this, who the hell else am I supposed to talk to? “Apparently, I ghostedhim, too.” I hang my head. “I guess I’m as terrible a friend as I was a boyfriend.”

Chris doesn’t respond right away, and I risk a glance up, concerned about what I might find on his face. Judgment, perhaps, or maybe the same betrayal I’d seen on Owen’s. After all, I’d done basically the same thing to him—shut him out and convinced myself it was for the best when, really, it was the most convenient way to avoid having to deal with anything. But when I meet his hazel eyes, all I see is warmth and concern.

He nods encouragingly at me, and I swallow, finding the strength to continue. “He needed me, and I let him down. Just like I letyoudown. God, when did I get so selfish?”

My voice trembles, and Chris lays his hand over mine, squeezing it. I ignore my immediate jolt of unease at the thought of others watching and take the offered grip, entwining my fingers with his. “I don’t think you’re selfish,” he says. His thumb strokes the back of my hand. “If anything, it’s the opposite. You’re so worried about living up to expectations and making everyone else happy that you forget to do things foryou.”

“But—”

His grip on my hand tightens. “You didn’t retreat from your life foryourself, Perce. You did it for your dad. And for your mom. You did it because you thought they needed you, and you wanted to spend all the time with them you could.”

Something clenches in my gut. I want to believe him, but all I can think of is the fervent hope in my mom’s eyes when she’d envisioned my future. Or the empty look on Chris’ face when I’d saidI can’t.“That doesn’t excuse me for letting everyone else down in the process.”It doesn’t excuse what I did to you.

Chris hesitates, and I wonder if his mind went to the same place mine did. “Maybe not. Maybe you did the right thing, and maybe you should’ve done something else. I don’t know. But what Idoknow is you can’t always prioritize others over yourself. Sometimes, you’ve got to do whatyouwant.”

There’s an unspoken question in his tone. Holding his gaze, his grip warm in mine, my answer is obvious.You. I wantyou.I open my mouth, but the words die in my throat. How can I say something like that to someone I’ve let down so completely? More importantly, how can I make that kind of promise when I have no clue if it’s one I can keep?

So instead, I stay silent.

Chris studies me with an inscrutable expression before leaning back. He releases my hand, grabbing his coffee and taking a long sip. I immediately miss his touch. “Look,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Last night and this morning were great, but there’s no reason to stress out over what it means or what comes next. Why worry about a future when we have no idea if or when it’ll even arrive? Let’s just keep things casual and see what happens.”

Logically, his words make sense, and a part of me is grateful to him—not only for comforting me when I needed it but also for giving me this space to gather myself. We’ve barely seen each other for years, and yet it feels like he still knows me so well.

The rest of me, however, yearns to push back. I want to reassure him that what we have isn’t temporary—that this is more than a convenient fling or an experiment for me. But that would require taking a leap into the unknown more terrifying than any treetop zipline. Maybe Chris is right—maybe it’s best to focus on the present and handle the rest as it comes.

“Casual,” I say, ignoring the twinge the word leaves in my chest. “Right.” I take a long gulp of my latte to drown out my reservations, then try for a cheerful, carefree tone. “So, what’s the plan for today? We’re already late meeting Oshkoff, and we’ve only got a couple minutes at best before she comes looking for us. Got any more crazy ideas stored up?”

Chris’ face slowly splits into a proper grin. “Yeah. I do. I propose a break.”

“A…break?” My stomach plummets. Is he talking aboutus? I mean, I know he said he wanted to keep things casual, but it’s been less than a full day, crazy time loop shenanigans aside. Is there even anything between us yet to take a breakfrom?

He nods, seemingly oblivious to my internal freakout. “We’ve been trying so hard to escape the time loop that we’ve barely taken any time to enjoy it.”

“To…enjoy it?” I repeat slowly, feeling like my brain has short-circuited.