I shake my head, because hearing those words from him sends a splintering crack down the center of my heart. "No, I don't know what I'm saying. I just, I feel like I can get my heart broken now. Or we can try and then when it all falls apart, it'll just be that much harder for me to put myself back together again."

He steps closer, touching the tip of my chin with his fingers, urging me to look up. "But what if we try and we make it. What then? We both get everything we ever wanted."

But I don't say anything.

I don't know what to say, because I've been hurt by Ollie before in a way I never dreamed possible. And I don’t know if I can see past that, past the pain.

He drops his hand and steps back, squinting. "Do you trust me, Skye?"

"Ollie…" I trail off, looking away, self-conscious.

"It's an easy question, do you trust me?"

But it's not easy. Not really. I trust him with my life. I trust him to protect me, to keep me safe. I trust him as a friend. I trust him to want what's best for me, to care about me. I trust him in so many ways, in every way but one. But for the purposes of this conversation, there's only one way that really matters.

Do I trust him with my heart?

"No," I whisper.

For a moment, I think he doesn’t hear me and I can't say it again. But a shudder passes through his body, a pulse of utter defeat, and he sags. I can't look up from the floor as he stares at me, waiting for something more, for something else. But I don't give it to him. After a few moments of quiet, he slips past me. Each step echoes in my ears, louder than the last. But I'm stuck, immobile. The creak of the apartment door slipping open sounds as loud as lightning, but it’s the click of it shutting closed that hits my heart like thunder, booming, impenetrable, rumbling on and on without end.

And then it passes, leaving me totally and utterly empty, swept away in the winds and unsure where I've been stranded.

All I'm left with is one single thought.

One question.

Is this how Ollie felt four and a half years ago when I was the one walking away?

I can finally admit it. I'm in love with Oliver McDonough. I never stopped loving Oliver McDonough. And it terrifies me, more than I think I ever realized. But there's one thing that scares me more, one thing that sends a horrifying chill to my core. And it's the idea that I might regret this moment for the rest of my life, that I'll look back and forever wonder what if.

I'm on my knees and I'm not sure how I got here or when or how much time has passed since Ollie left the apartment. It feels like hours. But I can't imagine it's been more than a minute. And the longer I stare into the candle flames flickering around me, the more I wonder just what the hell I'm doing.

Ollie said he loves me.

And even though I didn't say it out loud, I know I love him. I've known it for a while. I never stopped loving him.

So again, I repeat, what the hell am I doing?

I stand, taking another look at the rose petals scattered along the floor, the candles delicately placed all around the room. I remember Ollie, who fell asleep on the couch waiting with blind faith for someone who might never come. And maybe it’s the romance decorating the room around me, or maybe it's the fact that I finally said all the things I'd waited so long to say, or maybe it's just the fact that I know if I don't do something now I'll never have the chance again, but I think of Ollie and I let go of the fear.

I dive off the cliff.

I free fall.

And though I just said I didn't trust him with my heart, everything changes in an instant. Because I've finally admitted the truth to myself. I'm finally being honest. Deep down, I believe in him. In us. Part of me always has, the part that never stopped hoping. The part that's always been falling, that's always been waiting and trusting that Ollie will be there to catch me.

"Ollie," I whisper.

Then I turn to the door. I scream. "Ollie!"

And then I run.

No shoes. No coat. No purse. Nothing.

There's no time to waste and my head can only think of one thing—finding him. So I race out the door, into the empty hallway, and I fly as fast as I can to the elevator.

"Ollie!" I shout again once the doors open to the lobby, but he's not here. So I rip open the front door, ignoring the cold, ignoring the ice that shoots through my stockings and into my toes as my feet fly over frozen pavement. It's snowing and it's January and I'm wearing a short sequin dress, tights, and nothing else—but I really don’t care. Frostbite be damned. I'm in love. I'm not afraid anymore. And you know what? A little cold is worth it if it means at the end of the night, Ollie might be the one to keep me warm.

"Ollie!" I yell into the vast open sky.

And then I see a figure pause at the end of the street and I know it's him.

"Ollie," I say again, softer this time, more a sigh of relief, a push to keep going.

But when I close the distance, when I'm a foot away, I stop and stare at his back, unsure of what to say. He hasn't turned around. He's waiting.

My whole body is shivering. My teeth chatter and I hug my arms around my midsection, trying to hold in a little shred of heat. So I totally blame the cold for what I say next, for the slight stall, and don't at all blame any lingering doubts or fears clogging my throat. "I broke up with Patrick tonight."

Silence.

Flurries fall in front of my face, like the tick of a clock reminding me that time is indeed still trudging forward.

"When?" Ollie asks, still not looking around, still facing the opposite direction.

"Before I came home, after the New Year's party. We went back to his apartment, and I thought something else was going to happen, but then I broke up with him instead, surprising us both I think."

"Why?" he says, even quieter this time.

I lick my lips, breathing, watching the puffs of air flutter white before my lips, before evaporating into the black night. "I wasn't in love with him."

Ollie still doesn't move.

But I can't say this to the back of his wool coat. I need to see him. I need to look him in the eyes to know he hears me. So I reach out, slipping my fingers into his, and at my touch, he finally turns around, hope a fire in his crystal eyes.

"I love you, Ollie." His fingers tighten, but that's the only move he makes. So I do the only thing I know how to do when my nerves are at an uncontrollable level—I babble. "I love you, Ollie, and I'm sorry, so sorry I didn't say it before. Because obviously I love you, I never stopped loving you, even when I hated you. And believe me, I did hate you for a while there. But, I mean, let's not focus on that. Because you, me, we have another chance now, and I really don't think we should give it up. Not over a little thing like my being insanely stupid and not telling you this five minutes ago, because I'm here now, in below zero temperatures I might add, telling you I believe in us and I trust you and I want to give us a chance. We need to. Or, I don't know, we'll both—"

"Skye?" he says.

"Yeah?" I look up from the spot my eyes have found in the center of his chest to see Ollie is grinning widely, silently laughing with his eyes.

"Stop talking."

And then he takes my cheeks in both hands and kisses me. His lips are soft, almost hesitant. This is unknown territory for us, an honest space we've never been before. And I kiss him back, just as gentle, just as slow, exploring this new sensation gathering beneath my skin. For the first time with Ollie, our kisses don’t feel desperate or urgent, they feel tantalizingly untouched by time.