The night did not change its mind because Sarah changed hers. Traffic stitched its steady thread. A skateboard rattled over a cracked seam in the sidewalk like laughter trying to be brave. Inside the restaurant, the honey glow swallowed what remained of the scene. Out here, under the municipal halo of a streetlamp, Sarah's words hung vivid and simple: We can call it off.
“Sarah—" Owen's hand caught her wrist.
The grip wasn't painful. It was worse than that: familiar. It carried the quiet entitlement of years in which he had tugged her back from doors with a soft laugh and an invitation to be reasonable. It carried the assumption that her no was a negotiation, not a conclusion.
“Let go," she said.
“Not until you listen." His jaw worked, smoothing panic into something that would photogra
