He set the spatula down and wiped his hands on the kitchen towel, his eyes softening just a little, but his posture never faltering.
“I heard you,” he said evenly, not at all defensive.
“I know I messed up. I know you’re upset. I’m not here to pretend like I can fix everything with pancakes or flowers or any other grand gesture.” He paused, looking at me, his expression almost too calm for my liking.
“But I’m not giving up on us, Nora. I can accept that things have changed. I can accept starting as friends if that’s what you need, but I’m not going to just walk away.”
My breath caught, and I took a step back, trying to process what he was saying. Friends? After everything he’d done? After the betrayal, the lies, the heartbreak—he was asking me to pretend like none of it had ever hap
