"You really seem to be doing well for yourself," I said, my voice carrying a hint of wry amusement as I gestured around the opulent office space. The early evening sunlight streamed through the massive windows, illuminating every expensive detail and making the whole place look like something out of a high-end lifestyle magazine. "Way better than what we could have been together, that's for sure."

He looked around the luxurious office, his eyes taking in the view, the expensive furniture, the trappings of success that surrounded us. But when his gaze returned to mine, there was something almost melancholy in his expression.

"I only achieved this because of Danny Anderson, my business partner," he said quietly. "He is actually the tech genius here. I was, well I am good at handling the finances and the business strategies." He paused and looked back up at me, his voice dropping. "Don't you remember, I wanted to be a firefighter."

I smiled despite the tension crackling between us, thinking of that little boy with messy blonde hair standing confidently in front of our third-grade class during career day. "You announced it to the whole class with that huge cheesy grin on your face," I said softly. "Said you wanted to be a hero someday, save people from burning buildings."

He smiled at that memory, the expression transforming his face from successful business owner to the youthful boy I'd fallen for all those years ago. He reached across the table and pulled the lid off one of the silver trays, and the rich aroma made my mouth water instantly.

Underneath was a perfectly cooked steak with roasted broccoli and garlic mashed potatoes, the presentation restaurant-quality and the smell absolutely divine.

"You still like medium-rare steak, right?" he asked, uncertainty flickering across his face.

The fact that he remembered how I liked my steak after all these years made something warm blossom in my chest. It was such a small thing, but to me it felt enormous—proof that I hadn't been completely erased from his mind, that some part of what we shared had survived all these years.

"Yes... I can't believe you can still remember how I like my steak," I replied, surprised by how touched I felt as he set the tray down in front of me and retrieved his own from under the second silver dome.

He stood up from the table and walked to the far end of the office where a built-in wine refrigerator was seamlessly integrated into the wall. He selected a bottle of red wine, along with two crystal glasses that caught the light from the setting sun.

When he returned to the table, he poured the wine with practiced precision, the deep color catching the light as it flowed. He set my glass in front of me before filling his own and settling back into his seat.

I took a sip and was amazed by how perfectly it complemented the meal—rich and smooth with complex layers of flavor that spoke of expensive vineyards and careful aging. He'd clearly put thought into every detail of this evening, from the food to the wine to the timing of the sunset streaming through those massive windows.

"This is incredible," I said, taking another bite. "Did you order it from a five star restaurant?"

He laughed, and the sound was so familiar it made my chest ache. "There's a restaurant downstairs—Angelo's—it caters to this building and the surrounding area. I would like to take you there one day," he said.

"I'd like that," my response was immediate.

"So no, I didn't cook it, though I did learn to cook working at my friend Marcus's restaurant."

As we ate, some of the tension between us began to ease. We fell into comfortable conversation about neutral topics—the building, the city, changes in the neighborhood where we'd grown up. It felt almost normal, like we were just two old friends catching up over dinner.

Patrick ate with the same focused intensity I remembered from high school cafeteria lunches, attacking his food like he was starving. It didn't take him long to polish off everything on his plate, leaving it completely clean while I was still only halfway through mine.

When he finished, he looked up at me, his green eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. The silence stretched between us, weighted with all the things we hadn't said yet, with years of separation that felt both like a lifetime and like no time at all.

"How has everything been with you, Ashleigh?" he said, changing the subject. "Besides having a douchebag of a boss." He grinned, but his face dropped when he saw my expression.

I tried to hide it but I wasn't fast enough. I knew he would want to know what I had been up to since we last saw each other, and I hadn't thought of a good enough lie, so I kept with the truth, however pathetic it was.

"It is pretty much how I'm sure you expect it to be. I went to college hoping to become Chief Marketing Officer somewhere that mattered," I said, the bitterness creeping into my voice. "But instead I have been working for three long years under Mr. Martin, who picks and chooses who advances by how good of a blow job they give him."

Patrick's face darkened at this, but he remained quiet.

"I have never been married, I never had kids, and I still live with my roommate in my uncle's old house, because without her, I wouldn't make ends meet." Once I started, I couldn't keep the words from spilling out, each one making me feel less and less. "I drive the same old car I had from college, I eat cereal for dinner more often than I care to admit, and until this week, the most exciting thing in my life was when Sandy and I splurged on premium cable. So I guess you can say, I’m living the dream." I finished with sarcasm.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "My life hasn't exactly been sunshine and rainbows either," he said, his voice getting quieter, more vulnerable. "About five years ago, I married this woman who I thought could… I don't know, fill the hole you left behind."

The admission hit me hard. He'd gotten married. Of course he had—successful, gorgeous men like Patrick didn't stay single for long.

"She had darker hair than yours, brown instead of blonde, and green eyes instead of your blue ones," he continued. "She was smart and funny, and I was crazy about her at first. I thought maybe I could learn to love someone else the way I'd loved you."

He ran a hand through his hair. "But she was also ruthless as hell. The second Cypher Tech started making real money, she became obsessed with climbing the social ladder. Our whole life turned into this endless parade of charity galas and networking events. She loved that shit, thrived on it. I felt like I was performing in a play I never auditioned for."

He paused. "Then one day I came home early from a business trip and found my best friend, Caleb, in my bed with my wife."

My blood turned to ice at the mention of that name. "Caleb?" I said, the word leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "Caleb Morrison?"

"Yeah," Patrick said grimly. "I didn't say a word to either of them. Just turned around and walked away from the whole damn mess. Filed for divorce the next week."

God, I remembered Caleb Morrison. I remembered him all too well. He'd always been a snake, even back in high school—the kind of guy who looked charming on the surface but was rotten underneath. He'd been dragging Patrick down for years, and I'd watched helplessly as their friendship slowly poisoned everything good in Patrick's life.

While Patrick was killing it on the football field, with college scouts showing up specifically to watch him play, Caleb was the one who got him into drugs. What started as weekend partying after games became a serious problem fast. Patrick's reflexes slowed, his focus suffered, and eventually the coaches kicked him off the team. Just like that, his full-ride scholarship to State vanished.

I'd watched it all happen, helpless to stop it. Patrick had to fight his way into college after that, working two jobs—fixing cars during the day and washing dishes at night. Every dollar went toward tuition, and it still wasn't enough. And where was Caleb? Long gone, moved on to his next victim.

The fact that he'd slithered back into Patrick's life only to betray him again made me want to find the bastard and push him off a cliff.

"I remember Caleb," I told him, reaching across the table to place my hand over his.

"Yeah, well, let's hope he doesn't remember you," Patrick said, protectiveness edging his voice. "Though knowing Caleb, he probably does. He always was good at remembering people he could use."

He was quiet for a moment, just looking at me. Then a familiar wicked gleam crept back into his expression.

"Listen, Ashleigh, I'm going to move forward with this deal with Nexus Creative Group," he said. "But first, I have to ask you something."

I nodded, waiting and trying to ignore my racing pulse.

He took a breath, choosing his words carefully. "Are you… involved with Jason Martin? Romantically, I mean?"

The question caught me completely off guard, and I nearly choked on the sip of wine I'd just taken. "What? No!" I said, probably louder than necessary. "God, no. Patrick, he's my boss, and he's a complete creep. Last night was the first time he'd ever…" I trailed off, not wanting to relive those moments of his hands on me, his threats whispered in my ear.

Relief flooded Patrick's features so obviously that I might have laughed under different circumstances. His shoulders relaxed, and some of the tension I hadn't even noticed he was carrying seemed to drain away.

"Good," he said simply, like that one word contained volumes of meaning. "Because what I'm about to ask you is going to sound completely insane."

He took a deep breath, and when he looked at me again, there was something raw and vulnerable in his expression that made my heart skip. This was the Patrick I remembered—the boy who'd worn his heart on his sleeve, who'd never been afraid to put himself out there even when it meant risking everything.

"I can't let you go again," he said, his voice so earnest it made my chest ache. "I know you're not mine to claim, I know we've both changed, I know this is moving way too fast. But seeing you here now, talking to you tonight… I just know that our paths crossed again for a reason."

He leaned forward, his intensity pinning me in place. "What do you say about moving too fast, falling in love, and maybe planning a perfect life together? I'll always regret letting you walk away from me, for not fighting harder, for not making you stay. I know your uncle passing away destroyed you, but you didn't have to let it end what we built together."

The words hung in the air between us, beautiful and terrifying and absolutely crazy. He was right—this was moving too fast, this was insane, this was the kind of impulsive decision that could ruin everything.

But every cell in my body was screaming Yes! Yes! Yes!

And underneath that desperate wanting was something darker, colder—the memory of Uncle Gordon's funeral, of standing in the rain while they lowered his casket into the ground, of realizing that loving someone meant giving them the power to destroy you just by leaving.

I'd survived losing Uncle Gordon by cutting myself off, by walking away from Patrick before I could lose him too. I'd built walls so high that nothing could hurt me anymore, and in doing so, I'd locked myself in a prison of my own making.

And now here he was, asking me to do the exact thing that terrified me most: to let myself need someone again.

What if I lost him? The thought whispered through my mind like poison. What if I opened my heart and then—

But looking at him now, at those green eyes that had haunted me for ten years, I realized the truth I'd been running from all this time: I'd never actually stopped needing him. I'd just pretended I didn't. I'd buried it under work and wine and late nights watching TV with Sandy, but the need had always been there, a constant ache I'd learned to ignore.

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the way the sunset was painting everything in golden light, or maybe I was just tired of being afraid. Tired of living half a life because I was too scared to risk everything for the chance at a whole one.

I was going to lose him eventually anyway—that's what life was. People left. People died. Uncle Gordon had taught me that lesson in the cruelest way possible. But at least this time, I'd have chosen to love him anyway. At least this time, I'd have the memories of choosing joy instead of fear.

At least this time, I wouldn't spend the rest of my life wondering what if.

I nodded before I could think better of it, before logic could talk me out of it, before the fear could win again.

My entire world had narrowed down to just him. He was the fire that had been smoldering inside me for years, the one I'd tried so hard to extinguish but never could. He was the breath I'd been holding since the day I walked away, and now I could finally exhale.

For the first time in I don't know how long, everything felt like it was falling into place. All the broken pieces of myself that I'd been carrying around, trying to figure out how to put back together, suddenly made sense. Like he was the missing piece I'd been looking for all along.

And in that strange, exhilarating, perhaps terrifying realization, I felt completely and unequivocally… whole.

I nodded my head, too scared to open my mouth and say the words that were eating away at me. 

He practically launched himself across the table before I'd even finished nodding, moving so fast I barely had time to register what was happening.

For one heartbeat, I froze—old instincts screaming at me to pull back, to protect myself, to run before this could hurt me. The walls I'd built whispered their warnings: Don't do this. You know how this ends. You know what it feels like to lose everything.

Then I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, choosing him, choosing this, choosing to feel everything even if it meant risking everything.

In one smooth motion, he pulled me up into his arms, and before I could even catch my breath, his lips were on mine.

The world fell away. There was only me and Patrick and all the years of wanting and missing and regretting that had been building between us.

He kissed me like he was trying to make up for every day we'd lost, every moment we'd wasted apart. His hand tangled in my hair the way it used to, and suddenly I was eighteen again, standing under that oak tree, except this time I wasn't going to walk away. I could taste the wine on his lips, feel the solid warmth of him, real and here and mine again.

When he finally pulled away, I was breathless and already starving for more. I'd forgotten how perfectly we fit together, how his kiss could make everything else disappear. My hand trailed from his neck down his chest, feeling the solid muscle underneath his starched shirt.

"I've missed you," he whispered against my forehead, his arms still wrapped around me like he was afraid I might vanish if he let go. "God, Ashleigh, I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too," I whispered back, and the admission felt like a weight lifting off my chest. "More than you know."

We spent the next few hours just talking, trying to fill in all the years we'd lost. He told me about what happened after high school, how his firefighter dreams got crushed when he blew out his knee during training. Turns out carrying heavy hoses and equipment up flights of stairs wasn't compatible with a busted knee that never quite healed from his football injury.

After that, he went through a dark period—drinking too much, drifting between dead-end jobs. Then he got work cooking at a little restaurant his friend Marcus was trying to get off the ground. He was good at it, good enough that Marcus offered to make him a partner.

That's where he met Danny, a quiet guy who came in regularly and started talking tech ideas over late-night meals. Next thing he knew, they were starting Cypher Tech in a shed at Danny's parents' house with nothing but a laptop, a dream, and too many energy drinks. Somehow, it worked out.

He also told me about Douglas, his little terrier mix, and how having him around helped during the rough times after his divorce. "He's probably wondering where I am right now," Patrick said with a smile. "He's used to me being home by seven."

When it came to my story, he already knew the hardest part. He'd been there when Uncle Gordon died, had seen how completely it had shattered me. Uncle Gordon had always been like a father figure to me—more of a parent than my dad when work got to be too much.

But what Patrick didn't know was that Uncle Gordon had left me his house in his will, but only if I graduated college with a degree. It was his final way of making sure I stayed on track even after he was gone, his last gift wrapped in a challenge that forced me to build a life for myself.

"That's why you pushed me away," Patrick said quietly. "You were afraid of getting distracted from school."

I shook my head, feeling that familiar weight settling in my chest. "It wasn't about school. It was about survival and loss."

How could I explain something I'd barely understood myself back then? The grief had been so overwhelming, so all-consuming, that I'd felt like I was drowning in it.

"Uncle Gordon wasn't just my uncle," I started, my voice rougher than I'd intended. "He was everything to me. When my parents were too busy with their own drama—their fights, their divorce, their new relationships—he was the one who showed up. Taught me to drive, helped with homework, came to every school play."

Patrick listened quietly, his presence steady.

"When he died, it wasn't just losing someone I loved. My whole world collapsed. I couldn't think straight, couldn't function. I knew if I couldn't save myself, I'd just drag you down with me."

"But I wanted to help you through it," Patrick said softly, the same thing he'd told me years ago when I'd tried to explain why we couldn't be together anymore.

"I know you did. But I had to do it alone. I had to prove to myself that I could survive losing the most important person in my life without falling apart completely." I swallowed hard, the raw pain of those months still fresh somehow. "And pushing you away… it was the hardest thing I'd ever done, but I thought if I could survive losing you too, then I could survive anything."

"Did it work?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I met his gaze and held it, feeling the truth of my answer settle into place. "I'm here, aren't I?"

We talked long after the city lights began to twinkle like diamonds below us, and the building felt like our own private oasis suspended between heaven and earth. Patrick told me more about building Cypher Tech, about the long nights and early mornings, about the moment they got their first major client and realized they might actually make it.

I told him about college, about the loneliness I'd felt even surrounded by thousands of other students, about how I'd throw myself into my studies to avoid thinking about what I'd given up. About how every class I took reminded me of our plan to start a life together, where I would own my own advertising agency and he would work his way up to fire chief.

"I used to wonder what you were doing," I admitted as we sat closer together now, his arm around my shoulders while we watched the city breathe below us. "Especially on your birthday, or when something funny happened that I knew you'd find hilarious. I'd start to call you so many times…"

"Why didn't you?" he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"Because I was afraid you'd moved on. That you'd found someone who hadn't broken your heart and walked away." I tilted my head to look at him. "I was afraid you'd be happy without me. Then you did get married, and you started a life."

"I was never happy without you," he said simply. "I tried to be. God knows I tried. But there was always this… emptiness. Like I was going through the motions of living instead of actually living."

A comfortable silence settled between us then, the kind that only comes when two people understand each other completely.

Eventually, though, the night had to end. The cleaning crew would be arriving soon, and as much as I wanted to stay in this bubble we'd created, reality was waiting outside those floor-to-ceiling windows.

Patrick walked me down to the parking garage, his hand wrapped around mine like he was afraid I might walk away again if he let go. The concrete space felt cold and harsh after the warmth of his office, a reminder that we'd have to figure out how to make this work in the real world.

When we reached my car, he tugged me around to face him. He was smiling—not his usual cocky grin or that secret smirk, but something real and genuine.

"I can't wait to see where this goes," he said, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek.

"Me too," I replied, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him softly.

But Patrick wasn't having any of that gentle goodbye nonsense. His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me flush against him as he deepened the kiss until I was completely lost in him again. When he finally stepped back, I was breathless and dizzy and wondering how I was supposed to drive home when my brain had turned to mush.

He opened my car door like the gentleman his mother had raised him to be, but not before stealing one more quick kiss.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he promised, and I could hear the certainty in his voice. "We need to talk about the campaign, figure out next steps."

"Is that what we're calling it?" I asked with a smile. "The campaign?"

His answering grin was pure mischief. "Among other things."

I sat in my car, watching him walk over to his motorcycle. The engine roared to life, echoing through the empty garage, and for just a second, something cold touched my spine—an irrational fear that this was the last time I'd see him.

I shook it off. Just old fears resurfacing. Patrick was here, he was real, and I wasn't going to let anxiety ruin this.

As I drove home through the quiet streets, my mind kept replaying every moment. The way he'd looked at me across that conference table, the taste of that perfect wine, the feel of his arms around me, the promises we'd made without really making any promises at all.

My phone buzzed with a text as I pulled into my driveway. My heart skipped when I saw Patrick's name on the screen.

Patrick: Thanks for tonight.  Sweet dreams, Ashleigh.

I sat in my car for a moment, staring at the message. Such a simple message but one that made my heart feel like it was going to beat out of my chest. 

I'd been so afraid of this for so long. And now, finally letting myself want it, it felt like standing on the edge of something beautiful and terrifying all at once.

Sandy was going to lose her mind when I told her everything tomorrow. But just for tonight, I was going to let myself be happy.

Before I exited my car, I texted him a quick message.

Me:  Tonight was… perfect. Can't wait to see you again.

I was still smiling when I finally made it to my bedroom, and I fell asleep with my phone clutched in my hand, Patrick's message still glowing on the screen like a promise.