“O kay, I think I’m dying,” I groan to Delilah .

She looks over at me from her treadmill right beside mine. “You’re just as dramatic as I remember. Keep going. If you want to earn that ice cream cone, you gotta finish .”

“Damn you,” I grumble as I turn my attention forward. “You know my weaknesses .”

I can hear her chuckle but try to tune it out and focus on my workout. I joined the gym two weeks ago in an effort to reclaim my life and get it back on track. We’re working toward running a 5K next month, one Delilah guilted me into .

Well, she didn’t have to exactly twist my arm. I was ready for a new challenge to focus on. But still, I didn’t realize how out of shape I was .

The first day, I could only do ten minutes without almost collapsing. I wanted to crawl across the floor toward the exit, but somehow she persuaded me to stay and keep going. And I’m glad she did. It’s actually getting better, despite my whining .

I’m gaining more endurance, more strength. Every time I work out, I do something good for myself. And that was long, long overdue .

Taking care of me .

When we finish, we head to the changing room and shower, then change. Delilah fishes her phone out of her purse and beams. “Look, Finn sent me pics of John. He’s starting to walk!” She tilts her screen my way .

I’m so happy for her. Delilah found love with her high school sweetheart, and they have a kid, a life together. I’m happy, but it’s also bittersweet. Because it reminds me of how alone I am .

And how much I miss Bentley, as stupid as it seems. I know he never thought of me that way, but… I shake it off and focus on my friend. “You have the cutest kid in the universe,” I declare. He really is. I envy her life .

She winks. “I make pretty foxy babies, right ?”

We walk outside, and the warm sunlight hits me immediately. It would be a good day to lay out back and be lazy, one of the last days of good summer weather before the coolness of fall sets in. But I have things to do. I applied to NYU a couple of weeks ago and I’m waiting to hear a decision. I decided that just in case I wasn’t accepted, I was going to apply to other colleges as well. From Maine to California. Nothing really to hold me here in New York .

I have to be open to whatever possibilities are out there if I’m going to start a new life. Even if it feels wrong and sad .

Delilah drops me off on her way home. The mailbox flag indicates mail arrived, and I try not to be too excited as I open the door .

There’s a large white envelope .

My heart slams so hard against my ribcage that I think it’s going to burst its way out. That looks like college-related mail, maybe. I take it out first. The address is from NYU Department of Admissions .

Oh God, oh God .

It takes all my strength to bring the whole batch of mail inside. Sit down at the dining room table and flick the envelope open .

D ear Samantha ,

Welcome to New York University !

I whoop. Loudly. I’m in, I’m in! Tears flood my eyes, and I let them fall .

Footsteps pound down the stairs. “What’s going on?” Mom asks .

With a shaking hand, I show her the letter of acceptance. She scans it, then looks up at me, pride in her eyes .

“Congrats!” she says, giving me a big hug. “I knew you’d get in. You have fantastic grades. I bet you can qualify for a scholarship , too !”

The packet gives information on how to apply for financial aid. Without delay, I dart to my computer and apply. I won’t have all of my tuition covered, of course, but I can take out loans to pay for the rest .

I’m going back to college. I’m really doing this .

I quickly fire off a text to Delilah, letting her know, and the exclamation point-ridden text message she sends me makes me laugh out loud. Her excitement for me is palpable. Another message dings: WE ARE CELEBRATING TONIGHT. NO EXCUSES. CLEAR THE EVENING AND GET READY TO GET YOUR DRINK ON .

Well, when you type in all caps like that, I can’t say no ;-) , I reply. Guess I’d better dig up something to wear .

* * *

T he next couple of weeks go by in a blur. I’m busy planning what I’m going to do—looking at living options, jobs in the immediate area so I can make money while earning my degree. Mom and Dad are happy to see me active and not moping, and they offer to help however they can .

And then one day I hop onto the NYU student website and check the status of my financial aid. What I see makes me pause in shock. Surely I’m reading that wrong .

It says my tuition is paid in full. Not by scholarship. Just outright paid .

Clearly someone applied money to my account by accident. I call the registrar’s office to correct them on the issue. After briefly summarizing the information, I’m asked to hold and then transferred to the head of the department .

“Hi, Miss Bridges?” the woman says .

“Yes, this is me .”

“I understand you’ve been trying to address the status of your account, and I can assure you there’s been no mistake. I checked it over again just to make sure. Your account was paid in full yesterday. In person, actually, and with cash. I confirmed it with the clerk who took the payment .”

“But…” My head is spinning, and nervous excitement flutters in my chest at what this could mean. There’s only one person I know who could do something like that. No way would he, though …

Why would he pay for me to go to school? Unless he feels guilty about cutting off my means of income .

That fluttering sinks away. I can’t accept this payment. I’m not taking his money. I’ll pay for it on my own. I refuse to take pity money .

But when I ask about rejecting the payment, the confused woman on the other end of the phone explains that the funds are nonreversible. In order for me to reject them, I would likely need to start a lengthy legal process with the school and it would probably delay my entry by at least a semester .

I finally just thank the woman for her help and hang up .

What do I do? Delilah would tell me to take the money and run. It was the least he owed me for heartache. But it feels wrong to let him pay like that. I didn’t work long enough for to earn that amount of money .

I let the knowledge of what he did sink in. I told him early on that I was saving for college at NYU. He remembered—and he looked me up to see if I was still intending on going there. He paid my way. I don’t know if it’s an apology or what. Someone like him can afford to just hand over cash and cover my tuition for the year. It would have taken me years to save up that much extra money .

I don’t know why he did it, but I at least owe him a thank you, since there’s very little way to force him to take the money back .

My chest aches with all the pain I’ve packed down for weeks and weeks. The loss of him, the rejection, it festers right back to the surface, along with the realization that despite the way we ended up, Bentley still tried to right a wrong .

Tears pour out of my eyes, and I let myself cry. Let myself feel. I’ll write him a letter, thank him for what he’s done .

I grab a blank piece of paper. What can I possibly say? My hand is shaking as I struggle to hold a pen. I have to calm myself down. This isn’t anything more than him extending a kindness, I remind myself. I can thank him for that and not read into the gesture .

He likely felt guilty and thought this would fix things. It isn’t even about the money for me. It’s the fact that he tried something to help me. Money is the only language a guy like Bentley can speak. I can’t ever expect more than that .

I start about ten different drafts, discarding them a couple of sentences into each one. Everything I say sounds trite. Or too emotional. I need to find the perfect balance. I sniffle and wipe my eyes, trying again .

“What in the world is all that noise?” I hear my father say as he walks in the hallway and clomps down the stairs. “Jennifer, do you hear that ?”

“Of course I do,” Mom scoffs. I hear the door open, and there’s dead silence .

“Who are you ?”

“Bentley Strongwell,” comes a voice so achingly familiar that my lungs seize and I freeze in shock .

Bentley is here? At my house ?

I’m out of the room and down the stairs before I realize what I’m doing. I stop right behind my parents. My mom is shooting daggers at Bentley, and my dad has a hand on her shoulder—I don’t know if it’s in support of her anger or to hold her back from punching him in the face .

“So, you’re the one who fired my daughter and broke her heart,” Mom says coldly .

Bentley is standing there in a suit, carrying a massive bouquet of red roses. When he sees me, his eyes lock on mine, and I can see the dark smudges under them. He looks like he hasn’t slept for weeks. Despite all of that, he looks incredible and my ribcage tightens with want and sorrow at missing him .

My heart skips, and then I recall how callously he dumped me. I force myself to harden up. I’m not going to feel that kind of pity .

“I’d like to speak to your daughter,” Bentley says quietly. I can see the limo behind him, parked on the street. Neighbors are starting to come out of their houses. Stuff like this doesn’t happen in our neighborhood. The only time we see limos are for weddings or prom. And they know it’s not either happening right now .

“You don’t deserve to speak to her after what you did,” Mom says in a hot tone. “Do you know how many nights I’ve heard her crying ?”

My face burns. God. I know she’s trying to stand up for me, but it’s mortifying that she’s revealing my vulnerability to him. I push past them both and turn to face my parents. “It’ll be fine. I’m going to step outside and talk for just a moment. I’ll be right in .”

They must hear something in my voice that assuages them I’m not going to run and jump in his limo like a lovesick fool, because Mom gives me a heavy nod, and she and Dad turn and go inside .

I face Bentley, the man who has complicated my life so deeply, so strangely. “What are you doing here ?”

He hands me the bouquet. “I needed to see you .”

The fragrant flowers fill the air around me, and I can’t help but breathe in the delicate scent. These are lush, in the prime of blooming. I tear my gaze away from the roses. “Um. I…just found out about the tuition. You didn’t need to do that. I was applying for loans and scholarships .”

“Samantha.” His voice cracks, and I hear something coming through I’ve never heard before. Vulnerability. It catches in my own chest, and I find my breath lodging in my throat. Who is this person standing in front of me ?

He takes a deep breath and says the words I never expected to hear. “I love you .”

I just stay locked in place, utterly shocked. “What?” The words are rioting through my brain. He just… He said… All those emotions I wouldn’t let myself feel come screaming to the surface, and a part of me wants to tell him I love him too. Because I do. As crazy as it sounds, I fell for the man .

I fell for him, and he hurt me .

I swallow and say, “I…I don’t know how to believe you.” It’s honest .

Bentley reaches up and swipes a lock of errant hair from my face. His thumb grazes my cheek. “I missed you,” he says. “I can’t focus on anything without you. I know I fucked everything up. The tuition is just one small way to say I’m sorry. But I know it’ll take more than money to fix this situation. I want you back, and I’ll do whatever it takes .”

It’s like my body is starved for his touch. I even sway toward him, unbidden .

I am so stunned I can’t speak. Is this man really speaking these words to me? The roses are heavy in my arms, grounding me in this place. I’m here. But how can I believe what he’s saying? That he won’t just push me away again the next time he gets uncomfortable? “I’m not sure. I don’t know what to think about this.” My eyes start to burn with more tears, and I look away from the intensity in his haunted eyes. I can’t deal with this right now. Not with the chance of him damaging me beyond repair .

“I know. But I’ll show you that you can trust me.” He steps close and cups the back of my head, turning me to face him. The gesture is so painfully sweet that it steals my breath. “Samantha. I hurt you and I can’t change that. But I will make it up to you, and I will show you that I’ll take care of you. And your heart .”

“I…” I swallow. “I need some time .”

He nods and steps away, and I’m instantly aching for his presence near me again. God, I forgot how much he makes me feel. How intense our connection is. I’ve never seen him like this though—raw and real, more like the man he was the first night I met him than who he was after that .

“I’ll wait,” he says, finally. “And I’ll be here. I’m staying at a nearby hotel. I’ll be in touch .”

With that, Bentley turns and heads back into his limo, leaving me standing on my front porch, staring in disbelief. A couple of neighbors make eye contact with me and wave, then head back inside. I guess the show is over .

I shift the bundle of flowers to my other arm and go back inside. Mom already has a vase waiting for me with water. Her face is flushed .

“You heard, didn’t you,” I say .

She nods. “I was worried about you .”

I put the flowers on the coffee table and hug her. “I’m not going to rush into anything. If he wants me back, he’ll have to prove it.” It’s clear though that Bentley knows how much he screwed up. Is he serious, or will he get bored and stop trying ?

I don’t know, but I guess I’ll see .

S amantha ,

Last week on the street, I swear I saw you. A woman with hair almost the same golden-brown shade of yours walked by, and I couldn’t move for a moment. I was struck with a longing so deep for you that it rendered me immobile. When I realized it wasn’t you, the disappointment hit me anew, and I remembered why you were gone .

I remember that first night I met you, when you stood up to your boss for me and got fired trying to defend me. He was a total cocksucker. Didn’t see the value in you .

And then I went and treated you the same way. I didn’t see the value in you. How much you quietly supported me. Kept me sane during my busiest, most hectic days at work. The way you predicted my needs. Your steady, constant presence, right outside my door .

I could feel you there, you know. I could close my eyes and sit at my desk and sense you right outside, and somehow, that made everything good. Knowing you were just feet away from me .

At night, I lie in bed and crave you. I remember the curves of your body, the scent of you, your smile. The way you gave yourself to me so willingly, letting me take you the way I wanted to. Letting me own you. You offered your body and your mind and your heart .

And now I offer mine .

I know I’m messed up. There are many things we haven’t talked about. But truth is, you know me more than you think. You know how to make me laugh and smile. You know how to push my buttons—yes, I’m aware you did this on purpose. You know my goals. You know my strengths and weaknesses .

Well, weakness .

You .

I’m not the same person I was before. That person was a dick. That person protected himself at all costs. I can’t guarantee that being with me will be easy, but I can guarantee that whatever fragmented pieces are left of my heart, they are in your hands .

I love you. Endlessly .

B

I read the letter at least a dozen times, my heart bursting with so much feeling that it’s almost coming out of my chest. I never imagined that someone would be so open with me like this. And certainly not Bentley .

* * *

T he letters and flowers start coming Sunday, the day after his visit. Flowers carefully bunched to indicate meaning, explained on the inserts with the packages. Letters written by hand and delivered via carrier every morning .

Before long, seven sets of flowers sit on my desk and dresser. My bedroom looks like a floral shop. And it smells like one too. The mingling of scents sooth me each night into deep sleep .

I fold the newest letter up and put it with the other six .

True to Bentley’s word, he isn’t giving up. He’s going to keep on trying and reaching out to me. The first letter told me where he’s staying, plus his cell phone, just in case I’d deleted it from my phone—which I had, to avoid the temptation to text him when I was drunk or lonely. He asked me to text him when I’m ready to meet him for a drink. Just to talk, no pressure, only what feels comfortable for me .

Over the last seven days, Bentley has poured his heart out about me. About the things he noticed, my behaviors, the flecks of color in my eyes, the way my hands move constantly when I talk. About how no one made him feel as much lust and passion as I did. About how he misses my wit and intelligence in the office .

Words of praise .

Words of love .

Can I trust in this? I’m scared, more scared than I think I’ve ever been. Because I know if I travel down this road again, I can’t hold back. And he has the power to utterly crush me for good. I’ll never be the same if he hurts me again .

But he’s spent the last seven days sending me letter after letter, receiving no reply but still pouring his own heart out .

Telling me in every letter that he loves me, even though I haven’t said it back .

Even though each day I’m feeling it come back to life in me, more and more .

I lie back in bed and think about how I’d feel if the letters stopped. If Bentley went back to the city and left me here. And I know from the rock in my chest that it would hurt. Badly .

I think that tells me what I need to know .

He’s put himself on the line to reach out to me, without expecting anything in return. I can meet him at least partway .

I pick up my phone and send a text. Are you busy tonight? I could meet you for a drink. If you still want. I don’t know why I add that last part. Maybe because I need to hear it in real time .

The reply comes through almost immediately. I do want. There’s a decent bar here at my hotel. I’ll send the limo to get you. Seven work ?

Yes , I write back. Then I stuff my phone away before I’m tempted to say more. We need to talk face to face. I need to see his eyes again. It’s been a week, and I’m missing him more than I want to admit .

Tonight will tell what is going to happen with us .