It’s been two days since Nate left.

It’s been a hard two days. Especially when I noticed he had taken all of his stuff. The two drawers I allotted for him in my dresser I found empty the day after he left, and the guest bedroom closet had been cleared of all the stuff he would leave here so he didn’t have to pack a bag every time he stayed, which was more often than not.

It’s odd how just a few belongings can make things feel so final. Moving them in feels like true commitment. Moving them out makes it feel like it really is over.

It feels empty here now, something I didn’t quite expect. But then I’m reminded that no matter how I feel about Cole, it never lessened my feelings for Nate. It just made them harder to see.

I don’t regret it. Which I thought maybe I would. But so far I stand behind my decision. Nate deserves someone’s whole heart, and right now I can’t give him that. Honestly, I’m not sure I ever did. It just took Cole coming back into my life to make me realize it.

I don’t know how any of this is going to play out. Cole and I have never been anything more than friends. What if he decides we’re not good together and wants to go back to just being friends? Could I do that? Or worse—what if he decides he doesn’t want me in his life at all?

We’ve always teetered between the lines of friendship and something more, but this is the first time we’re fully crossing it. I know once we do, there’s no going back. I just hope I can handle the consequences.

I walk through the house, checking windows and making sure everything is locked up. I haven’t talked to Cole since Nate left except to tell him I needed time to think about things and that I’d be in touch.

I’m surprised he’s honored my request and not messaged me over the last couple of days. In a way, I’m grateful that he’s doing as I asked. In another way I’m scared it means he’s thinking, too. Maybe he’s changing his mind. Maybe he realizes this for the mistake it probably is.

Either way, today I’m going to find out. He asked me to come visit him this weekend. I never gave him a response though. I’m hoping by showing up out of the blue, I can better gauge his reaction to seeing me.

I called Joan this morning; she didn’t seem surprised to hear about Nate or where I had decided to go for the weekend. I hate to think I’m that transparent. Maybe I always have been.

After that, I text Corrine to ask her to check in on the house while I’m away. While I plan to only be gone the weekend, I don’t have a shoot scheduled until Wednesday so I could stay a few extra days if things go well.

God, I hope they go well.

My body has never felt so torn between nervous and excited. Well, since I was younger anyway.

Grabbing my coat from the back of the chair, I slide it over my shoulders as I look around the quiet house. Letting out a nervous breath, I throw the bag I packed over my shoulder and then grab my keys from the coffee table.

“It’s now or never,” I say out loud, pushing my way outside.

I’ve been to downtown Cleveland more times than I can count. Considering Nate lives here. Correction—used to live here. I shake away the thought and fight my instinct to turn right toward Nate’s old place and turn left instead.

Cole’s apartment building is in one of those amazing re-purposed warehouses. It stands three stories high, all brick, with the words Tribute Electric still visible along the top.

I smile to myself, it’s so him to live somewhere like this.

Parking my car in the lot behind the building, I grab my duffel bag out of the trunk and on one deep breath, I set off toward the entrance. There’s a door that faces the parking lot, but I find it locked and figure I’ll need to walk around to the front.

Sure enough, next to the front entrance is a key pad listing out what I presume is the six apartments in the building. Three floors, two apartments per floor.

I hold my hand up to #302, seconds away from pushing the button before chickening out.

Taking a small step back, I search for my cell phone, deciding I should probably call him or at least send a text. What was I thinking just showing up out of the blue like this?

“Oh god, this was such a mistake,” I say under my breath, staring at the phone now in my hand as I contemplate turning around and going back to my car.

“We’re you coming in?” A female voice pulls my attention forward and I look up to see a blonde-haired girl probably close to my age, holding the door open for me as she leaves.

“Yeah. I mean, yes. Thank you.” I quickly step inside, the sound of the door clanking shut causing me to jump slightly.

Walk, Melanie. Walk.

I let out a nervous laugh and shake my head, turning toward the first staircase I see.

What the hell is wrong with me? I think, shoving my cell phone in the back pocket of my skinny jeans as I reach the second floor landing. My hands are shaking so bad a passerby might think I suffer from some awful disease.

I can’t help it. My stomach is so knotted I’m seconds away from puking right here in the hallway. How awesome would that be?

I take it you’re picking up my sarcasm. It wouldn’t be awesome, not even a little. In fact, it would ensure I take off running and never show my face here again.

Maybe that would be a good thing.

Shut up, Melanie, and focus.

Turning the corner I locate the second staircase, identical to the first. Black steel with small holes lining each step. I instantly imagine someone trying to walk down this staircase in heels; the thought distracts me a little as I climb the last remaining stairs before reaching the third floor—Cole’s floor.

Each door is located on opposite ends of the hall. #302 is on the right at the top of the stairs, while #301 is on the other side next to a wall of what looks like office building windows; the ones you can see out of but no one can see into.

Cole’s door is black and looks to be made out of something other than wood, though, I can’t be sure what. It’s shiny and cold to the touch. Not ready to knock, I look around before finding myself staring at the black and white tiled floor which reminds me of an old fashioned diner.

I don’t know how long I stand here—bag on my shoulder, too scared to do anything, maybe even breathe—before I hear the door jolt open and his voice wash over me.

“How damn long are you going to stand out here? You’re killing me, Mel.” I look up to see Cole’s smile, and all of my doubts just melt away in that one look.

His hair is down, falling around his face in a way that makes him even more delicious, which I didn’t know was possible until this very moment. He has a pair of gym shorts on that hang loose on his hips and a vintage Raiders shirt I swear looks eerily similar to something he used to wear when we were kids.

He’s perfect, every single thing about him.

He looks at ease, comfortable in his own skin, and in some weird way it makes me feel a bit more settled, too.

Without warning, he steps forward and pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly against his chest.

“Man it feels good to see you,” he speaks into my hair.

“You knew I was here?” I state the obvious, managing to find my voice.

Relax, Mel, this is Cole. The boy you’ve known over half your life. The boy who’s seen you covered head to toe in mud digging in the creek for crawdads. The boy who knows how you snore when you have a cold, avoid eye contact when you’re lying, and how you snort when you laugh too hard. It’s just Cole.

“I saw you getting out of your car.” He releases me with a large grin on his face.

Stepping back, he gestures for me to come inside. The moment I step over the threshold I spot an entire wall of the same windows that are in the hall directly to my right. They stretch floor to ceiling and right below them is the parking lot, of course.

“When you didn’t buzz, I figured someone let you in, but then I kept waiting and waiting.” He shuts the door behind me, and I hear the lock slip into place seconds before his fingers loop under the strap of my bag, lifting it off my shoulder.

“Sorry, I was just looking around,” I say, allowing him to take my coat next.

“Were you looking around or thinking about making a run for it?” he teases, setting my bag and coat on a large, black wrap around couch that’s angled so that half faces the wall of windows and the other half faces the television mounted on the opposite wall.

“Maybe both,” I admit, feeling his eyes on me as I look around the expansive space. “This place is incredible,” I add.

And it is.

It’s wide open—the kitchen, dining room, and living room all one huge space that is only defined by the pieces of furniture that occupy it. There’s the wall of windows and then the entire connecting wall is exposed brick. The only drywall appears to be where the apartment was sectioned off from the hallway and then toward the back where I assume the bedroom and bathroom is.

The kitchen, though on the other side of the room, I can clearly see has shiny black countertops and glossy gray cabinets. The dining room has a picnic style table only it’s much larger, stained a dark walnut, and the benches don’t appear to be connected. The floor is the same dark wood and looks to cover the entire apartment.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” I continue, looking up to see the exposed beams and ducts.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I don’t just like it. This place, Cole. I love it.”

“Good because I designed it.”

“You did?” I whip around to find him standing just a few inches from me, a pleased smile on his handsome face.

“This was one of the first projects I did on my own. Of course, the building was already here so a lot of what I normally do didn’t have to be done. But I got to set the design for the interior and drew up the blueprints. Once the work started, I loved this place so much I insisted the owner lease me one of the units.”

“Well, considering you’re here, I’m guessing he liked your work,” I say, pretending not to be too impressed when I’m actually floored at the creativity this man possesses.

“I guess so,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have laid out the red carpet and welcomed you with fireworks or, at the very least, those little horn things we used to always blow on New Year’s.”

I give him a knowing look, unable to fight my smile.

“That’s precisely why you didn’t.” He speaks for me. “Yeah, you never were a red carpet kind of girl.” He shrugs.

“What kind of girl am I?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

“And here I thought you knew everything,” I smart off.

“About the girl Melanie, yes. But this version of you, I’m not so sure.” He snags his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes rake over me.

I suddenly feel naked, exposed, and while it’s a little unnerving, I love it at the same time. I love the way he looks at me without apology, like he doesn’t care that he’s very openly checking me out.

“I think you’ll find I’m still the same old, boring girl I’ve always been.”

“Same maybe but boring”—he shakes his head back and forth—“never.”

“We’ll see,” I say, registering the challenge in his eyes.

“Yes, I guess we will.” Just like that, the heaviness lifts and his easy smile falls back into place. “Bad news, though; I haven’t gone to the store in a few days and since I promised someone some of my world famous waffles,"—he winks— “I’ll need to go grab a few things this afternoon.”

“I’m disappointed,” I tease. “Here I thought I was getting red carpets and caviar. Instead, I get steel stairs and an empty pantry. Hmph.” I turn up my nose and walk toward the door.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Each word he pronounces brings his voice closer and closer until seconds before I reach the door his arms are around me, his breath hot on my cheek, his hard body pressed into my back. “Just where do you think you’re going, Helga?” He calls me a name I haven’t heard in years, my middle name and something I never tell anyone.

“You call me that again and home is where I’m going,” I tease, managing to turn myself in his arms so we are standing front to front.

“Helga. Helga. Helga,” he taunts, tightening his grip on me so this time I’m stuck where I am.

“Alright, Sampson.” We both fall silent for a split second and then burst into laughter. “Damn it, I’ve got nothing. Sampson doesn’t hold a candle Helga.” I drop my head against his chest, loving the feeling of his laughter vibrating against my cheek.

“You’re the sexiest Helga I’ve ever met,” he says, the playfulness dying away. “And I’m really glad you’re here, Mel.” He squeezes me tighter.

“Me, too.”

“It feels weird, having you here—in my real life. A good weird,” he quickly adds.

“I wasn’t part of your real life before?” I ask, pulling back to look up at his face.

“No, of course, you were. That’s not what I meant. It’s just that we spent so many years tucked away in the bubble of Irving that I didn’t realize how liberating it would feel to have you here, in an entirely new element.”

“I know what you mean,” I agree, because I do.

It’s like living under a storm cloud and then finally waking up to the sun shining down on your face. What we shared before this matters, of course, it does. I feel like here, away from it all, we have a chance to do more, be more, and like Cole said, it’s liberating.

“What do you say I give you the full tour, and then I’ll get changed and we can head out? I can show you my hooood.” He drags out the word with his best gangsta voice and then gives me a sideways smile when I look at him like he’s officially lost it.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“Not doing it for you?” He laughs, releasing his hold on me.

While I feel the loss of his touch instantly, I’m also grateful for the chance to catch my breath for a second.

“I think ‘show me around town’ would work just fine.” I laugh.

“Noted.”

There’s that damn smile again, and oh god, if it doesn’t do something unexplainable to me. By the look in his eyes he knows it, too, and that just makes the feeling even more pronounced.

“Come on.” He drops an arm over my shoulder and leads me through the apartment.

“Living room.” He points behind us.

“Obviously,” I tease.

“Dining room.” He gestures to the area with the table on our left before turning to the right. “Kitchen.”

“I love these countertops,” I say, running my hand along the island which is the only real divider between the kitchen and everything else.

“Concrete,” he says.

“Concrete?”

“Yep. I like things a little different.”

“Explains why you were always my friend.” It just slips out.

“Melanie Anderson.” He grabs my hand and spins me around before pulling me flush against my chest. “You are more than just a little different. That’s what I’ve always loved about you.” It’s a whisper on my lips and then he pulls back, a knowing smirk firmly intact.

“Back here is the bathroom.” He continues like nothing happened, leading me down a long hallway before pointing to the right. “And here”—he spins me the other direction—“is the bedroom.”

He pushes open the door and flips on the light, revealing an enormous room. Like the rest of the house it’s open to the ceiling so you can see all the ducts and beams, and there’s an exposed brick wall along the back where the bed is positioned.

The furniture pieces are bulky and yet somehow look small in a room that looks like it could easily be sectioned off into three bedrooms. As I look around the space, Cole heads to a dresser off to the side. At first I think he’s just grabbing some clothes to change elsewhere, but when I glance in his direction, he’s sliding off his shorts like he’s the only one in the room.

His shirt comes off next and while my gut reaction as his friend is to turn away, as the girl who has always pined after him, I simply can’t.

Besides, he still has boxer briefs on so it’s not any different than seeing him when we went swimming as kids every summer. I swear the boy never owned a pair of trunks.

I catch my breath when he turns, giving me a full view of just how much his body has changed over the years. The tall, skinny kid I remember is nowhere to be found, replaced by tight muscles and firm lines.

I grind my teeth together, certain that he’s fully aware of my ogling but also not able to stop myself.

He’s perfect. Every inch of him. He’s not overly muscular, that I wouldn’t like, but there isn’t an inch of his body that’s not toned and defined. I swear I think for a second I almost stop breathing. Or maybe I do because when I look at Cole, he lets out a slow exhale like he’s silently telling me to take a breath, or maybe he’s telling himself.

I quickly avert my eyes, looking anywhere but at him as heat flushes my face. If there was a mirror in front of me, I bet money my cheeks are as bright as they feel.

“You could have warned me you were getting naked,” I say, faking annoyance as I walk toward a distressed looking shelf on his wall.

“Never bothered you when we were kids.” I can hear the smile in his voice and the rustle of fabric.

“But we aren’t kids anymore, are we?” I ask, my fingers closing around a picture frame and pulling it closer to my face.

I’m so shocked by what it is I don’t know what to say. It’s us. Me and Cole. It was taken probably ten years ago. We’re sitting on the dock of the pond outside of town where we swam a lot as kids, our feet dangling in the water. Cole’s arm is around me, and there are ridiculous smiles on both of our faces. Per usual, he’s in boxers; like I said, kid never owned trunks. But that’s not what pulls my attention. It’s how happy we look. How—in love?

It’s a crazy thought. I’ve seen a million pictures of us when we were kids, but until this very moment, I never really looked at them. Maybe everyone else has got it right. Maybe we’ve always loved each other, even before we were old enough to know what that love meant.

“It’s safe to look now. I promise.” Cole chuckles when I jump, not realizing how close he’s suddenly standing to me.

Flipping my gaze to his chest, I’m both relieved and disappointed that he’s now dressed in a gray t-shirt and dark jeans; lord knows there’s no way I could form a thought otherwise if he wasn’t.

“That’s one of my favorites,” he says, looking down at the photo in my hands.

“Why do you have this?” I question. “I mean, why did you keep it? With the way you left I just thought...”

“Leaving never erased the memory of you, Mel. You were always here”—he taps the side of his head—“and here.” He rests a fist against his chest. “I was running, Melanie. I’ve been running for the past six years. But you’re in too deep, part of every single memory, etched in the very person that I am. It only took seeing you again to know what I’ve been trying to outrun for six years and never could. It was you.”

“Nate left for Chicago,” I blurt seemingly out of nowhere. “He left me,” I add more specifically, for some reason unknown feeling the need to throw that out there before things go any further.

Or maybe I just needed an escape from his confession because the way he makes me feel is scary as hell.

“Is that why you’re here?” He turns to face me head on.

“No,” I answer truthfully. “He asked me to go with him.”

“Then why didn’t you?” His voice is low, soft.

“The truth?”  I let out a slow exhale, meeting his dark gaze that is trained directly on me.

“The truth,” he repeats.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you all over again, not when you just came back into my life.”

He slides the photo from my hand and sets it back on the shelf, stepping impossibly close. So close I can feel his breath on my face.

“But you could bear the thought of losing him?” he questions, his thumb reaching out to trace my lower lip.

“Yes.” The truth is a whisper, a confession left in the wind, and then it’s gone, replaced by the feeling of Cole’s warm lips pressed against mine.