She’s glad that her face is pressed against his chest so he can’t see how her cheeks flush slightly, and she closes her eyes as his hand finds hers. Half the things he says make it seem as if he doesn’t want to be here, or doesn’t think he deserves to be. He never would have told her any of this if she hadn’t remembered on her own, and a part of her wants to be angry with him.

But she can’t, because she’s too grateful that he’s here at all.

“But it wasn’t the end of things,” she reminds him, keeping her face hidden because this all feels so big and unfamiliar. “Not for us.”