ZOE'S POV
I checked my phone for the hundredth time. Twenty minutes late. Twenty minutes of sitting alone at this corner table, stirring my water with a straw and trying not to look as pathetic as I felt.
The waitress had already come by three times to ask if I was ready to order. Each time I'd smiled and said, "Just a few more minutes. I'm waiting for someone."
But Leo wasn't coming. I'd been foolish to think he would.
The text I'd sent him yesterday had been simple: "Can we meet for dinner? Luigi's on 42nd Street, 7 PM. I need to talk to you."
He'd never replied. Not a yes, not a no, not even a simple acknowledgment that he'd received the message. But something inside me had hoped—no, believed—that he would show up anyway.
I looked around the small Italian restaurant, taking in the checkered tablecloths and the soft lighting from the candles on each table. I'd chosen this place because it was quiet, private, somewhere we could talk without being overheard by students or faculty.
Now it just felt like the perfect setting for my humiliation.
"Miss, are you sure you don't want to order an appetizer while you wait?" the waitress asked, approaching my table again.
"Actually," I said, reaching for my purse, "I think I should probably—"
The door chimed, and I looked up to see Leo walking into the restaurant. He was scanning the room, looking uncertain, his hair slightly disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it.
My heart jumped into my throat.
I raised my hand and waved at him, probably too enthusiastically. His eyes found mine across the room, and for a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he walked over to my table, his expression unreadable.
"Hi," he said, pulling out the chair across from me.
"Hi," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "I wasn't sure you were coming."
"I wasn't sure I should come."
"But you did."
"But I did."
He sat down and immediately picked up the menu, using it as a barrier between us. I watched him pretend to read it, his jaw tight with tension.
"Have you been waiting long?" he asked without looking up.
"Not too long."
"I'm sorry. I had to finish some grading, and then I couldn't decide if this was a good idea."
"Is it? A good idea?"
He finally looked at me over the top of his menu. "I don't know."
The waitress appeared again, clearly relieved that my dinner companion had finally arrived. "Can I start you folks off with some drinks?"
"Wine," I said quickly. "Red wine. Whatever you recommend."
"Just water for me," Leo said.
"Oh, come on," I said. "Have a glass of wine. You look like you need it."
"I need to keep a clear head."
"One glass won't hurt."
He sighed. "Fine. One glass."
The waitress left, and we were alone again. Leo had put down his menu, but he was looking everywhere except at me.
"The pasta special sounds good," he said.
"Leo."
"Or maybe the chicken. Do you like chicken?"
"Leo, look at me."
He met my eyes reluctantly, and I could see the conflict there. The same battle between professional distance and personal feelings that had been going on for months.
"Thank you for coming," I said. "I know this is complicated."
"Complicated is one word for it."
Our wine arrived, and Leo took a large sip immediately. I noticed his hand was shaking slightly as he set the glass down.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"No. I'm not okay. I'm sitting in a restaurant with my student, drinking wine and trying to figure out how we got to this point."
"I know how we got to this point. We fell for each other."
"Zoe—"
"It's true. You can keep pretending it's not, but it is."
We ordered our food—pasta for me, chicken for him—and then sat in the most awkward silence of my life. The other diners around us were laughing and talking, enjoying their meals, completely unaware of the tension at our table.
"I'm sorry," I said finally, unable to stand it anymore.
"For what?"
"For making that declaration to the committee. For putting you in an impossible position. For everything."
Leo shook his head. "It's not your fault, Zoe. None of this is your fault."
"Isn't it? I'm the one who kissed you first, that night when I was drunk. I'm the one who started all of this."
"You were drunk and emotional. I should have stopped it."
"But you didn't want to stop it, did you?"
He took another sip of wine and didn't answer.
"Leo, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."
"Okay."
"Do you regret it? The kiss on the beach?"
He was quiet for a long moment, staring down at his hands. "Yes and no."
"What does that mean?"
"I regret that it happened the way it did. I regret that it was captured on video. I regret that it put both our careers at risk."
"But?"
"But I don't regret the feeling behind it."
My heart started beating faster. "What feeling?"
He was silent, but this silence felt different. Like we were both working up the courage to say things that needed to be said.
I pushed my pasta around on my plate, too nervous to eat. Leo was doing the same with his chicken, cutting it into small pieces but not actually taking any bites.
He set down his fork and looked directly at me. "Zoe, I need to apologize to you."
Before he could continue, I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. The contact sent electricity shooting up my arm, and I saw him feel it too.
"Don't apologize for that," I said firmly. "Don't you dare apologize for the best moment of my life."
He stared down at our joined hands, his thumb unconsciously tracing over my knuckles.
"Leo, I have something I need to say to you."
I took a deep breath, preparing to lay everything on the line. To tell him exactly how I felt, what I wanted, what I was hoping for.
"I have something to say to you too," he interrupted.
"You do?"
"Yes. And I think I should go first."
"Okay. Go ahead."
He looked up at me, and for the first time all evening, his expression was completely open, vulnerable, and real.
"I like you, Zoe," he said quietly. "I like you so much it terrifies me."
And I clamped my hands over my mouth with tears streaming down my eyes.