She gave me that look. The one that said she was the adult, and I was the clueless teenager.
“Mom, come on!”
I didn’t know how to process that realization, or even whether I wanted to act on it at all. Peter had been gone for four years, and part of me still felt disloyal simply for letting my thoughts drift toward someone else.
Dan never pressured me. He never asked for anything I wasn’t ready to offer. And maybe that was what made it feel acceptable—less like a betrayal, and more like life gently moving forward.
When he finally shared his feelings, we were sitting on my porch as the sun dipped below the horizon. He’d brought takeout, and I’d opened a bottle of wine.
“I need to tell you something,” he said, not looking at me. “And you can tell me to leave and never come back if you want. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”
My heart started racing. “Dan…”
“I’m in love with you, Isabel.” He said it quietly, like he was confessing to a crime. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time. And I know it’s wrong. I know Pete was my best friend. But I can’t help it.”