Another clumsy attempt to get back into publishing, this time with something I actually wrote recently (as in today, go me?). Inspired by something Heidi said.

"Paige. Can we talk?"

She turns, her lips pressed into a thin line. "About what, Walter?"

"I just…" He struggles. He's had time to think about his word choice, and yet he feels astronomically less confident than when he called after her twenty minutes earlier.

She raises an eyebrow in that way she does when she's ready to check out of a conversation, but when she speaks, her voice has taken on tone gentler than her expression would suggest. "Walter. I hope you're well. But I don't know that there's anything to talk about."

"I just feel like we left a lot unresolved and…" what he really wants to say slips out. "I miss you."

She bites her lip. "Walter, this isn't a good idea."

"Talking isn't a good idea?"

"I just think it's sometimes best to rip off the band aid. I've been in relationships that ended with the long, slow pain. I'm not in a place to do that again."

"But…"

"I'm sorry," she said, taking a step backward. "I can't."

He says, "okay." He wants to understand. He knows he needs to respect her wish for distance.

He wishes, selfishly, that she hadn't taught him well enough for him to know to stay away.

When he injures himself on a job less than two weeks later, he finds himself almost numb to the pain. Cabe bandages him up, slaps him on the back and says "tis just a flesh wound," in a bad British accent and Walter understands that the likelihood of that being a reference is high although he has no idea what it's from.

They saved the people. That's all that matters. Even though like the last time she wasn't around, it doesn't even feel like it does matter all that much.

Florence approaches that night, offers to quit if that would be what it took to make things right again. Walter tells her not to leave. It won't make things right. Paige already knows he has no interest in the chemist and it made no difference.

Cabe receives a text from Paige. Heard your job today was rather harrowing. Glad everyone is okay.

Walter sends her a text, just her name and a question mark. He doesn't need bandages. He doesn't need observation. He needs to hear her voice say exactly what she said in the text, even if she has no interest in saying a word more than that.

She doesn't respond. The following day, after checking his phone for the hundredth time, Walter pulls the bandages off. Slowly.

They meet at the same job site, the owner of the property hiring both of them to tackle different aspects of her project.

They exchange looks. The silence is loud.

They make a point of busying themselves.

"Hey," he says afterward, extending a disposable cup. "With cinnamon."

"Oh." She takes it, takes a sip. "Thank you."

"Long day today."

She nods, both hands around the cup. "Uh huh."

"Well." He clears his throat. "I'll leave you alone."

He's backing away when her voice breaks the quiet. "Wait."

He turns. He turns too fast. The coffee sloshes over the edge of his cup, burning his hand. He acts like it's nothing.

She bites her lip. "Do you still miss me?"

All the time. "Sometimes."

"I miss you. Sometimes," she clarifies immediately.

"Okay." He's not sure how to respond, not sure where this could be going.

"We're both experts at complicating things."

He nods.

She sighs. "Walter, I'm sorry for how it happened."

"But you're not sorry that it did."

"I haven't figured that out yet."

"Okay."

She looks down into her cup, perhaps studying something, perhaps seeing nothing at all. "Walter, I'm just not ready."

"For what?"

"I don't know."

"This isn't a very productive conversation, then."

She sighs. He's agitated her. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

He wants to be upset with her. But he knows her; he can tell she's hurting. "What can I do?"

She looks over to where Florence is standing with Cabe, then her eyes find his again. "Can you wait?"

"For you?" She nods. "For how long?"

"Not forever," she says quickly. "But for…" She shrugs. "Just a little while. I know," she adds, "I know that isn't right of me to ask of you. But when it comes to us…I still can't think clearly."

He knows he ought to say no. You broke up with me. But then again, he'd always expected to one day stand before her vowing to love her for better or for worse…

Where was the line that distinguished for worse and unfair?

He supposes it might be different with everyone. Which, of course, makes it all the more complicated.

"I have no interest in being with anyone right now," he says, "no matter how lovely they may seem. I would rather work through things with you than start fresh. I can't say I'll feel that way forever. But while I did lie to you, when we were together, I was telling the truth when I said you were the love of my life. And for now…" he shrugs. "I want to give you the time to figure out if you still believe it back."

Thanksgiving passed, and Walter couldn't walk into a store without being bombarded with Michael Bublé. Certain songs reminded him of her, of the one Christmas they spent together as a couple, cuddled up on his hospital bed with him harboring secrets that would eventually destroy them. He decides he hates Christmas, the fake snowflakes being sold in bags, the Santa hats, the lights that she loves so much.

But he doesn't hate her. He can't.

She just let her insecurities get the best of her. And he had let himself forget that she had them. It's both their faults. It's something they could work make sure would never happen again.

He's certain they could start to rebuild, stronger than before, off one conversation.

But they still haven't talked.

He's beginning to wonder if they ever will.

The worst part is knowing there will never be a day where they've both moved on. She's loved before him. She will love again. He didn't believe love was real until she wrapped her soul around his heart and he knows as well as he knows the Fibonacci numbers that he will never feel this way about anyone again. She didn't awaken an ability to love romantically in him.

She is that ability.

He hopes she's happy. Regardless of how that happiness comes about.

There's a knock at the garage door. He reluctantly rises from his desk and shuffles over. It's late evening, not quite late enough to be annoyed at someone arriving, but late enough that he will grumble about it. He's surprised when he opens the door.

"Hey. Walter."

"Door hasn't been locked in four years," is his response, and he cringes inwardly.

"Yeah. Well." She shifts her weight.

"Is everything okay? Ralph?"

She nods. "No one is in danger. Which I know wasn't exactly your question, but I'm not sure how to answer it on a more open ended front." She sighs. "Walter?"

"Hmmm."

She folds her arms, shivering slightly against the breeze. Walter opens the door wider and steps aside.

She enters the garage and turns to face him. "I can live without you, Walter," she says. "But I don't want to."

He opens his mouth to respond and is glad when she continues so he doesn't have to calm his brain enough to find words that make sense. "I'm ready to have that talk."

THE END

I promise I'll get back to reading and reviewing. Proooomise. I hope to find my heart in it when I do so you guys can get the attention to detail you deserve in my reviews.

A quick author note, my profile pages has new updates on works in progress so you know what to expect from me in the (hopefully near) future. Peep the page for summaries/teasers.