It had been four days since the Briar Street reading program.
Four days since David's ultimatum.
Melissa Vauhn hadn't touched alcohol, hadn't smoked anything, and had ignored every message from Aria inviting her to one exclusive party or another. Her head pounded constantly, and her skin crawled with anxiety, but she didn't cave.
She'd told herself it was a game, a test to prove she could win him over.
But deep down, she already knew: this wasn't for him anymore. It was for her.
Still, change wasn't romantic. It was raw, uncomfortable, and lonely.
That Thursday morning, she arrived early to her university class. Early.
Professor MacDonagh actually did a double take when she turned in her assignment on time.
"Well, miracles do happen," he murmured.
Melissa smirked. "You haven't seen anything yet."
After class, she slipped on her sunglasses and crossed the courtyard. Her fingers itched for a cigarette. Just one.
But instead, she pulled out her phone and texted the only person she wanted to talk to:
I haven't had a drink in four days. You should be impressed.
A moment later, her screen lit up:
I am. Come to Merrion Park. Now. I'm beneath the sycamore trees.
She smiled.
Fifteen minutes later, she spotted him.
David was lying on the grass with a paperback open across his chest, sunglasses on, his dark skin glowing under the afternoon sun. He looked so serene, so out of place in the chaos of her world, it made her throat tighten.
She sat beside him wordlessly.
He didn't look up right away, just turned the page lazily.
"So you're serious," he said.
"I'm miserable," she replied. "But yeah."
"That's part of the process. You have to tear down the old version of yourself before you build something better."
She laid on her back, beside him, watching the sky.
"I used to think I was happy. Or at least untouchable."
"Were you either?"
"No," she whispered. "Just numb."
A silence passed between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
Then, gently, David reached over and took her hand.
His thumb brushed her knuckles. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest.
"You're not numb now," he said.
"No," she breathed.
Their fingers stayed entwined as clouds drifted overhead and Dublin buzzed quietly around them. For the first time in years, Melissa felt stillness.
She turned to face him. "You're kind of amazing, you know?"
David smirked. "And you're kind of dangerous."
She laughed. "Why?"
"Because you make me want to stay."
Saturday night.
Melissa didn't go to any parties. She didn't answer Aria's increasingly frantic texts.
Instead, she stood in front of her mirror, heart hammering, trying on her fourth outfit for what she stubbornly refused to call a date.
David had invited her to a small jazz café near Temple Bar. "Dress casually," he'd said.
Melissa, of course, took that to mean chic.
When she finally arrived, ten minutes late (she tried to be early, truly), she found him already waiting.
The café was warm and dim, full of soft music and flickering candlelight. David wore a navy-blue shirt rolled at the sleeves, his smile calm and reassuring.
"You clean up well," she said.
"You always do," he replied.
They sipped wine—her first glass in days, and she took it slow. They talked—about books, travel, home. David told her about Nigeria, about his mother who raised four children alone, about the scholarship that brought him to Ireland.
He was open but never performative.
Every answer revealed another piece of him—until she realized how little she'd ever truly known someone.
At one point, she reached across the table, brushing his hand.
"Do you always talk like you're from another century?" she teased.
"Maybe. Or maybe I just respect silence enough to fill it with the right words."
Melissa bit her lip, leaning forward. "Can I kiss you now?" she whispered softly.
David chuckled low. "I was waiting for you to ask."
She stood and pulled him toward the door without another word.
Outside, the streetlights painted the cobblestones in golden hues. The city pulsed with life around them, but for Melissa, it all blurred.
Because when he turned to face her, everything slowed.
David reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb grazing her jaw.
"You're not the girl I first saw in that ballroom," he said softly.
"I'm not sure who I am yet," she whispered.
"Then let's find out together."
And then, finally, he kissed her.
It wasn't frantic. It wasn't sloppy. It was deep, deliberate, and devastatingly tender.
Her hands slid up his chest. His arm circled her waist, pulling her close until their bodies were flush. When they broke apart, Melissa's eyes stayed closed for a moment, like trying to hold the feeling in place.
"Wow," she murmured.
David touched his forehead to hers. "That was the easy part."
Melissa smiled.
"And the hard part?"
"Letting it mean something."