It occurred to him then that she really wasn’t going to see him. It had been too long, he’d done nothing but send one lousy postcard and a few brief emails that could never stand to capture all that he’d wanted to say. She had every right to turn him away. He raised his hand to the intercom one more time and then dropped it. He’d known it was a possibility as soon as he’d booked his ticket. It could be a trip for nothing. She could be done with him.

But it wasn’t nothing, he reminded himself. Trying wasn’t nothing. Nothing only happened if he walked away, waiting for life to happen to him, waiting for love to knock him out cold like he didn’t have to put in any effort when the right person came.

Nothing was how he’d felt when he was alone in Australia, going through the motions, missing the fullness he’d once held inside. Realizing how much he’d lost when pride and fear kept him from taking that trip to São Paulo and telling her he wanted to give them a try—not for a week while they were traveling, but for however long they could make their lives intertwine. No matter how many plane rides it took.

Blake knew the opportunities he’d had as a writer had come because he’d made them happen, pursuing what he wanted even when it seemed the whole world was telling him no. He’d had to make hard decisions and be persistent to make his dreams come true. Why did he think the rest of life, and love, would be any different? Why did he think he shouldn’t have to work for any of it?

Standing outside Julia’s apartment, though, he worried that he’d come to his senses too late. He had no right to assume she’d open her door after so much time had passed. He had no right to her heart anymore.

He took a sip of the fresh coconut water he’d gotten from one of those overpriced health food stores he’d gone to way on the other side of town. The sweetness reminded him of her lips and the way her eyes had lit up the first time she tasted coconut on the beach.

But the taste wasn’t the same. It was an imitation of the thing they’d once had, the kind of thing he knew now could never be recaptured. He was going to have to go back to his hotel, email Jamie to let him know he’d failed, and book the next flight home.

He was turning away when the noise he’d been waiting for suddenly came.

He leaped for the door, pushing it open before she could change her mind and stop buzzing him in. There wasn’t an elevator and he raced up the stairs, heart pounding in his throat. He tried to slow down but he couldn’t hold himself back.

This had to work. There was no other way.

He’d imagined this moment countless times since he’d left Rio in a rush. Long before he fully understood that he had to go to Chicago and see her he’d imagined her apartment, where she lived, what her life was like. Now he was here, standing in front of her door, and he couldn’t believe it was real. He raised his hand to knock but before it came down the door swung open, and he was face to face with Julia, her eyes wide and an almost frantic look on her face, and she was so beautiful, she was so goddamn beautiful, he didn’t so much step into her apartment as fall into her arms.

But he didn’t fall into her, not really, because she pulled away immediately, as though she’d been reaching out for him and then stopped herself short.

It hurt, but he understood.

For so long he’d been thinking about this moment and now that it was here, he almost didn’t know what to do.

“Hey,” he said gently, eyeing her up and down. She looked tired, softened, and he wanted to run his fingers through her hair, press his cheek to hers, tell her it was going to be okay.

But he couldn’t. He hadn’t earned that yet.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was quiet, flat, nothing he could read except that he knew her well enough to know what it meant when she was hiding, putting on that calm exterior, keeping everything else in check.

But no, he thought suddenly, that wasn’t quite right. The smallness in her voice was different than anything he’d heard from her before. She wasn’t pretending, acting tough and in control. She was showing her uncertainty, her fear. She was showing herself to him.

He extended the large plastic cup. “I brought you something.”

Julia eyed him uncertainly. “What is it?”

He grinned. “Taste.”

Gingerly she took the cup, looking at him like he was a wild animal who’d stepped out of his cage. Safe for the moment but ready to bite.

Still, she didn’t toss the liquid in his face and kick him down the stairs. Slowly, watching him, she brought the straw to her lips.

Realization dawned over her face as she drank. “Where did you find this?” she asked breathlessly, staring at him not with the same caution but with something else now, as though he were a creature she’d never seen before.

He couldn’t stop the smile. “It’s not the same as the real thing, but it’s as close as I could get. Better than the packaged stuff, that’s for sure.”

She took another sip. So far, so good.

But then she turned and put the cup on the kitchen counter, and when she faced him again her arms were folded, eyes narrowed with the same suspicion they’d held when he walked in.

“Blake,” she started, and he took a step forward, holding up his hand.

“Don’t say anything,” he pleaded before she could give him the piece of her mind he so deserved. “I’m here because I have to explain.”

He’d thought about it the whole flight over. But in the end there was no planning. He didn’t have the perfect thing to say, because there was no perfect thing. There was only the truth, and the force of his feelings for her. He stood in the doorway to her adorable apartment, filled with so much Julia and messier than he’d expected—books, clothes, an empty bottle of red wine—and spoke.

“I fucked up,” he said. “I fucked up as soon as I got on that plane to Santiago. No, even earlier—as soon as I walked out that door. Don’t think I didn’t realize I’d made a mistake.”

Julia sank into a kitchen chair. She didn’t invite him to sit with her so he leaned against the counter, taking her in.

He went on.

“I was afraid of what I had with you, what I felt for you. I thought that if I ran away from it I could keep going with my life as though nothing had ever happened. That way I wouldn’t lose anything. I wouldn’t have to risk being hurt.”

Julia looked away, the pain of what he’d done clearly etched on her face.

“You could have come back,” she said quietly. “You could have met me at the airport. You could have called me from Chile. You could have emailed at any point during your trip.” But even though her voice was small, she wasn’t backing down. Her eyes locked into his and held him there. “You could have done any number of things to give me some kind of sign that you cared. That the week we spent together was more than some random fling.”

A million protests came into his mind. That it wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t known what to do, she hadn’t come after him either, and anyway what did it matter—he was here now. But he pushed them aside. That was the old Blake, making excuses and running away. Instead he said simply, “I know.”

She seemed surprised by his admission. “Then why are you here?” she asked, confused.

Blake sighed. “I went out to dinner.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I went out to dinner with Jamie and his new girlfriend, Laura.”

Julia’s eyebrows shot up. “So Chris is still with Lukas?”

“Shocking, isn’t it? I haven’t been in touch with her, out of loyalty to Jamie, but she included me in an email announcing that they’re opening up that inn on the coast like they said. But that’s not the point.” He paused, considering. “Actually, I guess it sort of is. They’re happy doing what they want to do, building the life they want to have together—even if it doesn’t quite make sense to me.”