Twenty One Years Too Late to Love Me

On the twenty-first year of knowing Bennett Cole, he finally let his guard down over a glass of bourbon.

"Wren," he murmured, his breath warm against my neck, his head resting heavily against my shoulder in that practiced, half-drunken haze of his. "If we’re both still single at thirty... let’s just settle down together. What do you say?"

If this had happened two years ago, I would have thrown my arms around him, my heart hammering against my ribs, desperate to seal the promise before he sobered up.