As the weeks passed, Nate and Lia's relationship grew stronger, but with that growth came challenges Nate hadn't anticipated. He was no stranger to struggle—his art had been born from it—but allowing someone into his life had unearthed emotions he had buried long ago.
One late afternoon, while Lia was working on her latest design project in the corner of his studio, Nate received an unexpected email. It was from an old friend he hadn't spoken to in years: Elliot.
The email was brief, but its contents struck Nate like a punch to the gut.
Subject: We Need to Talk.
Message: I'll be in Cedarwood next week. There's something important we need to discuss.
Elliot had been part of Nate's life during a time he rarely spoke about—his early twenties, when he had been living in the city and trying to make sense of his grief after his mother's death. Elliot had been a fellow artist, charismatic and ambitious, the kind of person who could talk his way into any gallery or out of any trouble.
But their friendship had ended abruptly, fractured by a betrayal Nate still couldn't fully articulate.
The email brought all of it rushing back.
"What's wrong?" Lia's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She had noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand hovered over the keyboard.
"Nothing," he said quickly, closing the laptop.
"Nate." Her tone was soft but firm.
He hesitated, then sighed. "It's just someone from my past. Someone I haven't seen in a long time."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"I don't know yet," he admitted.
Lia studied him for a moment, then nodded. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here."
"Thanks," he said, managing a small smile.
But he wasn't ready to talk. Not yet.
The next few days were tense. Nate tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept drifting back to the email. When the day of Elliot's arrival finally came, Nate found himself pacing his studio, his hands fidgeting with a paintbrush.
Lia noticed his restlessness but didn't push him. Instead, she simply stayed close, her presence grounding him in a way he didn't fully understand.
When his phone buzzed with a text from Elliot—At the coffee shop. Let's meet—Nate felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
"I have to go," he told Lia, grabbing his coat.
"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I need to handle this on my own."
The coffee shop was bustling when Nate arrived, the hum of conversation blending with the clatter of cups. Elliot was easy to spot—tall and confident, his dark hair streaked with the faintest hint of gray.
"Nate," Elliot said, standing to greet him. His smile was as disarming as ever, but Nate could see the tension in his eyes.
"Elliot," Nate replied, sitting across from him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The years that had passed between them hung heavy in the air.
"You look good," Elliot said finally.
"So do you," Nate replied, though the words felt hollow.
Elliot leaned forward, his expression serious. "I know this is unexpected, but I need to clear the air between us. I made mistakes, Nate. Big ones. And I've regretted them every day since."
Nate's jaw tightened. "You think an apology is going to fix everything?"
"No," Elliot admitted. "But it's a start. I... I hurt you. I know that. And I didn't just hurt you—I hurt your work, your career. I was selfish, and I put my own ambitions above our friendship."
Nate's mind flashed back to the moment their friendship had fallen apart—the stolen concepts, the gallery show that should have been his. The betrayal still burned, even after all these years.
"I don't know if I can forgive you," Nate said, his voice low.
"I'm not asking you to," Elliot replied. "I'm just asking you to let me make it right."
"How?"
Elliot hesitated, then pulled out a folder from his bag. "I've been working with a gallery in the city. They're interested in showcasing your work. No strings attached. It's a chance to get the recognition you deserve."
Nate stared at the folder, his mind racing. The opportunity was tempting, but the source made it hard to trust.
That evening, Nate returned to his studio feeling more conflicted than ever. Lia was waiting for him, her concern evident.
"How did it go?" she asked.
He told her everything, his words spilling out in a torrent of frustration and uncertainty. Lia listened without interrupting, her expression thoughtful.
"What do you want to do?" she asked when he finished.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Part of me wants to take the chance, but another part of me doesn't want anything to do with him."
Lia reached for his hand, her touch gentle. "You don't have to decide right away. But whatever you choose, make sure it's for you—not because of him."
Her words settled over him like a balm. For the first time that day, he felt a sense of clarity.
"I'll think about it," he said, squeezing her hand.
"Good," she replied, smiling softly. "And remember, no matter what you decide, I've got your back."
As the night deepened, Nate found himself sketching again, the lines on the page reflecting the tangled emotions inside him. He didn't have all the answers yet, but he knew one thing for certain: with Lia by his side, he didn't have to face his past alone.