"Of course," he said automatically. "But I can't help wondering if I triggered something, said or did something that made you feel unsafe?"
"Just ask me to move in with you," she said, trying to make her tone light. "No. Seriously, Andrew—it's not on you. It's my baggage."
He thought for a moment, deciding what to say next. "You could have asked me to help you carry it. Or unpack it. Whatever you needed." He looked over at her. "Not blaming, just saying I would have helped, if I could have."
"But that's it, really," she said, staring out over the canal. "I didn't think you could. I didn't think anyone could. So, leaving seemed like the best thing to do, before it got any worse. Before I said or did something to hurt you."
Andrew looked at her with a raised, skeptical eyebrow.
"You know what I mean." She smiled in spite of herself. "I didn't want to believe you were like him, but . . . it just felt safer to keep it to myself. I was miserable, you know. Every day since I left, I've missed you."
"Have you?" he said quietly. Wanting to believe her.
"Yes." Her answer was firm, no nonsense. "I went about my life, of course, but there were always Andrew-shaped holes in my day." Beckett looked up at him and smiled. "I almost called you a couple of times but couldn't quite do it."
"I wish you had."
She chewed on her lip for a moment. "Me, too. So, when you walked into the Dragon tonight, I felt instantly defensive, but also . . . relieved. I knew I had another chance."
Andrew tried to hold it in, but he couldn't. "Forgive me, Beckett, but . . . honestly, you were glad to see me? Do you really want to be here with me, now?”
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