Jace had never been this restless in his life. It was the kind of restlessness that came from anticipation.It lived under his skin, buzzing, refusing to let him breathe properly. His apartment was spotless; he'd cleaned it twice that morning just to have something to do with his hands.
Every few minutes, his mind drifted to Amy. The way she laughed with her whole face. The way she folded her arms when she was trying not to let him see she was worried. The way she used to look at him like she could see right through his walls and still… stay.
He'd replayed their last conversation a hundred times. The word "break" still tasted bitter in his mouth. But Rebecca had been right.....if he wanted any chance of winning Amy back, it had to be more than flowers or apologies. It had to be something that showed her exactly what she meant to him. Something worth her risking her heart again.
And he'd spent days planning, pulling every string, making sure the timing was perfect. It felt like walking on a thin plank and one wrong step would make her slip further away. He hated how fragile it all felt, how little control he actually had over the outcome.
What if she didn't come?
What if she came but didn't care?
What if this....this huge, carefully arranged gesture wasn't what she needed at all?
The thought made his chest tighten. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the clock again. It was already 11:45am, Sophie should have called by now to let him know whether she was able to convince Amy to come. He paced around his room, his mind roaming.
He hoped she would see herself the way he saw her...somebody worth capturing, worth keeping and worth fighting for.
Because today… today was his last shot to make her believe that.
The afternoon slid by with a strange, unsteady rhythm. Every hour seemed both too fast and unbearably slow. Jace had gone over the space three times already, adjusting small things that didn't even need fixing until he finally felt satisfied and sat on the edge of the bench in the middle of the room.
For a moment, he just let the silence press in around him. The walls were lined with pieces he'd chosen carefully.....they were not just his best work, but the work that told a story. Her story. Their story. Not in obvious ways, not in glaring declarations, but in small threads woven through the photographs; the corner of a smile caught between motion and stillness, a laughter that could break down even the most hard hearted and they were all his of her.
He'd even printed the photograph he'd never shown anyone, the one he'd taken of her the first time she came into his studio. She hadn't known he'd clicked the shutter. She'd just been standing there, head tilted, eyes drinking in the art like she was learning a new language. She looked… alive. Free. And in that moment, he'd thought: If I could capture this one thing forever, I would never need another frame.
The thought of her walking through those doors today made his pulse race. He wanted her to see that she was not just beautiful, but luminous. The kind of person who breathed light into every corner of a room without even knowing it.
As the day stretched, anticipation twisted tighter. He thought of Amy and Ethan at Sophie's party, of her laughter not belonging to him for those days they'd been apart, and it made his throat ache. He wasn't jealous, not really. He was scared....scared she'd find peace with someone else because he had ruined the one place she might have found it with him.
He tried to breathe. Tonight wasn't about fear. Tonight was about love. About her. About every unspoken thing that could no longer be left in silence.
By late afternoon, as the sky outside shifted to a softer gold, Jace finally let himself hope. Hope that she would walk through those gallery doors. Hope that when she saw herself...her life, her beauty, her being through his eyes, she might understand that she was all he ever wanted, all he would ever want.
Hope, fragile as glass, but still there.
Meanwhile, across town, Amy stood in front of her bedroom mirror, the dress Sophie had tossed onto her lap now hanging over her shoulders like it belonged to somebody else.
She had bought it last summer and wore it just once to an event and since then left it forgotten in her closet. But all Amy could think was, This is too much.....just for standing in.
She smoothed her palms down the sides, watching the way the dress pooled just above her knees. The mirror reflected someone she barely recognized; poised, elegant, like she was on her way to a charity gala. Not someone standing in for her best friend at a supposedly "simple little gallery thing."
"This is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath.
Sophie's voice echoed in her head like a command,'Represent me well".
Amy loved her, but she wasn't Sophie. She wasn't the girl who could walk into a room and instantly own it with a laugh, a sharp comment, and heels that made her look like she'd been carved for the runway. Amy was quieter, softer, the type of person who lingered at the edges of the room rather than the center. And tonight, she just needed to stand in, not sparkle.
She tugged at the neckline once more, then groaned.
Nope. She couldn't do it.
Pulling the zipper down, she wriggled out of the dress, carefully hanging it over the back of a chair. For a moment she stood there in her undies chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes darting around the closet for something....anything.....that felt simple..... more like her.
Her gaze landed on a crisp white button-up shirt she hadn't worn in a while. Clean, simple, timeless. She paired it with her favorite light-wash jeans and slid her feet into a white converse.. No sparkle. No fuss. Just her.
She turned back to the mirror.
This, she could breathe in.
She rolled the sleeves of the shirt up to her elbows, tucked the hem loosely into the waistband, and smoothed her hair into a simple, low ponytail. A little mascara, no fuss though at the last second she dabbed a touch of lip balm on, just enough to keep her lips from looking as tired as she felt.
Amy studied her reflection one last time. She didn't look like she owned the place the way Sophie demanded. She looked like someone who could blend in, someone approachable, someone who could wander into a gallery on a quiet evening and not draw too many eyes.
"Better," she whispered to herself, though a tiny pang of guilt nudged at her chest. Sophie would be scandalized if she saw this downgrade.
But Sophie wasn't here. And Amy wasn't about to spend the evening pretending to be someone she wasn't.
She grabbed her small crossbody bag, tucked the book Ethan had given her inside just in case she needed a distraction, and slipped out the door.
She had no idea that with every step she took closer to that white brick building on Lark Street, she wasn't just walking into a favor for her best friend. She was walking into the moment her world might tilt back into focus or not.
.....
The evening air had cooled by the time the Uber reached Lark Street. The white brick building was very conspicuous with it's tall windows. She stepped down and watched as the Uber drove away.
The white brick building was exactly the way Sophie had described. It stood a little apart from the row of shops. For something Sophie had called a "little gallery thing," it looked… substantial...like a big deal.
She adjusted her crossbody strap, suddenly very aware of her jeans and rolled-up sleeves. People inside moved between canvases and photographs, glasses of wine in hand, dressed in sleek black and tailored jackets. She tugged at the hem of her shirt, half wishing she'd endured Sophie's choice of dress after all.
"It doesn't matter", she reminded herself. "I'm just standing in. Smile politely, blend in, leave early."
Inside, the air smelled faintly of varnish and fresh paint, mingled with the tang of wine. Soft jazz threaded through the space, elegant but unpretentious. The gallery wasn't overly crowded, but enough people were scattered about to give it life,small groups leaning close to whisper about the work, a couple gesturing animatedly toward a frame.
It looked… charming, she admitted. Not at all intimidating. She adjusted her crossbody bag against her hip, glancing down at her jeans and button-up shirt with a small pang of guilt.
She paused at the door, peering through the glass. The inside glowed with soft lighting, golden against pale walls. A handful of people milled about more than she expected for a "small thing." She hesitated, biting her lip. This didn't look like a casual stand-in situation. It looked… curated. Intentional.
Still, Sophie had asked, and Amy never could say no to her best friend. She pushed the door open.
The first thing she did was absentmindedly look for who to report to and tell that she was standing in for Sophie but then it hit her.The photographs. Black frames lined the walls, each image lit gently and graciously holding memories. Amy blinked, her steps faltering. For a moment she thought she was imagining things.
Because she knew those photos.
Not the gallery itself, but the subjects.
Her.
She almost choked as her eyes darted from one frame to the next. There she was, laughing in the bookstore, her head thrown back. There she was sitting at the café table with a mug between her hands, eyes focused on something out of frame. There she was leaning against a railing, hair messy from the wind, unposed, unaware. There she was curled up in bed at Jace's house reading. There she was at the bookstore reading to the kids. She was everywhere.
Her chest tightened. These weren't just pictures. They were moments. Pieces of her life she hadn't realized someone had held onto.
The room seemed to blur at the edges as she walked further in, her gaze moving from frame to frame like she was following a trail only she could read. Every step was heavier, her heart pounding against her ribs.
Her throat burned. What was this? A declaration? A confession? A plea? She didn't know, but each image pressed deeper into her until she felt exposed in a way she couldn't disguise.
And then she froze.
At the far end of the gallery, standing beneath the largest photograph,the one of her in his studio, the picture she'd never even known he'd taken was Jace. She didn't remember the day but he cared enough to remember it and keep it.
He wasn't looking at anyone else. He was only looking at her.
Amy's breath caught. The sound of the room faded until all she could hear was her own heartbeat, loud and insistent in her ears.
She hadn't been prepared for this. She thought she was coming to cover for Sophie. She thought she'd have time to keep her walls up. But here he was, standing in a room filled with pieces of her, waiting like every second since their break had led to this.
And for the first time in weeks, Amy couldn't run from what she felt.
Jace had thought of this moment more than a thousand times.
How she might walk in. How her eyes would move from frame to frame. How her lips might part when she realized it was all her.
But imagining it had done nothing to prepare him for reality.
Amy stood like she was holding her breath. Then she stepped further in, and Jace felt something loosen and constrict inside him all at once. She was really here. Sophie had done it. And Amy hadn't bolted. Atleast not yet.
He wanted to run to her, to tell her everything at once,that he was sorry, that he loved her, that he couldn't exist in a world where her laughter didn't belong to him. But the words felt clumsy, insufficient. That's why he'd built this. A room full of truth without a single word.
Still, when her gaze finally landed on him, he nearly broke.
Her eyes shimmered, unreadable, fragile, and he thought: Please. Just stay. Don't walk away.
The silence between them stretched, heavy but alive. She stopped a few feet away, her pulse racing. Her mouth opened, then closed, the words slipping like water through her fingers. What could she possibly say in the face of this?
"Jace…" Her voice cracked on his name.
Her voice undid him. He swallowed hard, pushing past the lump in his throat.
"I didn't know how else to tell you," he said softly. "How much you mean to me. How much you've always meant to me. Words didn't feel enough. So I showed you… this. You".
He gestured faintly to the walls, his hand trembling.
"I know I messed up. I know I made you doubt what we had. But Amy....." his voice broke, and he forced himself steady as he took a step forward. "You're not just someone I love. You're someone I see. I need you to know that you mean alot to me more than you think.... I'd never do anything to hurt you and you know that"
Her chest ached. Her instinct was to run, to shield herself with distance before the weight of his words crushed her. But her feet wouldn't move.
The photographs spoke for him, louder than his voice ever could. Every photograph was a heartbeat, every frame a promise. And though fear still coiled in her chest, another feeling came which she didn't recognise.
Amy didn't answer right away. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her fingers trembling at her sides. She tore her gaze from Jace and turned toward the nearest wall of photographs.
Her feet carried her forward almost against her will. She stopped in front of one...her laughing at Sophie's kitchen table. Her reaching for a wine glass from the tallest shelf in Jace's kitchen.
"You… kept this," she murmured, barely audible.
Jace's voice came from behind her, low and rough.
"I kept everything. Every piece of you I could."
She turned to another photograph,It was the first time she came to his studio, she didn't know he had taken an unaware of her. Her head tilted, her lips parted ever so slightly, caught mid-thought.
Amy lifted her hand, fingertips trembling just shy of the frame. "I didn't know about this "
Jace stepped closer, his breath brushing her shoulder. "That was the first time I realized… you weren't just someone I wanted to photograph. You were someone I wanted to know. To keep."
Amy pressed her lips together, afraid her voice would betray her. She moved again, frame by frame, memory by memory, until the ache in her chest became unbearable.
When she finally turned to him, her eyes shone with unshed tears. She wanted to speak, to tell him what was clawing at her insides, but nothing came out.
Jace didn't push. He didn't ask. He only watched her, his heart pounding loud enough he thought the whole room could hear it.
The silence stretched. Amy shook her head faintly, torn between stepping forward or stepping back. And Jace, though every part of him begged to reach for her, stayed rooted to his spot.
Because he knew: this wasn't his answer to give. It was hers.
And so the moment felt fragile, unfinished, aching for resolution.