Chapter 29
NATALIE
O ne week later
The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the smudged window of my college apartment, casting everything in a soft, honey-colored glow. It made even the mess look charming.
Textbooks were scattered across my desk, sticky notes clinging to their pages like desperate leaves. A half-dead succulent leaned pathetically toward the light, and my lavender candle burned unevenly, valiantly trying to cover the lingering scent of last night’s sesame chicken.
The radiator clanked in the corner, loud, stubborn, familiar. Usually, the noise grounded me.
Today, it made the room feel hollow.
My suitcase lay open on the floor, stuffed with clothes and the remnants of a week that had turned everything upside down—in the best, most terrifying way.
Easton had flown back to L.A. yesterday morning for a few last-minute reshoots. Just a week, we’d promised. We could do a week.
It had felt manageable when he kissed me goodbye at the airport, when he whispered I’ll be counting down every second until I’m back to you against my ear .
But now?
The silence in my apartment pressed in around me, thick and constant. Like I’d built a space shaped perfectly for him…and then he’d left.
I missed him more than I thought possible. Fiercely. Suddenly. Like my body was still trying to calibrate to the space he’d filled and left behind.
We hadn’t figured everything out yet. There were still questions. How we’d handle the distance. How we’d juggle our lives on opposite coasts. I still had years of school ahead of me. Papers. Practicums. Late nights and internships and exams.
And he had a career exploding faster than either of us could have predicted.
We didn’t have a perfect plan.
But we had each other.
And we were both determined to make it work.
I sighed and ran a hand through my travel-messy hair, then dropped to my knees beside the suitcase. Might as well unpack. Try to return to something that resembled normal before classes started.
I pulled out a red sweater— the red sweater—the one that would forever be linked to Christmas brunch and crimes against public decency.
A smile tugged at my lips as I folded it, remembering Easton’s hand creeping up my leg while MeMaw delivered an unhinged speech about soulmates and how they created superior children, totally oblivious to the fact that her granddaughter was one rogue gasp away from scandalizing the entire waffle station.
Apparently, Easton and tables and my thigh were a combination I was going to have to watch out for in the future.
Fuck. I missed him.
I kept unpacking. Jeans. Scarves. My toiletry bag. Socks.
Then my fingers brushed against something soft and unfamiliar .
I paused.
There, tucked in the side pocket, hidden beneath a balled-up scarf…was a small velvet box.
Deep blue. Elegant.
And definitely not mine.
A tremble worked its way through me as I pulled it out. I turned it over in my hands, my heart thudding, trying to make sense of it. The hinge creaked softly as I opened it.
Inside sat a delicate silver necklace, the pendant shaped like a constellation.
Our constellation.
The one we’d imagined on a summer night with too many mosquitoes and not enough sense. The same one we’d been thinking of just last week, when everything came full circle beneath the snow and starlight and everything we couldn’t say until we finally did.
The pendant shimmered in the light—quiet, certain, sacred.
My throat tightened. Because tucked beneath the necklace was a small, folded note.
The paper was slightly crumpled, the edges soft like it had been carried for a while before being placed there with quiet intention.
Easton’s handwriting sprawled across it in thick, black ink—messy, rushed, familiar, and my heart thudded as I unfolded it, my breath catching as I read the words:
A thousand lifetimes wouldn’t be enough. Come find me under our stars. —E.
I stared at the note, the words sinking in like a stone dropped into water, rippling through every part of me.
A thousand lifetimes .
My throat tightened .
Tears blurred the ink, and I pressed the necklace to my chest, the pendant cool and sharp against my skin. A steady ache settled just beneath my heart—not from fear, not from walls—I didn’t have those anymore.
Just the weight of everything we’d survived.
Everything we’d found again.
And the impossible bigness of finally having it.
He must have slipped it into my suitcase before he left.
A quiet gesture. No theatrics. No fanfare. Just this—his heart, folded into velvet and ink.
My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor. The note trembled in my hand, the box still resting in my lap. The room buzzed with silence, just the clank of the radiator and the sound of my own breath, uneven and thick with emotion.
I missed him.
But more than that—I loved him.
And I was done waiting.
I thought of the week we’d just had. The way we came together in stolen moments—hungry, quiet, desperate. The laughter spilling from our lips during MeMaw’s chaotic toasts. The way his hand never left my knee at dinner, like he couldn’t bear to not touch me for even a second.
The sound of his voice—low, warm—when he whispered I’ve never stopped loving you .
Every touch, every look, had been a reminder of what we’d once had and what we could have again, if I could just find the courage to let go of my fears.
A slow, steady rekindling of something I thought we’d lost.
But it had never been lost.
It had just been waiting.
And I wasn’t waiting anymore.
Tears slipped down my cheeks—quiet, relieved tears—and my breath came in shaky, uneven bursts. I didn’t even try to stop them .
Sitting here in my cluttered, little apartment with a constellation in my hands and his love still echoing in my chest, I knew the truth.
Easton had chosen me.
Again and again.
Through the explosion of his career. Through the miles. Through every single excuse I’d hidden behind.
Come find me under our stars .
The words weren’t just sweet. They were a challenge. A promise. A plea.
And I was ready to accept it.
He was in L.A., filming, living in that shiny world I’d always felt too small for. But he’d left this—this beautiful, quiet, perfect gift—just to show me that the most important part of his life wasn’t on set or behind a camera.
It was me .
And I wasn’t going to make him wait another second to know I felt the same.
I didn’t want to wait a week. I didn’t even want to wait a day.
I wanted to go to him. To stand under our stars and tell him I loved him. That I was his. Entirely. Eternally.
I wanted to propose to him . To ask him to be mine, forever. To build the life we’d whispered about under summer skies, young and in love and dreaming way too big.
I stood slowly, my hands still trembling as I clasped the necklace around my neck.
The pendant settled just above my heart, the weight of it somehow comforting…like he was already with me.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks, drew in a deep breath, and grabbed my phone.
The screen glowed softly in the fading light as I pulled up the airline app, fingers hovering.
Los Angeles .
I typed it in without hesitating.
Because I wasn’t running anymore.
I was chasing.
Chasing him . Chasing us .
And this time, I wasn’t going to stop.