16. Lost Stories, Found Words
CHAPTER 16
LOST STORIES, FOUND WORDS
NORA
The days blur together, each one indistinguishable from the last. Nate's mood swings are giving me whiplash—one minute he's vulnerable and the next he's acting like I'm invisible.
As much as I try to block him out, it's become nearly impossible because we're living in the same house. My traitorous mind keeps circling back to that night. Nate in the pool, looking like some brooding, gothic prince under the moonlight. His dark hair slicked back, muscles tensed, voice low as he admitted his discomfort with Connor's touch. Then there was the way he'd thanked me for keeping his secret, like I'd given him something precious. It was unfair how good he looked, even when he was driving me crazy. But his hot-and-cold routine is exhausting. I suppose two can play at that game.
He wants space? Fine.
He can have all the space in the world.
I push back from my makeshift desk on the porch, my sanctuary away from Ollie and Jake's gaming wars and the lingering breakfast smells from the kitchen. The afternoon heat presses against my skin as I stare at my laptop's blank screen. The house is quiet with the boys out surfing and Mom at the market—perfect conditions for writing, yet the words won't come. My anger at Nate's silent treatment mingles with something deeper, something that makes my chest tight when I think about him.
"Ugh, screw you, Nate," I whisper, the words hissing between my teeth. I hate how much space he takes up in my head, and how much I miss him even though he's right here, always just out of reach.
The front door's creak breaks my reverie as Lydia steps in, arms laden with shopping bags. Her smile is warm, but concern shadows her eyes. "Hi, honey. How's your day going?"
I shrug, aiming for casualness. "It's going."
She chuckles, the sound knowing and gentle. "That good, huh?" Her eyes drift to the wine rack, lips quirking. "It's five o'clock somewhere, right?"
It's barely noon, but I won't comment. "Wait, where's Mom?"
"Your mother can't help herself when it comes to saving people. An elderly woman fell at the farmer's market. So, your mom wanted to make sure she got the right scans and tests at the hospital."
That's Mom for you—always the hero. It's one of the things I love most about her.
"So, since it's just the two of us, spill. What's up with my favorite girl?"
I shift in my chair, the words sticking in my throat. "I'm trying to write, but my brain's just... stuck."
Lydia's expression softens. “You’re writing again! Oh Nora, your dad would've been thrilled.”
The mention of Dad sends a familiar ache through my chest. Writing was our thing—he'd encouraged me to pursue it even more when Ms. Ryan pushed for that UK writing scholarship. After he died, the words dried up, along with so many other things.
"Everything's been tough since Dad died. Writing, staying here, just... everything,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Lydia moves to sit opposite me, her presence steady and warm. Her hand reaches across the table to squeeze mine. "I can't imagine what you're going through, sweetheart. I'm here for you, always. Anything you need, or if you just need to talk, it stays between us. Promise."
The weight on my shoulders lightens a fraction, but the words remain trapped. How do I tell her about last summer? About the nightmares that have returned full force? Some days it feels like I'm playing a part—the Nora everyone remembers versus who I've become. The nightmares, the cold sweats, the constant fear of him appearing around any corner, ready to take more of what was never his to claim.
"Whatever it is, Nora, you can tell me. Your mom won't hear it from me."
I deflect, gesturing toward her wine glass. "What about you? Why the early start?"
Her smile shifts, accepting my evasion. "The fundraiser gala's coming up. Planning, organizing, making sure everything's perfect. Hence, a little morning wine to smooth the edges." She takes a sip. "Actually, I could use a hand if you're up for it."
The prospect of diving into something—anything—that isn't my own thoughts or Nate feels like a lifeline. "Sure, I'd love to help."
Her face brightens. "Fantastic! We're going to make this event unforgettable." She pauses, studying me. "And who knows? Maybe it'll spark some inspiration for your writing."
I laugh, the sound hollow. "Maybe."
"You know," she continues, voice earnest, "sometimes inspiration isn't something you wait for. Sometimes, you have to go out and find it. It's there—in every little thing, every event, every interaction. Maybe you just need to squint a bit harder to see it."
Her words settle in my chest, and for the first time today, something like hope stirs. "Thanks, Lydia."
She squeezes my shoulder before heading to the kitchen. I watch her go, then push my laptop away. "I think I'm going to head out for a bit," I announce, stuffing papers into my backpack.
"Sure, honey, be safe," she calls after me.
The sea breeze cools my skin as I pedal through familiar streets, each rotation of the wheels steadying my thoughts. Almost without conscious decision, I find myself at Gracie's bookstore. The moment I step inside, the scent of old books wraps around me like a hug, bittersweet with memories of Dad.
Alfie looks up from his novel, gray hair charmingly disheveled. "Ah, couldn't stay away, could we?"
"Away from you Alfie? Never."
"You flatter me."
"This place feels like... home to me."
His eyes soften as he leads me to the classics and poetry aisle, pulling out a copy of Jane Eyre . "This was Gracie's favorite. Well, one of them."
"Really?"
"It's a book about a woman's quest for a fulfilling life on her own terms." He gives me a knowing look. "You remind me a lot of her."
"Jane Eyre or Gracie?"
"Both,” he says with a heartfelt smile.
"Because we both love books?"
"Because you're all incredibly bright women. And it's how you talk about the books you love. Like they're more real than reality itself."
I trace my fingers along the book's spine. "I guess it's easier to lose yourself in a world someone else has created than to deal with your own."
Alfie settles into a nearby chair. "You know, the first time I saw Grace, she was immersed in that exact book in the corner of this tiny little coffee shop down the street from where I lived." He points to a cozy nook by the window. "She was so engrossed, the world could have ended and she might not have noticed."
"Was it love at first sight?"
He chuckles, nostalgia warming his features. "Well, I was a shy boy back then so when I first noticed her, I memorized her coffee order, thinking one day I would buy her a coffee and that's how we would strike up our first conversation. But she only came through on a Tuesday, each time with a new book in her hand. Took me months to gather the courage to speak to her. So, it wasn't immediate, but it was inevitable. When I finally did talk to her, something just clicked. I knew I was going to fall in love with her. Like gravity pulling me in."
"Sounds like it was a slow burn."
"It was more like a recognition. Like, 'Oh, hello, it's you. Of course, it's going to be you.' I think that's the best kind of love story. It takes time, but it was worth every moment."
His words echo something in my chest, something I'm not ready to name. "Alfie, would you be willing to tell me more? Maybe over a few visits? I'm writing a story for a scholarship application??—"
"Nothing would make me happier than talking about my Gracie," he interrupts, eyes bright.
"Would you maybe consider being the subject of the story? I think this could be perfect, but only if you'd be okay with??—"
"I'd be honored, Nora."
For the first time in weeks, excitement sparks through me. "Thank you, Alfie. This... this could be exactly what I need to get out of my writing slump."
"Then let's make sure it's a story that does justice to my Gracie. Come in whenever you like and I'll tell you more."
The prospect of writing their love story thrills me—not just a distraction from my troubles, but something meaningful to pour myself into.
Alfie's smile carries a hint of melancholy. "This bookstore isn't just a place of business, it's a living memory— legacy of the love Gracie and I shared. Every book here, every corner, keeps that memory alive."
His words resonate with how I feel about Nate—this inexplicable pull I can't shake.
"What's on your mind?" he asks, noticing my distraction.
"Nothing," I murmur, running my fingers along the book spines.
"Oh, come on now. What's really going on?"
"I haven't figured it out if I'm being totally honest."
He chuckles, knowing glinting in his eyes. "Maybe you're trying too hard to find what's already in front of you." He starts toward the counter. "Sometimes the only way we can see what's always been there is losing it to understand its true value. It's a harsh lesson, but one that often wakes us up."
"Are you always this spot on?"
"Most of the time," he winks. "You're welcome."
Leaving the bookstore, I feel lighter, inspired. There might still be a story within me, waiting to be told. Perhaps it's not my story, but Alfie and Gracie's—one that could somehow help untangle my own.
I'm unlocking my bike when a familiar silhouette catches my eye—someone getting into a car down the street. The way they move, the set of their shoulders—too familiar. For a brief moment, my heart stops beating.
No, it can't be him. He's supposed to be in Europe, not here in Eden.
The car drives away, taking the figure with it. It's just my mind playing tricks , I tell myself, spurred by stress and exhaustion. I'm just tired, that's all.
"Nora!" Mia's voice cuts through my spiral. I turn to see her approaching, striking as ever in her perfectly coordinated outfit.
"Hey!" She waves, catching up. "I was hoping I'd run into you."
"You were?"
"Yeah, you left the bonfire before I could say goodbye. If you're free now, want to hang out?"
"Sure.” I welcome the distraction. We fall into step together. "So, what did I miss at the bonfire?"
Mia rolls her eyes but grins. "Not much, honestly. Though Kelsie and Jake... they got pretty cozy. Like, close, close."
"Kelsie and Jake? Really?" The thought of Jake with the blonde who'd flirted so openly at Farrah's party isn't surprising.
"I mean, I don't know them well, but they seem like they could be good together." She grips my arm, wincing. "Oh shit, sorry. Was that weird to say?"
"Why would that be weird?"
"I just meant... you and Jake?"
"We're just friends," I clarify. "And no, you're not wrong about them."
She nods, relieved.
"What about you? Any new developments?"
Mia hesitates, a shy smile forming. "Well, I might... kinda sorta like your brother."
I stop walking. "Ollie?"
Her cheeks flush pink. "Is that weird? It's weird. I know, it sounds crazy. Oh, God, I can't believe I just said that to you."
I can't help but laugh at her nervous excitement. "Relax, it's okay."
"I barely know him, but he's just... he's different. Really sweet."
"Ollie's a big talker but he's a teddy bear. Don't tell him I said that." We resume walking. "And if we're being honest, I think he likes you too. Also don't tell him I said that."
Her eyes widen. "Really?"
"Ollie's one of the good ones. Though he might drive you insane sometimes, he'd do anything for people he cares about."
It’s true.
Ollie should be worrying about typical freshman things but this year transformed him. Ollie's mind constantly races with scenarios most people his age haven't considered. Where once he shrugged off life's minor inconveniences he now meticulously analyzes every possibility. I’ve watched my brother closely and noticed the way his heart races at unexpected texts, how he checks his bank balance three times daily, and how he calls home every night just to make sure everyone is still breathing.
Sometimes when I look at him, I see glimpses of the carefree brother I knew before. But those moments are fleeting, like sunshine between storm clouds. At eighteen, he's carrying worries that shouldn't belong to him.
Mia’s voice cuts through my spiralling thoughts.
“That means a lot coming from you. I wanted to be upfront because I don't want things to get weird between us."
"My brother deserves to be happy after the year we've had. And not that you need my approval, but if you want it, you've got it."
Her smile says more than words could.
We walk in comfortable silence before she asks, "Hey... are you okay? Like, really okay?"
For a moment, I consider telling her everything. But the words catch in my throat. "I'm fine," I lie, forcing a smile. "Just been thinking about a new story idea."
She links her arm through mine. "I'd love to hear about it whenever you're ready."
As we continue down the street, gratitude mingles with relief in my chest. Mia's presence, her genuine concern—it feels real, not fabricated. Maybe someday I could tell her everything. But for now, discussing my potential story feels like enough. I tell her about Alfie and Gracie, the scholarship, even Dad. The whole time, I can't help but think this is what friendship should feel like—being seen, being heard, feeling, even briefly, like you're normal again.