20. Lucy
Chapter twenty
Lucy
The next day, the morning sun is already high when I reach the lighthouse.
It’s quiet here, the kind of quiet that seeps into your skin and forces you to breathe slower, softer. The ocean stretches out in front of me, endless and glimmering under the pale light, and for a moment I just stand there, letting the salty air wrap around me.
I’ve always loved this spot. The cliffs here feel like the edge of the world, like a place you could stay and forget everything else.
Which is exactly what I’m trying to do.
I spread my little blanket on the grass a few feet from the lighthouse and sit, pulling my notebook and pen from my bag. Pip and Nibbs immediately curl up on either side of me, warm and comforting in their usual way.
I glance at them, smiling faintly as they settle in, then turn my eyes back to the water.
There’s a heaviness in my chest this morning.
I took the morning off work under the pretense of needing rest, but the truth is simpler — the dreaded day is drawing closer, and I needed space to think.
Two weeks.
That’s all I have left here.
Two more weeks to pretend this life is mine, to pretend I belong in this little town with its gentle rhythms and kind people. Two weeks to keep pretending Liam and I could ever really… be anything.
I press the pen to the page, trying to find the words, but everything I write comes out wrong. My mind keeps drifting — back to yesterday, back to the way Liam had held me on the dance floor at the gala like I was the only person in the room.
The way his smile had softened when he looked at me. The way his voice had wrapped around me like a promise.
A quiet ache spreads through my chest.
I can’t imagine saying goodbye to this. To him.
For weeks now, I’ve had a taste of the life I always hoped I’d have — a quiet life, full of laughter and warmth and a man who shows me, every single day, what it feels like to be loved.
I freeze at the thought.
Loved?
No. I shake my head quickly, closing my eyes for a moment. That’s not what this is.
I like him. That’s all.
It’s just a crush. A dangerous, consuming crush that I can’t afford to let grow into anything more.
I force myself to keep writing, my pen scratching against the page, but my thoughts keep slipping back to him. To last night, to his hands on my waist, to the quiet way he’d whispered into my hair that he was proud to have me by his side.
I close the notebook, letting it fall shut with a soft thump.
I can’t do this right now.
I stare out at the ocean, trying to lose myself in the rhythm of the waves, but my heart refuses to settle.
That’s when I hear footsteps.
My head snaps up, and my heart lurches when I see him.
Liam.
He’s walking toward me, hands in his pockets, his smile soft and easy.
I quickly snap my notebook shut and tuck it into my bag, trying not to look as startled as I feel.
“How… how did you find me?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intend.
He stops a few feet away, tilting his head slightly, his eyes warm as they meet mine. “Emma told me you took the morning off,” he says simply. “Figured you might be here.”
I blink at him, unsure what to say.
He takes a step closer, his gaze still locked on mine. “Is it okay if I join you?”
I swallow, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Of course,” I say, my voice soft. “I don’t mind.”
He smiles at that — a real smile, the kind that makes my chest feel too tight — and sits down beside me on the blanket.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, both of us staring out at the water. The only sounds are the distant crash of waves against the rocks below and the occasional chirp of a gull circling above.
Finally, he breaks the quiet.
“You come here a lot, don’t you?”
I nod, keeping my eyes on the horizon. “It’s peaceful here. Makes it easier to think.”
He hums softly in agreement.
A breeze picks up, tugging at my hair, and I tuck a strand behind my ear, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. He’s watching me.
I look away quickly, focusing on the waves.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice low, careful.
I hesitate. For a moment, I think about lying, about saying something easy, something that won’t open up more than I’m ready to give.
But then I find myself saying quietly, “How hard it is to trust someone again.”
His gaze sharpens at that, but he doesn’t speak right away.
I let the words sit between us, unsure where they even came from.
After a long moment, he says softly, “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
I turn to look at him then, surprised.
He’s staring out at the ocean, his jaw tight, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.
“I don’t talk about it much,” he continues, his voice still quiet. “But it’s not easy for me either. Trust doesn’t come naturally anymore. Not after…” He trails off, shaking his head with a faint, humorless smile. “Not after some of the things I’ve been through.”
I watch him closely, my heart aching.
It’s strange, seeing him like this — so open, so vulnerable.
“What happened?” I ask gently.
He glances at me then, and there’s a shadow in his eyes.
“Let’s just say I learned the hard way that not everyone deserves your trust,” he says finally. “But… I don’t want that to stop me. Not with you.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight.
I don’t know what to say to that.
For a moment, we just sit there, the breeze moving around us, carrying the scent of salt and sun.
Then, quietly, I whisper, “I’m scared.”
He looks at me, his expression softening.
“Of what?”
I shake my head, staring down at my hands. “Of letting myself hope. Of letting myself believe this could… mean something.”
He doesn’t respond right away.
Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing against mine, and his voice is steady when he says, “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, Lucy. I’m not going anywhere.”
Something breaks loose in my chest at that, and I find myself blinking back tears.
I look up at him, and his eyes are so full of quiet determination that it makes it impossible to doubt him.
For the first time in years, I feel my heart opening — just a little.
We sit there for a while longer, just watching the ocean, letting the silence settle around us.
Then he turns to me, his smile soft.
“Can I kiss you?”
My breath catches.
I nod, unable to find my voice.
He leans in slowly, giving me every chance to pull away.
But I don’t.
His lips brush against mine, gentle at first, then deeper, and I feel the world fall away.
The sun is warm on my skin, the waves crash below, and for one perfect moment, it’s just us.
When we finally pull back, his forehead rests lightly against mine, and I let my eyes flutter shut, trying to memorize the feel of him, the warmth of his hand still holding mine.
But even as my heart swells, even as the taste of him lingers on my lips, one thought cuts through the haze.
This has to stop.
For his sake.
And for mine.
Because my worst fear is already happening.
I’m falling in love with him.
And it’s only going to make everything messier when I have to say goodbye.
Later ***
The days bleed together now.
Morning fades into afternoon. Afternoon fades into evening.
It feels like I’m sleepwalking through all of it.
I throw myself into work, clinging to the routine of it — checking the appointment book, answering calls, restocking the shelves. Anything to keep my hands busy, to keep my mind from wandering to the inevitable.
Two weeks.
Less than two weeks, now.
The weight of it sits in my chest like a stone.
And every time my phone lights up with a message from him, the stone grows heavier.
Tonight, it’s a notification that catches my eye as I’m reorganizing the cabinets in the back room.
Liam: Can we spend the evening together? I miss you.
Just six words. That’s all it takes for my chest to ache so hard it feels like it might split open.
It’s been nearly a week since I last saw him. A week of excuses — work is crazy, I’m tired, maybe tomorrow. And every time I tell him no, I can feel it cutting into him, into us.
But it’s better this way.
I tell myself that every time I hit send on another polite rejection.
It’s better to put distance between us now, before the goodbye comes.
Before it becomes too hard to let go.
I stare at the message for a long time before my fingers finally move over the screen.
Me: I can’t tonight. I have a lot to do.
I stare at the little bubble of text for another moment before hitting send.
And then I wait.
And wait.
But no reply comes.
Instead of feeling relieved, I keep glancing at my phone, hoping it lights up again. Hoping he says something, anything.
But it stays silent.
I turn back to my work, my hands trembling just slightly as I stack the last of the boxes.
The minutes crawl by, and the clinic slowly empties out as the day winds down.
Emma pokes her head in at one point, giving me a puzzled look. “You okay?” she asks, her voice gentle.
I force a small smile and nod. “Yeah. Just… catching up on a few things.”
She doesn’t push, just nods and disappears again.
I wait until I hear the door close behind her, leaving me alone.
Only then do I let my shoulders sag, the smile slipping off my face as I rest my forehead against the cool wood of the cabinet.
Pip and Nibbs scurry over from their little carrier, curling up around my feet.
I sink to the floor, burying my fingers in their soft fur, whispering to them like they can somehow make it all okay.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, though my voice cracks just a little. “I’m fine. This is what’s best.”
They chirp softly in response, and I almost believe them.
Almost.
I’m just gathering my things when I hear the bell above the clinic door.
My heart stutters.
I’m supposed to be alone.
I freeze, my eyes darting toward the sound — and then I see him.
Liam.
My breath catches painfully in my throat.
He stands just inside the doorway, his hair a little messy like he ran his hands through it on the way here, his shoulders tense.
For a second, I can’t move.
It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving me frozen, staring at him like he’s something I’ll never deserve.
Every instinct in me screams to run to him, to throw my arms around him and hold on as tight as I can.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I stand rooted to the spot, my hands clutching the strap of my bag.
He takes a step toward me, his eyes locked on mine.
“Hi,” he says softly.
I swallow hard, forcing my voice out past the lump in my throat.
“Hi.”
It comes out awkward, barely above a whisper, and I can’t even bring myself to look him in the eye.
The air between us is heavy. Charged.
I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, feel the questions simmering just beneath the surface.
“What are you doing here?” I ask finally, my voice quiet, careful.
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he studies me for a moment longer, then says simply, “Can we talk?”
I hesitate, my mind screaming at me to say no, to put even more distance between us.
But then I see the faint crack in his expression, the way his shoulders look just a little too tight, and I can’t bring myself to deny him.
“Okay,” I say softly.
His shoulders ease slightly, and he nods, murmuring a quiet, “Thanks.”
We step outside together, the late afternoon air crisp and cool.
We walk in silence for a while, the only sound the faint crunch of gravel under our shoes and the distant hum of the ocean.
I can feel his eyes on me, even when I’m not looking at him.
Finally, he speaks.
“Did I… do something wrong?”
I stop in my tracks, my breath catching.
He turns to face me, his brow furrowed, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“Because if I did,” he says, his voice low, almost tentative, “just tell me. Please. Don’t just… shut me out like this.”
The vulnerability in his eyes nearly undoes me.
I want to tell him everything — about the deal I made with my father, about the engagement looming closer every day, about how much it’s tearing me apart to pretend I don’t feel anything for him.
But I can’t.
I can’t shatter him like that.
I take a shaky breath, forcing the words out.
“You didn’t do anything,” I say quietly.
He searches my face for a moment, then asks softly, “Then why? Why are you pulling away from me?”
I look down at my hands, twisting the strap of my bag between my fingers.
I can feel the tears burning in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall.
He steps closer, his voice even gentler now.
“Are we going too fast? Is that it?”
I shake my head quickly, but the lump in my throat is too thick to let the words out.
Seeing the way he looks at me — like he’s willing to move the whole world just to make me smile — it breaks something deep inside me.
Because I can’t give him what he deserves.
I can’t stay.
The tears finally spill over, and I duck my head, mumbling a quick, “I’m sorry. I… I have to go.”
Before he can stop me, I turn and rush back toward the clinic, my footsteps echoing loudly in my ears.
I hear him call my name behind me, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
Not now.
I push through the clinic doors, letting them shut behind me, and make my way to the back storage room, my vision blurry with tears.
I sink to the floor in the corner, pressing my back against the cool wall, and let the sobs finally break free.
It hurts.
God, it hurts so much.
Because I know, no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I tell myself this is for the best…
I’m falling in love with him anyway.
And when the time comes to walk away, it’s going to destroy me. And I’m afraid him as well.