Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Nathan
" I t's a six-month contract minimum." Mike's voice crackles through my phone as I measure window frames in the library's reading room. "Full renovation of a historic theater in Burlington. The kind of project that puts you on the map."
I press my thumb against a crack in the wood grain, testing its depth. "Sounds like a good opportunity."
"Good? It's perfect for you, Cole. And the timing works. You're almost done with that library job, right?"
My eyes drift to where Grace sits at the circulation desk, sunlight catching in her hair as she helps a patron. She looks up, catches me watching, and gives me that small secret smile that's been haunting my dreams lately.
"Almost," I lie, turning away. "Send me the details."
I end the call and lean against the window frame, letting the cool glass steady me. This is exactly what I've been working toward—bigger projects, better contracts, a chance to really prove myself. So why does the thought of leaving Juniper Falls feel like a wrench in my gut?
You know why.
Grace's laugh drifts across the library. The real one, not her polite librarian chuckle. I risk a glance and find her talking with Hazel, gesturing animatedly about something. Probably discussing some novel that changes lives or poetry that saves souls. Her whole face lights up when she talks about books, like she's sharing secrets of the universe.
"Focus, Cole," I mutter, forcing my attention back to the window frame. But the measurements blur together, and all I can think about is how she looked last night under the stars, hair falling loose around her shoulders, eyes bright with something that felt dangerously like possibility.
This is exactly why I need to leave. Grace Lawson deserves someone who understands her world of stories and symbolism. Someone who can quote Shakespeare without googling it first. Someone who stays.
Not a guy who learned to pack up his life in under an hour, who measures worth in square footage and load-bearing walls.
"Earth to Nathan." Grace's voice startles me. She's standing closer than I expected, head tilted in that way that means she's trying to solve a puzzle. "You've been staring at that window frame for ten minutes."
"Just thinking."
"Dangerous pastime."
"Yeah." I straighten, tucking my measuring tape away. "Listen, about the rest of the renovation plans?—"
"Oh! I had some ideas about the children's section. I was thinking, if we extended the reading corner theme..."
She pulls out a notebook covered in neat annotations, and something in my chest twists. I can't do this. Can't keep pretending I might be the kind of person who could give her the ending she deserves.
"Grace." The word comes out rougher than I mean it to.
She looks up, her smile fading at whatever she sees in my face. "What's wrong?"
"I got offered a job. In Burlington."
"Oh." She clutches her notebook tighter. "When would you leave?"
"Soon. The library’s renovation is almost done, and they need—" I stop, because her expression is doing something complicated, something that makes me want to build walls around her heart. "It's a good opportunity."
"Of course it is." Her voice is library-quiet again, all professional polish. "Will you have time to finish the reading corner before you go?"
"Grace—"
"Because the summer reading program starts soon, and the kids are really looking forward to?—"
"I'll make sure everything's finished," I cut in, unable to bear the careful distance in her tone. "You won't even know I was here."
The lie tastes like sawdust in my mouth. Because the truth is, I've left my fingerprints all over this library. In the reading corner's carved stars, the reinforced shelving, the window seats designed to catch morning light at the perfect angle for reading.
In the way Grace's smile feels like coming home.
"Right." She takes a step back, and I force myself not to follow. "Well, congratulations. Burlington sounds great. Perfect for you."
She turns and walks away, spine straight, steps measured. Every inch the collected librarian. But I know her tells now—the way her fingers worry the corner of her notebook, how her shoulders curve slightly inward like she's protecting something fragile.
I watch her disappear into the stacks, and for the first time in my life, I understand why people write stories about hearts breaking.
Grabbing my tools, I head for the door. I've got measurements to review, contracts to read, a life to pack up. Again.
It's what I do. It's who I am.
I'm halfway through installing the last set of brackets for the reading corner when Grace's voice cuts through the quiet.
"Were you even going to say goodbye?"
My hand slips on the drill, nearly missing the mark. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, morning light catching the gold in her hair. But there's nothing soft about her expression.
"Course I was." I turn back to the bracket, needing something solid to focus on. "I don't just disappear."
"No?" Her laugh holds no humor. "Because it seems like you've been practicing your vanishing act all week."
She's not wrong. I've been timing my work around her schedule, showing up early, leaving late, anything to avoid those quiet moments that somehow became the best part of my days.
"I've been busy. The Burlington contract?—"
"Right. The amazing opportunity you can't pass up." She moves closer, and I can feel her eyes on me. "Funny how those opportunities always seem to lead somewhere else."
The drill whirs to a stop. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means." Her voice wavers slightly. "The second something starts to matter, you find a reason to leave."
"That's not—" I set the drill down harder than necessary. "This is my job, Grace. Moving on to bigger projects is how it works."
"Is that what I am? A project?"
"Don't." I face her fully now. "Don't make this about?—"
"About what? About the fact that you've spent months showing me how to trust reality over fiction, but the minute things get real, you run?"
Her words hit like a physical blow. "I'm not running."
"No?" She gestures to the half-finished reading corner. "Then why haven't you looked me in the eye since you got that call?"
Because looking at her hurts. Because every time I do, I see all the ways I could disappoint her, all the reasons she deserves better than someone who's never learned how to stay.
"Some of us don't get to live in stories, Grace." The words come out sharper than I intend. "Some of us have to deal with the real world."
"You think that's what I'm doing? Hiding in stories?" Her eyes flash. "At least I'm brave enough to believe in something bigger than myself. You're so afraid of letting anyone past those carefully built walls that you don't even try."
"And you're so caught up in fictional happy endings that you can't see why this would never work!"
The silence that follows feels like a physical thing. Grace takes a step back, and I know I've gone too far.
"Grace—"
"You're right." Her voice is library-quiet again. "This would never work. Because you're so convinced everything ends badly that you won't even give it a chance to begin."
She turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway. "You know what the difference is between us, Nathan? I know my books are fiction. But at least they teach me to believe in possibilities. You're so focused on what could go wrong that you can't even see what's right in front of you."
The door clicks shut behind her with devastating softness. I stare at the reading corner, at the half-carved stars that were supposed to catch the morning light just right. At all the pieces of myself I've built into this place without meaning to.
Maybe she's right. Maybe I am running. But isn't it better to leave now, before I prove that happy endings only exist in her precious books?
I pick up my drill again, but the steady rhythm that usually centers me feels hollow. Above me, the unfinished stars mock my attempts at permanence, reminding me that some people are meant to build beautiful things for others to enjoy.
And some people are meant to move on.