Chapter 29 For pleasure too #3
Before Elodie can respond to that statement, Willow chokes on her champagne. “Oh my God,” she sputters, wiping her mouth. “Vienna, you did not say that.”
Vienna looks completely unrepentant. But then she turns toward Elodie and bursts into laughter.
“I’m joking,” she says, clearly delighted. “But you should have seen your face.”
Elodie’s cheeks flush a deep shade of red as she hurriedly sets her champagne glass onto the table, one hand flying to her throat. “Oh my God, Vienna. You scared the crap out of me. I genuinely had no idea how I was supposed to respond to that.”
Vienna only grins wider. “But wouldn’t it be wonderful if you and Archer did end up together?”
Elodie blinks at her. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but your son and I are complete opposites. I cannot imagine a single scenario where we would ever end up together.”
Vienna nods. “Maybe. But that won’t stop me from hoping.”
“Alright,” Kristy cuts in. “That’s enough matchmaking for today, before Elodie decides to stop visiting this house entirely.”
The afternoon unfolds into one of the happiest days I can remember, filled with laughter, stories, and the comfortable warmth of old friendships blending seamlessly with new ones.
By the time everyone begins gathering their things to leave, the house feels fuller.
Before my friends head out the door, I promise them we’ll meet again soon for coffee. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the idea of making future plans doesn’t feel uncertain. It feels exciting.
Standing by the sink, I splash cool water over my face and watch the droplets slide down the porcelain basin. Tonight I take my time with every step of my skincare routine, savoring the simple freedom of using both hands.
Everyone, including Rowan, has been calling today Sling-Free Day, and I’m totally in support of making it a big deal.
It’s miraculous how simple it becomes to wash my face properly, to rub moisturizer evenly across my skin, to pull on fresh clothes without struggling, when both hands are finally, freely mine again.
Small, ordinary things. But tonight they feel like victories.
When I finish, I turn off the bathroom light and step into the bedroom, where Echo is already sprawled comfortably across the middle of my bed like he owns it.
Since Rowan left, I haven’t slept in the solarium.
The first night I tried, thinking the familiar space might bring comfort, but the quiet glass room only made the absence beside me feel sharper. Every corner of it reminded me of Rowan—his books, his quiet presence, the way the light fell across his face when he sat reading among the plants.
So I brought Echo to my room instead, and he didn’t protest once. If anything, he seemed to have exactly the same feelings.
I sit beside him and run my fingers slowly along his soft fur. “Don’t worry, Echo.” I scratch gently behind his ear. “Once your dad is back, we’ll spend more time in the solarium with all the plants you love.”
His ear twitches, as if he agrees with the plan.
I’m just about to crawl into bed beside him when a soft knock sounds on my door.
“Vienna? Is everything okay?”
The door opens and she steps inside. “Yes. Everything’s fine. I just have something for you.”
She walks toward the bed and places a single envelope on the blanket between Echo and me.
I go completely still. Rowan’s letter.
“He asked me to give it to you tonight after you got back from the hospital.”
My heart begins to race the moment she says it.
Even now, even after everything he’s already done for me, Rowan still finds new ways to surprise me with his thoughtfulness.
“Have a good night, Violet,” Vienna says.
Her face carries none of her usual teasing mischief, only quiet warmth before she slips out of the room and closes the door gently behind her.
I look down at the envelope resting on the bed.
My name is written in Rowan’s flowing handwriting, the familiar purple ink standing out softly against the paper.
My dear Purple,
I still cannot believe that when you come back today, I will not be standing beside you.
That thought sits like a heavy weight in me.
But even from afar, I want you to know how incredibly proud I am of you—for the strength you carry so quietly, for the way you face everything with an optimism most people couldn’t sustain, least of all in circumstances like yours.
And if I am honest, none of this surprises me. This is who you are. You have always been the kind of person who walks into a room and makes it brighter simply by existing in it.
The kind of person who can take someone like me—a man who once doubted almost everything—and slowly, patiently convince him that perhaps the world holds more miracles than he was willing to believe.
I pause there, my fingers resting on the paper.
I still have no idea how Rowan managed this.
He must have posted the letter to Vienna. His trip was completely unplanned, and I was with him the entire time that day. There had been no moment when he could have sat quietly and written something like this.
Warmth moves through me slowly as I continue reading.
There was a question on the FYS app. “Do you believe love is a lighthouse, a wildfire, or a compass? And why?” Tonight, when we are apart, it feels like the right moment to answer that question properly.
Lighthouse.
When I filled out the questionnaire, I wrote only that one word. At the time, it felt complete on its own. But now I want to share more with you, like everything else.
Side note: I’m smiling.
Most people describe love as a wildfire—fierce and uncontrollable, consuming everything in its path. Others call it a compass that guides them through life.
But I have never understood love that way.
For me, love has always been quieter than that.
When I think about it, I imagine a lighthouse standing somewhere far away in the darkness—patient, never demanding attention, never pulling anything toward it.
The lighthouse does not call out to the ships or drag them closer. It simply shines, constant and unwavering.
Until the ship realizes that somewhere beyond the storm, a safe place is still waiting.
That is the kind of love I understand.
When I wrote lighthouse, what I meant was: I don’t want a love that I have to chase endlessly. I want the kind of love that finds me when I am lost.
And when I read your response, I could not believe you wanted the same thing.
I hope we can build a life held together by exactly that kind of love.
Yours,
Night
By the time I reach the end of the letter, my vision blurs slightly.
Rowan.
Even when he isn’t here, he still finds a way to wrap his words around my heart.