Chapter 35
I chose Brookside for this date for three reasons.
It's thirty minutes from Hallow's End, has an actual sushi restaurant, and most importantly zero chance of running into anyone who knows me.
Being the town's resident mystic means everyone has opinions about my love life, and I'm not ready for the well-meaning questions that would follow if this works out. Or worse, the sympathy if it doesn't.
The cherry blossom wallpaper at Miso Pretty is as Instagram-worthy as the reviews promised.
Soft pink neon signs cast a rosy glow across pristine white tables, and the music is loud enough to mask awkward silences without drowning out conversation.
Between the empty appetizer plates, and Mark ordering a second beer, I'm starting to think this might be going well.
I smooth my dress under the table. The tiny crescent moon pendant at my throat catches the light, and my fingers twitch with the urge to fidget with it. Instead, I focus on Mark, who's proving to be as promising as Amelia said.
"The bank finally approved the proposal," he says, his smile warm and polished like a toothpaste commercial. At twenty-nine, he radiates the kind of stability that makes my twenty-six feel young and messy in comparison. "The new program should help a lot of first-time homeowners."
I nod, impressed. "That's amazing. When finance is accessible, it can change lives."
"Exactly!" His green eyes light up, and I take him in.
He's beautiful in that Ralph Lauren ad kind of way—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair styled with just enough product to look effortless.
His navy button-down looks like it cost more than my entire vintage wardrobe, and the way he carries himself says he's never once questioned his place in the world.
My stomach doesn't flip when he smiles, but isn't that good? Butterflies mean uncertainty. This feels . . . safe. Solid. Exactly what I should want.
"What about you?" he asks. "Amelia mentioned owning a business?"
"The Enchanted Quill." I straighten, pride warming my chest despite my nerves. "It's a bookstore, but also . . . well, it's a bit different."
"Different how?"
Here it comes. The moment where I either downplay the witchy side of my shop, or embrace it, and risk the weird looks. But Mark's still smiling, and the sincerity in it pushes me to be honest.
"We specialize in mystical items, too. Crystals, tarot cards, that sort of thing. Plus custom tea blends and ritual kits. "It might sound a little out there—"
"No, that's cool!" He leans forward. "My ex was really into crystals. She had this whole collection, used to talk about moon phases and manifesting."
My body locks up. Not because he mentioned an ex—that's normal, right? But there's a shift in his voice, a softening that makes my intuition ping like a warning bell.
"Oh?" I say, aiming for casual as our desserts arrive. "That's . . . interesting."
"Yeah, Harper was passionate about it. She even did these full moon ceremonies . . ." His voice trails off, and oh no. Those are not regular memories in his eyes. Those are I'm-still-in-love memories.
I should change the subject. Any sane person would. But then he adds, "We actually broke up three weeks ago," his voice cracking and, just like that, I'm tumbling headfirst into someone else's heartache.
"That must be hard," I say, watching myself shift from potential date to the role I know too well—keeper of broken hearts, collector of other people's almosts. "Heartbreak like that . . . it reshapes everything."
Mark's eyes turn glassy. "You ever have that moment where you're just going along, thinking everything's fine and then it hits you? You've been taking someone for granted."
I do know. I also know I have no business being in this conversation.
But I'm already nodding, watching our sorbet melt as Mark dives into a saga about Harper, their cosmic connection, and the way he never appreciated her morning meditations—until she left him for a guy named Gunter who, apparently, owns a kombucha brewery.
"She always said timing was everything," he says, staring into his drink like it's scrying water. "You seem so wise about this stuff. Do you think sometimes the universe brings people back together when they're ready?"
Walk away, my intuition whispers. This isn't your story to heal.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Sometimes people need space to become who they're meant to be for each other."
Mark's eyes light up like I've handed him spiritual validation on a silver platter.
"That's exactly what Harper would say! She was always talking about divine timing and .
. ." He pulls out his phone, and now there's no mistaking the tears gathering.
"Look, this was us at the Renaissance Faire last summer. She made her own fairy wings."
I stare at the photo of a pretty brunette in handmade costume, but my mind drifts to my own phone's camera roll, still full of stupid selfies Caleb took when I wasn't looking. Him wearing my crystal crown backwards. Making faces at Salem. Another where he's holding Ducky like a football.
The server keeps circling our table with increasingly concerned glances, probably wondering why I'm nodding along while my date shows me his relationship highlight reel.
"And this was at the crystal shop where she worked," Mark continues, emotion threading every syllable. "Before she left to become a yoga instructor. I told her it wasn't realistic. Can you believe that? Me? Doubting someone else's dreams?"
"Sometimes we push away the things we're afraid to want," I say, because apparently, I can't stop myself from dispensing wisdom like some sort of spiritual vending machine. "We look at something beautiful and terrifying and convince ourselves it's safer to stay in the shallow end."
"That's what I did!" He looks at me. "I was scared of how much I needed her spiritual side in my life, so I pushed her away. Do you think . . . I mean, should I tell her that?"
The correct answer is absolutely not, you're on a date with someone else. But I'm already too deep into this heart-healing session to maintain any pretense of romantic potential.
"What would you say to her?"
Mark's lip trembles. "That I was wrong. That I miss how she'd sage the apartment every Sunday. That I kept the crystal she gave me for abundance." He pulls a small citrine from his pocket, and I nearly laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Because isn't that just perfect? Here I am, supposedly moving on, and the universe sends me a man still carrying around pieces of his ex.
By the time we leave the restaurant, I've helped Mark draft a text to Harper, suggested three books on spiritual awakening, and convinced him to try meditation. He hugs me in the parking lot, all expensive cologne and grateful tears.
"This was . . . really healing," he says, wiping his eyes. "You're incredible, Ivy."
"Just doing what feels right," I say, already backing toward my car. "Good luck with everything!"
I sit behind the wheel for a long moment, key in the ignition but not turning it.
The neon signs from Miso Pretty cast long shadows across the dashboard, and I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror.
Mascara smudged, lipstick faded, and looking exactly how I feel—a placeholder for someone else's second chance.
I connect my phone to the car speakers and call Vinnie. It's funny how some people slip into your soul so quietly you don't realize they've rewired your entire emotional ecosystem until you're speed-dialing them from a Brookside parking lot at nine p.m.
I used to think soulmates only came in romantic packages, all sparks and butterflies and cosmic pull.
But Vinnie? She's something else entirely.
She's the friend who showed up when I didn't even know I was lonely, and who made space for both my crystals and my spreadsheets without batting an eye.
The one who gets that I can believe in moon magic and profit margins with equal fervor.
Who texts me photos of sunsets because she knows I collect beautiful moments like some people collect stamps.
Where my other friendships are well-worn grooves—Amelia's fierce loyalty, Daphne's careful concern—Vinnie is coming home to a version of myself I forgot existed.
She answers mid-ring, like she's been waiting.
"How was it?"
"I spent two hours counseling a banker through his spiritual awakening while my mascara melted off," I say, pulling out of the parking lot. "He showed me pictures of his ex's handmade fairy wings while crying into his mochi ice cream."
"Jesus, Ivy." Vinnie sigh. "For someone who claims nothing happened at the wedding, you're working awfully hard to prove you're okay."
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. "I told you nothing happened, Vin."
"I don't believe you. You shared a bed, and I didn't miss how he looked at you when we had that video chat." There's a rustling sound, like she's settling in for a longer conversation. "You don't have to tell me what happened. You'll share when you're ready."
"Can we talk about something else?"
"You know what I thought when I first moved here?
" Her voice softens. "I saw this ethereal creature who seemed to hold the whole town's heart in her hands.
This woman who could read someone's soul in their tea leaves, who knew what crystal would heal what wound. You were like . . . magic personified."
"Vinnie—"
"But now? Now I see someone who's running herself ragged trying to fix everyone else's life while her own is burning at both ends." She pauses. "You don't have to earn your place in people's lives by carrying their emotional baggage, Ivy."
Something cracks in my chest—tiny, almost imperceptible, but there. "I'm not—"
"You are. And you know what? Caleb's an idiot if he can't see how extraordinary you are. You love so freely it hurts to watch sometimes. But it's time to love yourself that fiercely too."
I pull over, unable to focus on the road through the blur in my eyes. "I can't make myself stop," I whisper. "Everyone comes to me with their broken pieces, and I just . . . I can't not try to help put them back together."
"Even when you're falling apart yourself?"
"I'm not." But my voice catches, betraying me. "I'm just tired. So fucking tired of being everyone's answer when I can't even figure out my own questions."
"You don't have to carry it all. You don't have to be anything but yourself. Messy, beautiful, perfectly imperfect Ivy."
A watery laugh breaks free despite the tears. "You make it sound so simple."
"My point is, you've built this beautiful safe space for everyone else. But where's yours?"
The question hits like a thunderbolt, lighting up all the dark corners I've been avoiding. Because the truth is, I'm not sure anymore. Somewhere between being everyone's spiritual guide, and pretending I'm not in love with my best friend, I lost touch with what I need.
"I don't . . ." My voice cracks. "I've never learned how to do this any other way."
"Start small. Set a boundary. Take a day off. Let a text go unanswered." Vinnie's voice takes on a fierce edge. "The universe won't collapse if you stop holding it together for five minutes. Trust me, I'm an artist. Sometimes the most beautiful moments come from letting it all fall apart."
I lean my head back against the seat, watching stars peek through the summer clouds. "Look at you, handing out wisdom like candy."
"Learned from the best. But maybe it's your turn to take the leap." She pauses. "You showed me how to trust my heart with Ethan. Maybe it's time you listened to yours too. Whatever shape that takes."
I reach for my crescent moon pendant, its warmth grounding me. "Even if that means admitting I'm not okay?"
"Especially then." Her smile carries through the phone. "Now go home. Cuddle with Salem and your ducks. Sage your aura."
"I will. And thank you for listening."
"I'm always here, whatever you need."