28. Ami
Chapter twenty-eight
Ami
Winter is about to end, and it’s been six months since I left Seabrook.
The memories remain, vivid and bittersweet, always humming in the background of my life in the city.
I’ve fallen back into my old routine—coffee runs, late nights hunched over my laptop, crowded subway rides, and streets that never sleep.
Life goes on, but something in me doesn’t.
There’s a constant ache, a longing that follows me through each day…
because part of my heart is still in Seabrook.
Long-distance with Ethan is both a lifeline and a torment.
We videocall when we can, but sometimes the days blur, and whole weeks slip away without his voice.
When he does appear on my screen—rumpled shirt, tired eyes, smile that still undoes me—it’s like sunlight through a window I didn’t realize had gone dark.
He tells me stories from the station. They’ve had serious calls lately, and I hear the weariness in his voice when he talks about them.
But then he grins and says he passed off another “cat-in-a-tree” to Jake, and I laugh so hard I nearly spill my coffee.
Jake will never live down the nicknames: Meow-Man , Nine Lives Jake , Chief Meow-ster .
Inside jokes like that tug me closer to Ethan, closer to his real life—the life I ache to be part of instead of watching through a screen.
And he’s still helping Aunt Maggie, even without the mayor’s title.
I hear his pride when he describes the small wins—restoring an old mural, getting approval for historic signage, saving a cottage from demolition.
He doesn’t say it out loud, but I can tell he’s proud of being needed, proud of standing shoulder to shoulder with her.
Meanwhile, I’m deep into book two, pouring my feelings into the pages.
Book one is officially under contract with a publisher, and they want more.
It’s exhilarating… and terrifying. Sometimes I can’t help but think about how the campaign speeches, the practice writing with Jake, the endless edits—it all pushed me here.
Without that summer, I might never have had the courage to call myself a writer.
I’m still employed too, and constantly busy with new projects.
But even in the middle of my career dreams, the pull is stronger. With each new season I feel myself drifting back toward Seabrook in my mind—toward Ethan.
I shut my laptop one morning and stare out at the steel-gray city skyline.
People rush below, horns blare, taxis swerve, life hurtles forward…
and yet my thoughts are miles away on Seabrook’s quiet streets, its boardwalk, its stubborn history, my Aunt Maggie.
And always, always on Ethan. His easy smile.
The crinkle in his eyes when he laughs. Is he thinking of me too?
Does he still wake early to watch the sunrise, the way we used to?
The distance is a weight pressing into my chest.
I miss him in a way that hurts.
I miss us.
One evening, my phone buzzes with a video call. It’s Ethan.
“Hey there, city girl,” he greets, grinning.
I grin back, feeling the loneliness crack just a little. “Hey yourself, beach boy. How’s life in Seabrook?”
“Busy,” he says, his smile tilting. “Aunt Maggie’s still keeping me on my toes. We’ve started new projects around town. It’s… fulfilling.”
I nod, proud and aching at the same time. “That’s great. I miss you, Ethan.”
His eyes soften. “I miss you too. But hey—summer’s almost here. You WILL come back?”
I hesitate, biting my lip. “I don’t know. Work’s been crazy. Deadlines.”
He studies me, his voice low and steady. “Ami, I know it’s tough. But we’ll find a way. We always do.”
I nod, blinking back the lump in my throat. “Yeah. We will.”
We talk a while longer, until his voice makes the walls of my apartment feel less empty. Just as we’re about to hang up, his eyes spark with mischief.
“Hey—before you go, I’ve got something for you.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“You’ll see,” he says with a wink. “Keep an eye out for a package.”
A few days later, the doorbell rings on a chilly late-Spring morning. A delivery driver hands me a small box. I haven’t ordered anything.
Inside, wrapped in tissue, is a plane ticket to Seabrook. Nestled beside it: a seashell necklace that matches the one Ethan gave me on our last night together.
I freeze, the necklace clutched in my hand. It feels like the air has been sucked from the room.
He’s not just asking me to visit. He’s asking me to come back.
Tears blur my vision as I call him. He picks up on the second ring.
“Ethan,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he replies, his voice steady and warm. “Just come.”
And I know, in that moment, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
The weeks blur with work and preparation. I wrap up deadlines, finish chapters, send final notes to my editor. I donate, pack, clean. Every choice feels both terrifying and liberating. By the time I zip my suitcase shut, the decision is clear: I’m not just visiting. I’m going home.
The night before I leave, I sit by the window watching the city lights. This apartment gave me safety and purpose, but Seabrook gave me something bigger: love, belonging, a future I want with Ethan.
For the first time, I feel like I’m closing one book and opening another.
The commuter plane dips low over the shoreline, and Seabrook’s patchwork of rooftops and sea spray come into view. My breath catches. I step onto the tarmac, the salty air filling my lungs. My chest tightens—not with dread this time, but recognition. This is where I’m meant to be.
And then I see him.
Ethan stands by the arrivals door, tall and steady, his smile bright enough to cut through the crowd. The moment our eyes lock, it’s like time folds in on itself—six months vanish, and it’s just us again.
I run. My suitcase bangs against my side, my heart thunders, and when I reach him, I fling myself into his arms. He catches me like he will never let me go.
“I missed you,” I whisper fiercely.
“I missed you too,” he murmurs into my hair. Then he leans back, his eyes shining. “Welcome home, Ami.”
Home. The word lands like a promise.
Hand in hand, we walk through the airport doors. The streets of Seabrook await, familiar and new all at once.
And just like that, I know: I’m finally where I belong.