Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
C anvas awnings rippled against the bright June sky as Hannah stepped into the familiar maze of the farmers’ market. The late morning buzz of shoppers mixed with seabird calls and ocean air drifting in from beyond the dunes.
She laughed, looking up at the birds who hoped to land amongst scraps of food somewhere within the market’s boundaries.
She wandered past stalls of bright produce and handcrafted goods, nodding to the familiar faces of vendors she'd seen every Saturday, feeling that particular contentment that came with being a recognized regular in a place she loved.
Hannah carried her favorite cloth bag on her shoulder, already filled with her usual weekly haul—a bundle of kale, a pint of blueberries, and a loaf of sourdough from Marcus, who always saved one for her.
As she neared the last row of booths, Hannah felt the familiar flutter in her chest as her gaze landed on the stall lined with intricate metal sculptures. She didn’t visit the market often, but when she did she'd developed a habit of saving this booth for last, letting the anticipation build like a slow tide.
Sam stood behind the display, adjusting one of the larger pieces—a twisting wave captured in bronze that caught the late afternoon sun. He glanced up and caught her eye, his smile immediate and warm, the same smile that had first drawn her to his booth the week before.
“Hannah,” he called out, his voice carrying easily over the din of the market. “Back for more kale, or are you here to see me?”
Hannah laughed, her cheeks warming. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”
“I’m a regular,” he said, stepping out from behind the stall. “Well, at least during the summer season. Keeps me grounded to meet the people who buy my work. I thought for sure you’d be getting a booth for your jewelry. What happened with that?”
She stepped closer, her fingers grazing one of the smaller pieces—a delicate sailboat that seemed to float on an invisible sea. “Oh, I’ve got so many things on my plate this summer, I decided not to do it. Maybe next year.” She admired his work and hoped he could see that in her eyes. “These are incredible. Did you make all of them?”
Sam nodded, his expression tinged with pride. “Every piece. The gallery keeps me busy with larger commissions, but I like doing smaller projects like these. They remind me why I fell in love with sculpting in the first place.”
Hannah tilted her head, studying the sailboat. “It’s beautiful. You’ve got such a gift.”
“Thanks,” he said, his smile softening. “So, how’s the shop? Are you officially taking over yet?”
She shook her head. “I forgot I told you about that. No, not yet. I’m working there this summer to learn the ropes. Aurora wants me to really understand the business before I commit. It’s…a lot, but I’m excited. Nervous, but excited.”
“Sounds like a good mix,” Sam said, crossing his arms and leaning against the side of the stall. “Nerves keep you sharp, but the excitement means you’re on the right track.”
Hannah met his eyes, feeling the sincerity in his words. “That’s a good way of looking at it. What about you? How did you end up sculpting?”
He chuckled, glancing at the wave sculpture. “Long story. But the short version is, I needed a way to channel some of the chaos in my head into something tangible. Sculpting gave me that outlet. It’s hard work, but it’s also the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever done.”
She nodded, her admiration growing. “You seem like you really know who you are.”
Sam tilted his head, considering her words. “I think I’m still figuring it out. But the art helps. What about you? What keeps you grounded?”
Hannah hesitated, her mind flitting between thoughts of the vineyard, the shop, and the business class. “I think…I’m still working on that. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out where I fit, you know?”
Sam’s gaze softened. “I get that. It’s not an easy question to answer.”
For a moment, they stood in companionable silence, the sounds of the market fading into the background. Finally, Sam broke the quiet.
“Hey,” he said, his tone shifting to something lighter, “you free tomorrow evening? There’s a little jazz thing happening at Herring Cove, and I was thinking of checking it out. Would you want to come with me?”
Hannah blinked, caught off guard by the sudden invitation. But the warmth in Sam’s expression and the easy way he asked made her smile.
“I’d like that,” she said, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. “I’ve been to their live music nights before, and jazz sounds perfect.”
“Great,” he said, his grin widening as he handed her his cellphone. “Put your address in my contacts. The music starts at 6:30. I’ll pick you up. Say six?”
“Six works,” she said, adjusting the strap of her bag and then filling out the information on his phone. Once finished, she handed his phone back to him and smiled. “Thanks, Sam.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “For saying yes.”
As Hannah walked away, her bag a little heavier and her heart a little lighter, she felt something she hadn’t since Oliver: the spark of possibility. Summer was just beginning, and for the first time, it felt like anything could happen.
Lucy paced the length of her living room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The soft hum of her laptop on the desk in the corner seemed to call her, the cursor blinking in her unopened email draft like a beacon. She stopped mid-step, biting her lip as her gaze darted toward the screen, then away again.
“What am I doing?” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “This is ridiculous. It’s been more than a year.”
She turned on her heel and started pacing again, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. Her mind raced with questions she didn’t have answers to. What if he didn’t reply? What if he did? What if he’d moved on completely, his life in Europe a clean slate she had no part of?
But then she remembered the letter Evelyn showed her. Everything in that letter sent a clear message that Ethan missed her and questioned whether leaving her was the right thing to do.
“Stop overthinking, Lucy,” she said aloud, her voice sharper than she intended. She sighed, dropping onto the couch and staring at the ceiling. “It’s just an email. It’s not like I’m showing up on his doorstep.”
She closed her eyes, the memories of their relationship flooding her mind. Ethan’s laugh, the way it rumbled deep in his chest. The way he’d smile at her across the kitchen as he worked, flour dusting his forearms. The way his voice softened when he spoke about his dreams—dreams she had once been a part of. And then the goodbye, the ache of watching him walk away, the sting of knowing she hadn’t asked him to stay.
Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up abruptly. “Okay. Just do it. Be casual. Chill. No drama. Just a friendly, conversational email.”
She stood and crossed to the desk, sitting down with a determined exhale. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, and for a moment, she froze, the words tangled in her head. Finally, she started typing:
Hi Ethan,
I hope this email finds you well. I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked, but I’ve been thinking about you lately and thought I’d reach out. How’s life in Europe? I imagine your restaurants must be thriving—you always had such a clear vision for what you wanted to create.
Things here have been…interesting. Busy, of course, but I’m finding ways to keep things balanced. Anyway, no pressure to reply. I just wanted to say hello and see how you’re doing.
Take care,
Lucy
She sat back, staring at the screen. “Is this okay? Too casual? Not casual enough?” she muttered, rereading the email for the fifth time. Her finger hovered over the send button, her heart pounding. “Just send it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
With a sharp inhale, she clicked the button. The email disappeared from her screen, and Lucy felt a strange mix of relief and anxiety settle in her chest. She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath.
“Step one done,” she murmured. “Now the hard part: waiting.”