Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Heather
R ed never just enters a room; she makes an entrance, her presence like a breath of fresh air on a crisp fall morning. I watch her vibrant red locks dance with each animated step she takes.
“Hey, Heather!” she calls out, her voice carrying over the low murmur of the café as she spots me.
She envelopes me. The kind of hug that says, 'I've got you,' without uttering a single word.
“Missed you,” Red whispers, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “Sorry I had to go out of town. But I’m back. Okay, spill,” she demands, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table. “What's got your beautiful brain in a twist?”
I chuckle at her directness, but there is a tremor in it. How can she always tell? Even when I try to bury my worries beneath layers of 'I'm fines,' Red sees through me. She waits, patient and expectant, her gaze never wavering.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who's known you since you thought boys had cooties.” Her voice softens. “Talk to me.”
There it is—that gentle nudge wrapped in affection.
“Lincoln... he might be getting this big promotion.”
Red tilts her head, her curls framing her face like a fiery halo as she nods for me to continue.
“Which is great, right? It's what he's worked for—what he deserves.” The words tumbles out, betraying the current of anxiety beneath them. “But it's in Houston. And you know what his schedule is already like.”
“Oof, that's tough,” Red murmurs, reaching for her chai latte but keeping her focus fixed on me.
“Exactly. And it's not just the hours, it’s…” I hesitate, grappling with the vulnerability required to voice my next thought. “It's that I might lose him to it, you know? To this all-consuming career.”
Her eyes, mirroring the green of early spring leaves, held mine with an intensity that conveyed understanding beyond words.
“His passion for his work—it's one of the things I love about him. His dedication, how much he cares…” My gaze drops to the whorls of steam rising from my cup. “But where does that leave us? I'm scared there won't be enough room for me in his life if he takes this job.”
“Hey. Fear's a tricky beast. But Lincoln loves you. You guys will figure it out. To be honest, I think y’all have always loved each other, but didn’t want to give into it.”
Maybe she is right. Maybe love is stronger than fear, after all.
“Listen to me,” she begins, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand. “True love isn't a delicate thing you have to hold with kid gloves. It's tough; it can take on the world.”
I let out a half-hearted chuckle. Leave it to Red to turn love into an invincible superhero. But as I glance at her face, it isn't jest I see there—it is belief, fierce and unwavering.
“You're strong. Stronger than you give yourself credit for. And Lincoln—he's not the type to let go of something good without a fight either.”
Her confidence is infectious, and for the first time since Lincoln mentioned Houston, there is a flicker of hope. Maybe this isn't an ending. Maybe it is just a different kind of beginning—one where I remember how to fight, too.