Chapter 27 The Last Night （Eden, age 16）
Ismooth my palms down the green minidress for the hundredth time, nerves bouncing around my stomach. Cassie swore it was the right choice. Short, simple, impossible for him not to notice. I slick another coat of strawberry lip gloss and lean close to the mirror. My mouth gleams, my cheeks are pink.
It feels stupid. Reckless. Perfect.
But tonight is the last night before Nate Russo leaves for training camp, and I am out of time.
I pull the folded paper from my pocket, reading the words one more time.
Nate,
Meet me on the beach after dinner. I need to see you alone before you leave tomorrow. Just you and me. Please come.
—Eden
It looks childish written out this way, a silly note you’d slip into a locker. But it’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done. I fold it carefully—three times—and sneak down the hall into the boys’ room.
The drawers creak softly as I open the one he keeps his T-shirts in. They are neatly folded, and I drop the note on the top of the stack, my fingers lingering. He’ll find it when he gets dressed.
A shadow moves in the hall. For a second my stomach plunges, but when I peek out, it’s only Leo walking past. His attention snags on me. I slam the drawer shut and brush past him with a mumbled, “Looking for my hoodie.” He studies me for a beat too long, then nods.
Still, my pulse races as I retreat to my room. No one can know. Especially not Leo.
The porch glows under string lights, the night air bright with lemon, thyme, and Calabrian chile.
Antonio Russo has outdone himself today.
Sheet pans of roast chicken with okra and potatoes hit the table, skin blistered and glossy from chile paste, garlic, and zest. A dutch oven of collards alla Nonna steams beside it, pancetta and vinegar cutting through the heat.
He hums an old Neapolitan tune, cornmeal dust on his forearms from the zucchini blossoms he fried at the last minute, and sets down a bottle of Chianti “for the occasion.”
The grown-ups gather at one end, as they always do, laughing over glasses of wine. At the other end sit Leo, Ryan, Nate, and me.
I slip into my chair, knees knocking under the table.
Nate is fresh from the shower, hair still damp, a gray T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, the same one I left my note on.
He glances up and our eyes catch for a blink.
There it is, so brief I could miss it, the almost-smile he saves for me, a small lift at one corner and a quick light in his eyes.
A beat later he looks away and goes back to his plate.
My cheeks burn. I stab at a zucchini blossom that blurs. Maybe he didn’t see it. Maybe I’m imagining all of it.
Leo notices my fidgeting. His jaw flexes as he refills his water glass, casual on the surface, but his attention cuts between us. He doesn’t say anything, but his whole posture screams the same protective interference he’s been throwing up all summer.
Because every time I thought maybe Nate and I could be alone for a few minutes, Leo would materialize.
Like when Nate offered to help me carry towels back to the house.
Or when he lingered by the outdoor shower, waiting while I rinsed sand from my feet.
Leo’s voice would slice between us with “Can I help,” or “Dinner’s ready.
” It’s been that way all summer—every time the space between us might narrow, Leo would slide in between.
Not cruel. Not obvious. Just…relentless.
And now, across the dinner table, with laughter buzzing around us, my brother pretends to eat while his eyes cycle from me to Nate and back. His jealousy over sharing his best friend mixed with overprotective big brother instincts creates a wall I can’t break through.
The message in his rigid shoulders is unmistakable: Don’t try. Don’t even think about it.
Ryan lifts a forkful of okra, all theatrics. “So, Eden, what’s the plan for the next two weeks without your best buddy?” He jerks his chin at Nate. “Your shadow’s ditching you for camp.”
My cheeks burn. The strawberry gloss on my lips feels loud under my brother’s jab. I fuss with my fork. “I’ll manage.”
Nate’s hand pauses halfway to his water glass. His fingers tap once, twice against his chest, where a folded note might rest. He catches himself, lifts the glass, and takes a long, easy sip.
I see it.
When he sets the water down, his eyes find mine. Not a flicker, not an accident. He looks. This time, I’m not imagining it. His eyes warm, a small spark I don’t have a name for, and at the edges, I see the goodbye coming.
My pulse leaps, heat climbing my cheeks. He read it. He knows.
Leo doesn’t laugh. He stabs at a potato hard enough to make the fork screech. “She’ll be fine,” he cuts in, tone too sharp. “She’s got Cassie. She doesn’t need anyone else trailing after her.”
The tension spikes. Even Ryan glances away, swallowing his amusement.
Nate doesn’t answer directly, but his jaw tightens. His fork slows, circling kale with too much focus. When he finally responds, his voice is measured. “Eden’s not a little kid anymore. She doesn’t need protecting from friends.”
The words detonate at the center of dinner. Leo’s head snaps up, his whole body going rigid. But before he can fire back, Nate looks at me again, and this time there’s a question in his expression. Or a promise.
My stomach flips.
“Now don’t you boys start.” Janice’s Southern drawl is firm as she smooths over the tension. “It’s too nice a night to waste on bickering.” She pats Nate’s shoulder, her gold bangles chiming. “Tell them, baby. About camp.”
The conversation moves on, but I can barely follow it. Because twice more during dinner, I catch Nate looking at me when he thinks no one else will notice. And once, when Leo gets up to help clear plates, Nate mouths a single word across the table, “Later.”
By dessert, my hands are shaking so hard I can barely hold my spoon. The ice cream melts while I swirl it aimlessly, my mind racing. He found the note. He wants to see me too.
When the adults drift into louder stories and Leo disappears inside to grab another drink, I slip away.
As I head toward the dunes, the boardwalk creaks beneath my sandals. My body thrums with anticipation. The night air is warm, thick with salt and possibility, the sand glistening in silver streaks under the moonlight. The waves roll steady, crashing soft against the shore.
I settle near the waterline, hugging my knees. My dress feels too short, my lips too sticky, my breathing too quick. But it doesn’t matter. Because any second now, he’ll appear.
I imagine it: Nate walking down the path, hands shoved in his pockets, giving me that crooked smile. He’ll sit beside me, maybe touch my hand. Maybe kiss me, the way he did last summer in that stupid game of Spin the Bottle. Except this time, it will mean something.
Any second now.
Minutes drag. The stars blaze brighter. The tide creeps closer, foaming at the sand.
Maybe he’s late. Maybe Leo cornered him. Maybe he’s sneaking out carefully so no one suspects.
I keep watching the dunes, every rustle of wind making my chest jump.
But the path stays empty.
Half an hour.
My stomach clenches. My sticky coating is gone, chewed off.
An hour.
The sand numbs my legs, but I don’t move. I can’t.
Maybe he laughed when he read it. Maybe he crumpled it up. Maybe he never thought of me that way.
The thought makes my throat burn.
Two hours.
My cheeks are wet before I realize I’m crying. I press my face into my knees, trying to muffle the sounds. The night is too quiet, the waves too steady.
He’s not coming.
The truth crashes over me with the tide, brutal and cold. Nate Russo never wanted me. Not like that.
By the time I stumble up from the sand, my dress is wrinkled, hair tangled, mascara streaked. Humiliation and embarrassment wash over me. The dunes rise behind me, houses glowing faintly. I can’t go back tonight, not like this.
So I head the other way.
Cassie’s house is only a few streets over. By the time I reach her door, my legs are shaking and my breath comes in jagged gasps. I pound on the wood until she opens, bleary and confused in her pajamas.
“Eden?” She blinks, taking in my wrecked state. “What happened? What time is it?”
One look at my face and understanding dawns. Her expression softens immediately. “Oh, honey. Come here.”
She pulls me inside, wrapping her arms around me as the first real sob breaks free. It’s ugly and raw, the disappointment crushing my chest.
“Please, just let me stay,” I choke out between gasps. “I can’t go to the house.”
“Of course.” Her voice is fierce with teenage loyalty. “Stay as long as you need.” Cassie squeezes my hand. “Want me to call your mom?”
“She’s already asleep. I’ll call Janice.” My voice is sandpaper. I pull my phone out and dial. “Hi…it’s Eden. Can I stay at Cassie’s tonight?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll let your mom know first thing in the morning. We’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, soft and sure.
The knot in my chest loosens. At least I don’t have to face him tonight.
Cassie doesn’t ask what happened. Doesn’t push. She steers me to her room, finds a T-shirt, helps me out of the ruined dress. When she sees the mascara tracks, she vanishes and returns with makeup wipes and a glass of water.
“Drink,” she orders softly, settling beside me on her bed.
I try, but my hands are shaking too hard to hold the glass steady. She takes it from me, sets it aside, and pulls me against her shoulder.
“He didn’t come,” I whisper, the words scraping my throat raw. “I waited for two hours, Cass. Two hours. And he never showed.”
“Oh, Eden.” She rocks me slightly, her hand stroking my hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“I left him a note. I told him to meet me. I thought—” My voice cracks. “I thought he felt something too. The way he looked at me sometimes, like maybe...”
“Maybe he didn’t see the note?”
I shake my head against her shoulder. “He saw it. I know he did. He just didn’t care enough to come.”
The words taste bitter but saying them out loud makes them real. Final.
Cassie holds me tighter. “Then he’s an idiot.”
“No.” I pull back, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “I’m the idiot. For thinking someone like Nate Russo could want a girl like me.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.” The emptiness in my chest feels bottomless. “Look at him, Cass. He’s eighteen, he’s gorgeous, he’s going to be famous. And I’m Leo’s scrawny little sister with braces who makes friendship bracelets.”
“Stop it.” Her voice is firm now, the way it gets when she’s about to lecture me. “You’re beautiful, you’re smart, and any boy would be lucky—”
“Then why didn’t he come?” The question bursts out of me, desperate and broken. “If I’m so great, why am I sitting here feeling like the biggest fool on the island?”
She doesn’t have an answer for that. Neither do I.
I curl up on my side, facing the wall, while she pulls a blanket over both of us. The room is dark except for the glow of her alarm clock. 12:47 a.m. He’s definitely not coming now.
“Maybe tomorrow will feel different,” she whispers.
But I know it won’t. Tomorrow he leaves for Boston, and I’ll have to watch him go, knowing that I put myself on the beach for him, and he couldn’t even be bothered to show up to break me gently.
Sleep feels impossible. Every time I start to drift, I see myself sitting alone on that sand, checking the dunes every few minutes like some pathetic puppy waiting for her owner to come home.
The worst part isn’t that he didn’t want me. It’s that I let myself believe he might.