Chapter 10 #2
“Aren’t I?” Her laugh was soft, sad. “My existence turned their whole family history upside down.”
“That’s not your fault. That’s on the adults who made the choices that led here.” I shifted to face her more fully. “And for what it’s worth? They don’t see you as a complication. I don’t think they’ve ever even considered it. They see you as their sister. Because that’s what you are.”
Her eyes shimmered. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I mean it.”
We sat there, the moment stretching between us, and I realized I’d never wanted to kiss someone more in my entire life. Never wanted to pull someone into my arms, just because I knew how right it would feel to have them there.
I looked away before I could do something stupid.
“One more location?” I said, my voice rougher than intended. “Then we should probably head back.”
“Okay.”
We threw away our trash and got back in the truck. As I drove, I could feel her looking at me, could sense questions she wasn’t asking.
The next spot was a trail that followed a creek, the forest dense and green around us. Dappled sunlight, moss-covered rocks, the sound of water over stone. Perfect for natural, romantic shots.
Leigh walked ahead, camera clicking, and I followed like I was tethered to her. Like I couldn’t help myself.
She stopped to photograph the way light filtered through the canopy, and I stepped closer to see what she was capturing. Too close. Close enough that when she turned, we nearly collided.
My hands came up automatically to steady her, landing on her waist.
We both froze.
Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, and I could feel her heart racing under my palms. Or maybe that was mine. I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.
“Sorry,” I said, not moving.
“It’s okay,” she said, not moving either.
We stared at each other.
One of us needed to step back. To break this moment before it became something we couldn’t take back.
I forced myself to drop my hands, to step away. “I think... I think there’s one more spot you should see.”
Her face was flushed. “Okay.”
We walked back to the truck in silence, the air between us thick with everything we weren’t saying. Everything we both wanted but wouldn’t let ourselves have. Or at least, what I thought she wanted. There was still every possibility that this was all in my head.
The final location was a meadow on a hill, wildflowers swaying in the breeze. It was beautiful and pastoral and exactly the kind of place engagement photos were made for.
As we approached, Leigh noticed the old cemetery adjacent to the meadow.
“Wait.” She turned to me. “Can we stop there for a second?”
I glanced at the cemetery gates. “You want to go in?”
“The light is incredible. And those old trees...” She gestured to the massive oaks that shaded the old headstones. “It could make for some really beautiful atmospheric shots. If that’s not too weird?”
“No, it’s... actually a lot of couples do use the garden part for photos. The historical society maintains it. It’s pretty.”
“Do you mind? I know it’s not for everyone.”
I thought about my grandparents’ graves, about how many times I’d stood there feeling utterly alone. About how strange it might be to share that space with her.
“I don’t mind,” I said quietly.
We parked and walked through the gates. Leigh was respectful, her camera lowered as she took in the space. The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, casting long shadows across weathered stone markers.
She began photographing carefully, capturing the light and shadow, the way nature had reclaimed some of the older sections. It was artistic, not morbid. Beautiful in a melancholy way.
I watched her work, appreciating how she saw beauty everywhere. How she could find meaning in places others might overlook.
Then she stopped walking.
I followed her gaze to the two headstones she’d paused before: “James and Margaret Moore. 1943-2018, 1945-2019.”
My grandparents.
She immediately lowered her camera, turning to me. “Oh. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know… we can leave…”
“No, it’s okay. Really.” I moved to stand beside her. “They’d probably love knowing someone thought this place was beautiful.”
She studied me for a moment, then asked softly, “Tell me about them?”
No one had asked me that in a long time. The brothers knew the story, knew my grandparents had raised me. But no one had asked me to share memories in years.
“They raised me after my dad died. I was seven.”
“That must have been so hard.”
“They made it easier. They always made me feel like I belonged. Like I was their actual grandson, not just the kid they took in because they had to.”
“You were alone before that?”
The question opened something in my chest. “My mom... wasn’t in the picture. Dad did his best but there was never enough. Money was always tight, but we made the best of it, you know? We were happy. Then after the accident, my grandparents stepped up and tried to give me some form of that as well.”
“And the Farringtons?”
I smiled slightly, remembering. “They came at the same time. I met Xander the first day of school and it was like we both knew what the other needed and became instant friends. They made me feel like I had brothers. Like I had a purpose because they needed someone and I was able to be there and do that for them.”
“But you still feel like an outsider sometimes.”
I looked at her sharply, surprised she could read me so easily. “Yeah. Sometimes. Even though they’ve never made me feel that way. It’s just... they’re blood. Real family.”
“I get that,” she said, and there was understanding in her voice that made my chest ache.
“Yeah?”
She nodded, looking back at the headstones. “My cousin Wren. She’s the same age as me, and we grew up together. She’s the most important person in my life. Closer than most sisters.”
“That’s good. That you have that.”
“It is. But it’s also... complicated. She has three older siblings. Real siblings. And no matter how much her family included me, how much time I spent there, I was always the cousin. The one who got to go home at the end of the day.”
“The one on the outside,” I said quietly.
“Exactly.” She looked at me, and in her eyes I saw the same loneliness I carried. “And I love them, I’m so grateful for them. But there was always this part of me that knew I was different. That I didn’t quite belong the same way. That deep down I was alone.”
“That’s exactly it.”
We stood there in the fading light, surrounded by the dead, and somehow it felt like the most alive I’d been in months. Because she understood. Because she carried the same wound I did.
Because for the first time in forever, I didn’t feel alone.
“I shouldn’t have asked to come in here,” she said finally. “This is your family…”
“No, I’m glad you did. It’s nice, actually. Sharing it with someone who... understands.”
“I do understand. More than you know.”
The moment stretched between us, heavy with meaning. With possibility.
Then she stepped back, breaking the spell. “We should probably go. It’s getting late.”
“Yeah.”
But neither of us moved for a long moment. We just stood there, looking at each other, the cemetery quiet around us.
Finally, we walked back to the truck together.
Something had shifted today. Something deeper than attraction, more fundamental than want.
We’d seen each other. Really seen each other and there wasn’t a single second when I’d felt the need to hide. Not from her.
The drive back was quieter, but it was a comfortable quiet. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.
When I pulled up to Jasper’s house, Leigh gathered her camera bag and paused with her hand on the door handle.
“Thank you,” she said. “For today. For showing me these places. For...” She trailed off, but I knew what she meant.
For understanding. For being honest. For not running away.
“Anytime,” I said, and meant it.
She hesitated, like she wanted to say something else. I almost saw the moment she changed her mind.
“See you Thursday. For the cake tasting,” she added, like I could possibly have forgotten.
“See you Thursday.”
She got out, and I watched her walk to the door. She turned at the threshold, waved.
I waved back.
Then I drove home, my mind spinning.
The truce was working. Or maybe it wasn’t. Because whatever was happening between us felt so right and yet so wrong. My mind was spinning and not for the first time in my life the confusion of what I was supposed to do warred with everything I wanted with all of my soul.
At home, I sat in my truck in the driveway for a long time, staring at my phone.
I could text her. Should probably text her something friendly about the locations, about coordinating schedules. Set some boundaries of what this thing between us could actually be.
I typed: Thanks for today. You’re good at what you do.
Stared at it.
Deleted it.
Put my phone down.
“Eight weeks. You can last eight weeks.”
My phone buzzed.
My heart stopped.
Leigh: Thanks again for today. Those locations are perfect. See you Thursday.
Professional. Friendly. Safe.
I typed back: ??
The most emotionally repressed emoji in existence.
I hated myself for it.
But I didn’t know what else to say. Because what I wanted to say was:
I can’t stop thinking about you.
Today felt right.
I don’t want to pretend anymore.
But I couldn’t say any of that.
So I said nothing.
And instead I headed inside to lay in bed thinking about the way she’d smiled at the overlook. The way she’d looked at me by my grandparents’ graves. The way her hand had felt for that brief moment when I’d steadied her by the creek.
Eight weeks.
I wasn’t going to survive eight weeks.