Chapter 30
EZRA
The next two days pass by too fast, and for once, I want to pause the clock.
Tuesday, I take Scarlett to my studio. She walks around, touching pieces with careful fingers, and asking questions about the charity gala while I organize the donations.
The afternoon sun streams through the windows, catching in her hair, and I have to look away because I can’t help but think about how soon she’ll be gone.
We grab lunch at the sandwich shop downtown and eat on a bench in Marion Square.
A woman takes our picture from across the park, and Scarlett waves at her with a smile.
The lady looks shocked and nearly drops her phone.
I watch Scarlett own who we are together, and something shifts in my chest. She’s not hiding anymore. She’s not afraid.
But I am.
That evening, several of my friends, who own businesses in town, came over to visit.
Danny, Marcus, and Silvia brought barbecue from one of our favorite food trucks.
I watched Scarlett laugh at Marcus’s terrible jokes and beat Danny at cornhole in the backyard.
She so easily fits into my life, like she’s always been a part of it.
When she was talking to the guys about her books, Silvia pulled me to the side and told me not to let Scarlett go.
It plays on repeat in my mind because it’s not about letting her go. It’s about letting her choose. And not knowing what her decision will be is what’s killing me, because I know how fast things can change when the pressure is ramped up.
Wednesday, we made no plans. We just existed together.
In the morning, we went to the farmers market and bought tomatoes and peaches that we won’t have the time to eat together.
That afternoon, we read on the porch, then cooked dinner side by side, moving around each other like we’d been doing it for years.
Last night, we made love without rushing, without talking about her leaving. I memorized every sound she made and how her body fits against mine. Afterward, she fell asleep in my arms, and I stayed awake for hours, just holding her and trying not to think about the inevitable.
When I wake, the sun hasn’t risen yet. Scarlett is still sleeping, and I take it all in.
I watch her breathe in and out and can’t help but count how many more hours I have left with her. Her flight is at three, and we need to leave by one. That means I have six more hours, and then she’s gone.
My stomach twists as I slide out of bed.
I go downstairs and feed Willow, but she just gives me a dirty look, then continues to stare out the window.
The coffee brews. When it stops, I fix myself a cup, then walk out onto the back porch to watch the sun rise.
Next week, I have the charity gala and will be working my ass off to make more pottery to be sold.
It’s one of the biggest events I put on all year, and I’m passionate about helping new artists.
Thirty minutes later, the door opens behind me, and Scarlett steps out, wrapped up in one of my shirts. She has a cup of coffee in her hand.
“Morning,” she says with a sweet grin.
“Morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Not great.” She takes a sip from her mug. “I kept tossing and turning.”
“Me too.”
We sit in silence, watching the street wake up. A neighbor walks their dog, and a car drives past the house. Everyday morning things are happening while everything feels like it’s changing.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Starving,” she tells me.
I stand and hold out my hand. “Come on.”
In the kitchen, I grab some fresh eggs and bread while she sits at the counter watching me. The morning light comes through the windows and makes everything feel softer somehow, like we’re existing in a bubble separate from the rest of the world.
“What are you making?” she asks.
“French toast. My mom’s recipe.” I crack the eggs into a bowl and add cinnamon and vanilla. “She used to make it every Sunday.”
“Tell me about her,” Scarlett says quietly.
I pause with the whisk in my hand because most people don’t ask. They offer condolences and change the subject, but Scarlett leans forward with genuine interest in her eyes.
“Mom was stubborn as hell,” I say with a smile. “Refused to let me quit pottery even when I wanted to in high school. Said I had a gift and it would be a waste not to use it.” I dip the bread in the egg mixture. “She started the charity gala to give other artists the same opportunities I had.”
“You are so lucky to have had her.”
“I was.” I place the bread in the hot pan, and it sizzles. “Between her and Millie, I never got away with anything.”
Scarlett’s eyes get bright. “Oh, I can imagine.”
“Mom always had a thing about finding genuine people and latching on to them. Said life was too short for fake relationships and bad coffee.” I flip the toast.
“Smart woman.”
After I plate our French toast and dust it with powdered sugar, I carry it to the table. Scarlett follows me and sits, drowning hers with maple syrup. She takes a bite and closes her eyes.
“Ezra. Wow,” she says. “This is incredible.”
“The secret is the vanilla.” I shoot her a wink.
We eat in comfortable silence, and I watch her savor every bite. When we’re finished, she carries our plates to the sink. She turns to me, and there’s something in her eyes that makes my heart race.
“What?” I ask with a chuckle.
“I just want to remember this,” she whispers. “Right here. Right now.”
I move to her, cupping her face, and kissing her slowly. She makes this small sound against my mouth, and my whole body responds. When we break apart, neither of us speaks before our mouths are crashing together again.
We barely make it to the living room. Clothes come off in a trail down the hallway, and she pushes me back on the couch.
Seconds later, she’s straddling me and we’re moving together with an urgency that wasn’t there last night.
This feels desperate, like we’re both trying to hold on to something that’s slipping away.
The orgasms overtake us, and she collapses against my chest. Our bodies are sticky with sweat, and I hold her tight as we catch our breath. The clock on the wall ticks too loud.
“I should probably get ready,” she finally says.
“Yeah.”
She showers and changes into some jeans and a T-shirt before packing the last few things in her bag.
At twelve thirty, I grab her suitcase and carry it to the truck. It’s heavier than I expected, but then I remember she travels with a suitcase of classic novels. The thought makes me laugh.
The drive to the airport feels like it takes only seconds and too many hours, all at the same time. I keep my eyes on the road because if I look at her, I might pull over and beg her not to go. My hands grip the steering wheel, so my shoulders ache from the tension.
“Thank you for everything,” she says. “For showing me Charleston. For introducing me to your friends. You’ve healed me, Ezra.”
“You healed a part of me, too.” I glance at her and have to look away.
She reaches for me and takes my hand. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too.” The words come out rougher than I intended.
When we pull up to departures, I park in the drop-off zone. A car honks behind me, and I ignore it.
I grab her suitcase from the trunk, and we stand on the sidewalk while people rush past us. She’s chewing on her bottom lip, and her eyes are full of unshed tears.
“Safe travels,” I say.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t be upset. You know where I’ll be.” I pull her into my arms, and she fits perfectly under my chin.
“Will you wait for me?” Her voice is muffled against my chest.
“Yes, and if you don’t come back before the end of the month, I’ll know.” I breathe in the scent of coconut from her shampoo and try to memorize it.
After a few more seconds, we break apart. “Call me anytime you want.”
“I will.”
She grabs her suitcase, then she’s kissing me desperately like she’s trying to say everything she can’t put into words.
I kiss her back and taste the salt from her tears and mine.
A car honks, and Scarlett grabs her suitcase again.
I lean against the truck, watching her walk toward the automatic doors.
Every step she takes away from me feels so damn wrong.
She’s almost to the entrance when she stops and turns, blows me a kiss, then moves inside.
Laughter falls from me as I catch her kiss and stuff it in my pocket.
Then, just like that, she’s gone. She disappears through the sliding glass doors, and I stare at the space where she was. A security guard approaches and tells me I need to move my truck. I start the engine and drive home.
Weeks ago, Scarlett didn’t exist in my life, and now, without her here, it feels odd.
My mind wanders, and I can’t stop the intrusive thoughts from taking over.
What if she returns to New York and realizes that’s where she belongs?
What if she sees her apartment, her friends, and her life there, and remembers why she loved it?
What if Charleston isn’t enough?
What if I’m not enough?
I’ve never cared like this, never felt such a deep connection to someone.
The whole way home, my throat burns, and I have to concentrate on breathing.
When I finally pull into the driveway, the house looks different. Wrong, somehow. Inside is worse. The silence is so loud, my ears ring. I walk through the rooms and she’s everywhere. The kitchen where we made breakfast this morning. The couch where we made love.
Willow appears from somewhere and meows at me like she’s asking where Scarlett went. I pick her up, and she purrs against my chest, and I sit on the couch.
My phone buzzes.
Millie
How’d it go?
Ezra
Good, I guess. Was hard to watch her leave.
Millie
She’ll come back.
Ezra
You don’t know that.
Millie
I know what I saw when you two were together. Have faith.
I want to have faith. But faith feels dangerous when the alternative is getting my heart broken.
I pour myself a bourbon on ice. The glass sweats condensation onto my hand, and I watch the ice melt.
Scarlett has ten days to decide whether she’s renewing her lease or returning to Charleston.
The gala is next Saturday, and I’ll be standing in a room full of people making a speech about supporting young artists.
I move to the back porch and gulp down the bourbon, wishing it would numb my feelings.
When I walk back inside, I grab the bottle off the counter, then go to the third floor and get to work. The house is too quiet.
My phone dings.
Scarlett
I’m lining up to board!
Ezra
Love it when they’re on time.
Scarlett
Yes! I had a vodka and cranberry. Two actually. I feel better.
I take a picture of the bourbon by the pottery wheel and send it to her.
Scarlett
Love it.
Ezra
Text me when you get to your apartment so I know you made it okay.
Scarlett
I will.
I have so much more I want to say but can’t find the right words. So I keep it simple.
Ezra
Have another vodka and cranberry mid-flight.
Scarlett
I might. Boarding now.
I heart her comment, then set my phone down, returning to the pottery wheel. The clay is waiting, and I actually have a lot of work to catch up on for the gala since we escaped to the beach for a few days. I’m grateful for something to focus on besides the fact that she’s gone.
My hands find their rhythm as the wheel spins, and for the next few hours, I make piece after piece. Bowls and vases and plates that I’ll glaze when my brain isn’t so scattered. The work grounds me, even when my thoughts feel like they’re spinning out of control.
By the time the sun sets, I’ve made several pieces and I’m drunk.
Scarlett
Made it home safe. The apartment feels strange.
Ezra
Really?
Scarlett
Yeah. Not sure I like it. I’m going to bed, I think. I’m exhausted.
Ezra
Good idea. Hope you get some rest. Call me tomorrow?
Scarlett
Definitely. Night.
Ezra
Goodnight.
I clean up the studio and head downstairs. Willow is waiting by her food bowl even though I fed her hours ago. I give her a few treats before returning upstairs. I fall back on my mattress, staring up at the ceiling until my eyes grow heavy.
This must be what it feels like to be lovesick. Unfortunately, the only cure is having Scarlett back in Charleston again.
She will choose me. She has to.