13. Salem
SALEM
My phone buzzed just as I was rinsing out my coffee mug, and I ignored it at first—not because I was busy but because I had learned most notifications fell into one of two categories: disappointing or mildly inconvenient.
I preferred a moment to prepare before engaging with either.
It buzzed again, then once more, persistent enough that I dried my hands on a dish towel and reached for it, bracing for a group text or something I didn’t want to answer.
It wasn’t that.
Tags. More than one. I opened the first without giving myself much time to think, and the image loaded slowly.
It was me kneeling next to the little girl from the hospital with a brush in hand, absorbed in what I was doing while she smiled beside me, proud of whatever we’d turned her witch into. Just me, living quietly on Ethan’s social media feed like I belonged there.
My eyes dropped to the caption.
A single black heart.
I let out a slow breath, my thumb hovering over the screen.
The simplicity of it was louder than anything he could have written, while the comments below moved in the opposite direction—stacking quickly and loudly, people filling in gaps that didn’t belong to them and turning something small into something bigger.
Which, I realized, was exactly what I was doing.
We signed a contract to do just this, but my nervous system did not get the memo.
He didn’t date, so I willed my heart to calm the hell down and keep that perspective.
I looked at the photo longer than I meant to before tapping into the comments and leaving a single black heart beneath his caption. Something small and neutral that didn’t say anything I couldn’t take back, but it still felt like acknowledging what he’d chosen to post.
It felt appropriate. It also felt terrifying, which meant it was probably the right call.
Before I could scroll any farther, something caught my eye just beneath the top comments. A laughing emoji, sitting there like a splinter. I tapped it before I could stop myself, already knowing what I was going to find.
Lucy.
My stomach dropped. I closed the app and set my phone down on the counter harder than necessary, like I could shut the whole thing off by deciding not to look at it anymore.
She knew what this was. So, she didn’t have to be a spoilsport about the whole ordeal.
That stupid laughing emoji made things look, well, I don’t know what they looked like actually, but I didn’t like it.
It buzzed again. I picked it up already bracing, a text from Ethan, and I smiled before I could stop it, which I was going to think about later, too.
Ethan
I realized I should probably ask before I just showed up with something… what’s your favorite flower? Purely for charity purposes. Obviously.
I huffed out a laugh, leaned back against the counter.
Me
I like all flowers. You really can’t go wrong.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately, disappeared, and came back.
Ethan
I feel like this is a trap.
Me
It is.
Ethan
I think I’ll just pick your favorite flower for you
Sunflowers feel too obvious. Roses feel like I’m trying too hard. And Tulips seem out of reach also.
I was smiling at my phone in my kitchen alone, which was fine. This was fine.
Me
Okay then… what’s my favorite flower?
Ethan
You feel like ranunculus.
I sat on the arm of the couch.
Me:
How do you even know what a ranunculus is?
Ethan:
What, because I’m a man? Kidding. My grandma had a garden. I still take care of it… even though she passed a while ago.
I smiled at the phone.
Me:
That is… actually really cute.
Ethan:
Cute? I thought I’d get more points than that for “dead grandma’s garden.”
I laughed, shaking my head.
Me:
Fine. I love ranunculus. My new favorite flower.
Ethan:
They’re aggressively pretty. Kind of reminds me of someone I know.
Me:
Miles is married. You might want to back off.
Ethan:
Please. Miles wishes.
I stared at that for a second, still smiling, and typed.
Me:
Your turn. Favorite color.
Ethan:
Green.
That made sense. I didn’t know why, but it did.
Me:
Of course it is.
Ethan:
That sounded judgmental.
Me:
Everyone’s favorite color is green.
Ethan:
Okay, so then yours is green too?
Me:
No. Black.
Ethan:
You were not doing a great job at bucking the rumors that you hate Halloween.
I laughed under my breath, tucked my hair behind my ear, and typed before I could overthink it.
Me:
Black is calm. Not trying too hard. Still stands out if you were paying attention. Actually very beautiful.
I hit send and immediately wished I could take it back. Too much. That was too much. There was a pause, long enough that I started composing an entirely different follow-up message in my head.
Ethan:
Yeah… that also reminds me of someone I know.
I let out a slow breath.
Me:
You were such a flirt.
Ethan:
So were you recovering okay from all of this?
I leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
Me:
I think so
You?
Ethan:
Same.
Also—Alba mentioned they might want to do a podcast as part of the campaign.
I sat up a little straighter.
Me:
A podcast?
Ethan:
Interviews, background, something longer than the video, I guess.
Me:
That sounds like a terrible idea.
Ethan:
I had the same thought. Public speaking is not my favorite thing.
I tilted my head at the screen.
Me:
Really?
Corporate law didn’t fix that?
Ethan:
Law school beat most of it out of me, he wrote. Didn’t fully take though. Still not a fan.
Me:
Great! So no to the podcast then?.
Ethan:
Awesome!
Then, after a beat—
Ethan:
Can I call you?
My stomach flipped. Actually flipped. I stared at the message for a second before typing:
Me:
Like… on the phone?
Ethan:
Or FaceTime.
No pressure. I just feel like I’m typing too slow for this conversation.
I laughed softly and shook my head. Of course he did. I hesitated, then typed.
Me:
Okay.
My phone displayed a FaceTime notification almost before I’d finished sending it.
I inhaled once—quick, shallow—before answering.
His face filled the screen. He was outside on a porch somewhere, wearing a navy T-shirt, his dark hair still damp like he’d recently gotten out of the shower, a few strands falling into his eyes.
He shook his head and ran a hand through it, and I was not going to say anything about what watching that did to my nervous system.
His eyes came back to the screen. To me.
And I forgot what I’d been about to say.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.”
There was a quiet beat, the way you pause at a threshold before you step through it. Then he smiled, warm and easy.
“I feel like this is better,” he said.
“Yeah. It is.”
He leaned back, settling in like he wasn’t planning on going anywhere, and said, “So. Black really isn’t a color. You know that, right?”
I laughed.
Just like that, it was easy again. Which was either the best thing that had happened to me in a long time, or the beginning of a problem I hadn’t fully thought through yet.
Probably both.
I didn’t hang up until the early hours of the morning.