41. Ethan
ETHAN
The bell over the door rang just as I was restocking the front shelf.
I didn’t look up. Whoever it was could come find me. I wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone halfway for anything today.
“You’re hard to get a hold of.”
I straightened slowly.
Lucy.
I turned.
She looked different. Her hair was down but not styled, her expression carrying something new.
“I’ve been busy,” I said.
“You didn’t answer my texts.”
“I know. I didn’t want to have this conversation over text.”
“So, let’s have it.”
I set down what I was holding and came around the shelf. “The video,” I said, keeping my voice even. “You shouldn’t have posted it.”
“I didn’t name anyone.”
“It doesn’t matter. Anyone paying attention knew exactly what you were talking about, and none of it was true.”
“It’s my truth.”
“We weren’t together. We were never together, and she didn’t steal anything from you.”
Her jaw tightened. “That’s your version.”
“It’s the true version. For too long, I let you make it into something it wasn’t, because I didn’t want to hurt you.
That was wrong, and I should have been clearer before.
I told you I didn’t date because I was leaving, that I kept things light because nothing here was permanent.
And I believed that—or I told myself I did—but the truth is, I was using both of those things as one excuse to avoid saying something simple and honest, which was that this specifically wasn’t what I wanted. ”
“That would have hurt.”
“I know. It still would have been better than what I gave you instead.”
The tightness around her jaw eased—not forgiveness, likely the relief of finally being told the truth after a long time of receiving careful approximations of it.
“You’re staying. I ran into Maya this morning.”
“Yes.”
“Because of her. Salem.”
“Because of a lot of things, but yes. Because of her, too.”
She pressed her lips together. “I just saw her at the grocery store. She said you weren’t talking. The way she looked when she said it—it looked finished.”
“It’s not.”
“You sound very sure about something that looks very over.”
“I know what it looks like, and I’m choosing to believe it isn’t.”
She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “You don’t have to. You could stay where things make sense, with someone who wants to be with you.”
I understood it—what she was offering and where it came from and how long she had been holding onto it. “I’m head over heels for her. That’s not something I can set aside. And pretending otherwise wouldn’t be fair to you. You deserve someone who is all in. I’m not that person.”
“If it were that easy—”
“It isn’t. I know it isn’t. And I’m sorry that I made it harder than it needed to be. There’s no version of this where that changes.”
She exhaled slowly. “So that’s it.”
“That’s it.”
“You should have said this sooner.”
“You’re right. I should have.”
She turned toward the door and stopped with her hand on the frame. “For what it’s worth,” she said, not looking back, “I thought seeing you apart would make me feel better. It doesn’t.”
The bell rang softly behind her as she stepped outside.
The rain had started—not the gentle Gray Harbor drizzle that had followed most of October, but the heavy rain that meant the season had finally turned and wasn’t going back. It ran down the glass in slow, uneven lines, blurring the street beyond into something soft and indistinct.
October was just about over.
Salem was wrong about why she left—I was certain of that—but being right about it didn’t fix anything. She had to get there herself, and I had to be patient enough to let her—patience without action, waiting without chasing.
I was going to try. I had chosen this place, chosen her. Now, I just had to wait for her to choose me back.