Chapter 3 #3
Dad’s eyes twinkle, and he takes a sip of his coffee before answering.
“You know, your grandmother was right to encourage you to see the world. But she was also right about another thing she used to say—that magic finds its way home.” He gestures around my childhood bedroom, at the marks on the doorframe showing my height through the years, at the window seat where I spent countless hours reading.
“Magnolia Cove has a way of holding space for what you need. Sometimes that’s distance for a time.
Sometimes it’s stillness. A chance to let yourself be known.
That’s the hardest part of life, I think. ”
He must see something in my face because he quickly adds, “Hey, I didn’t mean to push, chicken.
I know it’s not simple. Just—whatever happens, whatever you choose…
just know that Magnolia Cove will still be here.
We will still be here. What matters is that you choose. That it’s your life. Your story.”
I let out a breath. Leave it to Dad to know exactly what to say, to make both holding on and letting go feel like choices, not failures.
Staying in Magnolia Cove is hard. Not just because Grandma Ida’s memory lingers in every creaky boardwalk and lopsided sandcastle. But because this town also watched me fall apart.
Jacob didn’t just break up with me—he left. Packed up, moved away, and made it pretty clear to everyone that my grief was the reason.
And Magnolia Cove is small. People talk. People remember. I became the girl who was too much. The one who lost her grandmother and then her boyfriend, and who hasn’t dated seriously since.
Sometimes it feels like I’m living inside a snow globe that everyone else keeps shaking.
What I want—what I’ve wanted ever since—is to run. To find somewhere new, where no one looks at me like I’m fragile or broken or still trying to hold herself together. Somewhere I can breathe without the weight of old stories pressing down on my chest.
Dad blows on his coffee. “Besides, life catches you by surprise sometimes. I had my own plans, then I met your mother.” His smile goes a little dreamy. “Then we had Gavin and you. That’s been the very best adventure.”
He thumbs under my chin, and I return his goofy grin. Sometimes Dad makes it feel free again. Like I could be the version of me that existed before everything fell apart.
I look back at the fellowship papers. “But the application requirements—”
"Three innovative community projects," Dad finishes, because of course he's already read every detail. "How's that matchmaking service coming along?"
"It's one," I say, my brain firing on all cylinders now.
"And Library Alive Night is happening in three months—that's two.
" I've been planning that event forever: a night where literary characters come to life through living book characters, complete with themed food and interactive storytelling. "I just need one more."
Dad kicks a knee over an ankle. "You know your mother worries about you leaving."
"I know." I glance at the photo on my desk—me and Grandma Ida at my high school graduation, both of us beaming. "That’s not really living, is it? Focusing on the worries?"
“Well, Mary Oliver would take your side,” he answers.
I clutch my mug, warmth seeping into my bones.
Neither Gavin nor me had followed Dad’s passion for poetry, but I’d always had a soft spot for Oliver.
She just said things so dang perfectly. Dad stands and presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Just promise me one thing?"
"What's that?"
“Don’t let the fear of losing something good make you run from it,” he says gently.
The words hit harder than I expect. It’s like he’s not just giving advice but naming something I haven’t said out loud.
His eyes twinkle in a way that makes me suspect he’s not just talking about travel. He says nothing about the new, albeit handsome and surprisingly good-at-banter man working at the library—but that look says he and Mom have discussed it. Extensively.
After Dad leaves, I spread the brochure out on my desk, tracing the photos of libraries in Paris, Marrakesh, Cape Town.
My heart races at the possibilities. But there's also this weird ache in my chest when I think about leaving Magnolia Cove, about leaving the library, about leaving my friends, and maybe even about… leaving certain people I’ve not gotten to know yet who I absolutely am not thinking about.
I pull out a fresh notebook—because every new project deserves its own notebook—and start listing potential ideas for my third innovative project.
The pages are crisp and clean, full of possibility.
Just like this fellowship. Just like my future.
The application deadline is in two months.
If I'm going to do this, I need to go all in.
Project Ideas for Fellowship Application:
1. Virtual Reality Library Tours
2. Senior Tech Literacy Program
3. Storybook Kitchen Story Hour
I tap my pen against the page, frowning. They’re all… fine. But none of them feel special enough. None of them feel like something that would make the fellowship committee sit up and take notice.
Mom would have good ideas—she’s the best at making lists and listening with her whole person.
But, Mom would also have opinions. Opinions about why I want to leave, about what I’m running from, about how sometimes we create elaborate escape plans to avoid dealing with our feelings.
If I try to explain this Fellowship opportunity to her, she’ll start throwing around words like emotional bypassing and fear of commitment.
Maybe I'll keep it to myself for now. Just until I know if I can craft a third community project and if they accept me into the program. No need to upset Mom or get the town gossip mill churning. Once it’s an actual plan, I’ll share it with her.
Grandma Ida's photo sits in a puddle of golden morning light. "I'm doing it," I whisper to her smiling face. "I'm really doing it."
Now I just have to figure out how to balance planning a global adventure with working my job and finding perfect matches for others in town—including one frustratingly attractive book curator who makes my heart flutter in ways I can’t afford to feel.
Right. Simple.
I take another sip of coffee and start writing, trying to ignore the way my stomach flutters every time I think about leaving. Or staying. Or Eli.
Maybe I need something stronger than coffee.