Chapter 14
Rhianna
The Blue Moon Festival is in full swing, and I can't help but grin as Eli and I make our way through the crowd, hand in hand. It's been a couple of weeks since our meteor shower and kiss, and every day since has been a whirlwind of stolen lunch breaks at the library, laughter-filled dinners at various restaurants around the Cove, and late-night conversations that leave me daydreaming at work like a lovesick teenager. Which is ridiculous, because this isn’t supposed to be serious. This can’t be serious.
It’s casual—no strings attached, no expectations, no complications.
Except I'm falling for Eli Lancaster, hard and fast, and the thought both thrills and terrifies me. Every logical part of me is screaming to stop, to turn back, to protect my heart before it’s too late. But I don’t think I can.
The fellowship letter burns a hole in my cardigan pocket.
I should tell him about it. About the six months (or more, my traitorous brain whispers) I’ll be gone.
But bringing it up now feels like opening a door I’m not ready to walk through.
Like saying, “Hey, just so you know, I’m planning a future you’re not in.
” Or worse—like admitting I want him in it.
Eli’s only seen the fun side of me, though. The glitter and charm and half-baked plans. Apparently he finds that kind of thing entertaining. Some people do until they get the flip side of that coin. The part that’s still chaotic, but in a hard way. The kind that feels like too much. Then they run.
As much as I want to believe Eli could be an exception, he already told me he left his last relationship when it stopped being interesting.
So yeah. That hope? Dangerous.
This is my season for gallivanting across Europe and chasing joy and possibility and whatever version of freedom still exists after heartbreak. Not for a second round of devastation.
So, I won’t be telling him. We’ll have a fun summer together like we’ve agreed. And if I get accepted into the program, I’ll end things with him. That was the deal. No commitments. Just two people enjoying the in-between.
Even if part of me already knows I’m lying to myself. Even if part of me knows this already means more to him than he was willing to admit. And if I’m being honest? It means more to me, too.
I push the guilt down and focus on his hand in mine as we make our way through the crowd.
The town square is decked out in a bizarre mix of Elvis memorabilia and celestial decorations. Cardboard cutouts of The King pose next to papier maché moons. A group of kids run by in sequined jumpsuits and fairy wings.
"So," Eli says, leaning close so his voice carries over a speaker blaring ‘Blue Suede Shoes’. "Is it just me or is there a lack of promised rhinestones?"
I bat my eyelashes at him. "Why, Lancaster, are you implying that I oversold the majesty of our Blue Moon Festival?"
He chuckles, the sound warm and rich even amidst the chaos. "I'll let you know by the time the night's over."
"Rhianna! Eli!" A familiar voice cuts through the crowd. Alex waves at us, her other arm looped through Ethan's as they weave through the throng of festival-goers.
I navigate us close enough to speak with them as a couple passes us who are decked out in outfits studded in rhinestones from brimmed hats down to their heeled boots.
I give Eli a look. Hmm, is that a lack of rhinestones?
He rolls his eyes, conceding. Fine.
I'm smirking as we approach Alex and Ethan. "Enjoying the festival?"
Alex grins but her gaze drops to Eli's hand in mine. "Oh, absolutely. Ethan was just telling me about the time he entered the Elvis impersonation contest as a kid when his family visited on vacation one year."
Ethan groans good-naturedly. “I thought we agreed not to share that with others.”
"Hang on," Eli says. "You entered the Elvis contest?"
The two of them have hit it off since Eli helped ward a wedding cake and spent an afternoon geeking out over rare books and perfectly brewed coffee. Ethan rolls his eyes but dives into the story of how he eagerly wore pomade and cat-eye glasses while singing his heart out.
Alex is half-listening to the story, but her focus remains on me. Or more specifically, on my hand twined with Eli's. She gives me one of her knowing looks. Dang city journalists and their ability to communicate without speaking.
"There's honey candy, Rhianna. Want to get some?" Alex asks when the conversation breaks.
"Sure." I give Eli's fingers a squeeze before joining her. We push through the crowd and get in line for the treat.
Alex tucks her hands into her pockets. “You two seem cozy.”
My fingers graze the edge of my cardigan pocket, where the fellowship letter sits folded like a reminder.
A promise. There's a whole world waiting out there—twenty-four libraries, twenty-four chances to experience something new without the risk of losing what I love.
I've started carrying the letter with me like a shield.
A reminder that I can't let myself get too deep.
That getting too close to someone like Eli was never part of the plan. "We're... exploring things."
“Exploring things, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
The line moves forward, and I roll my eyes as we move up. “It’s very casual. We’re just having fun and haven’t felt the need to make any kind of announcement about it. It’s not… a thing.”
My heart gives a warning thud in my chest. Because something is shifting.
I can feel it. In the way I scan rooms for him without thinking.
In the way his laugh finds its way into the quiet space of my day.
But every time I get close to naming it—whatever this is—fear flares.
Like admitting it would make it real. And real means risk.
Letting someone in, really in, feels like reaching for something fragile with soap-slippery hands. I’m not the kind of person who gets to hold on to something this good. I’ve tried before. And the moment my hands trembled, it shattered.
“Where do you want it to go?” Alex asks.
A kid with smeared face paint and a half-eaten stick of cotton candy runs by us shrieking with laughter.
I shrug. I’m going to pretend this is casual.
Not even my friends get to see the icky, insecure parts of me.
“It really can’t go anywhere. I mean, I have the fellowship coming up—assuming I get accepted, fingers crossed. ”
Alex gives me a long, knowing look. Not pushy.
Just…. Present. The kind of look that says she’s not buying it, but she’s not going to call me out either.
Which somehow makes me feel both seen and exposed.
We reach the front of the line and Alex throws up two fingers then pays.
The attendant hands us cones of the candy that reflects the festival’s colorful lights.
Alex loops her arm into mine and leans in to whisper as she walks us back through the crowd again. “For what my opinion is worth, I think you’re going to get in. But maybe don’t write off Eli so quickly… he seems great. Maybe don’t assume this is something that can’t work.”
"Isn't that exactly the problem?" My hands crunch around the honey candy cone. "That he is great? It terrifies me, the idea of falling for someone.”
Alex stops walking. The festival roars around us, colorful lights flashing, kids shrieking, fair rides blaring. But between us it feels quiet.
She studies me. “Why does that scare you so much?”
I exhale slowly, “I’ve told you about Jacob before.”
Her nod is small, careful.
“Some things like that… they leave scars. He saw me at my lowest and decided it was too much. And ever since, I’ve just assumed that if anyone gets too close, they’ll do the same.
” I pause, struggling to find words for something I almost never speak about—especially not with carousel music blaring behind me and the scent of fried Oreos clouding what little dignity I have left.
“The idea of letting someone in again, especially someone who’s actually kind, and thoughtful, and makes me feel seen in this impossible, terrifying way? That’s not just scary. It’s risky.”
Alex’s expression softens. She squeezes my arm. "Yes," she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes the best people are the ones who make it a little terrifying. Because you know they're different. And maybe... that's worth risking your heart for."
The words settle over me like a truth I've been avoiding. Because Eli is different. Not just because he’s kind or thoughtful or beautiful in that unassuming, old-books-and-soft-eyes kind of way.
But because he doesn’t make me feel like I have to be anything but myself.
He doesn’t flinch at my chaos. He leans in.
And that’s… new.
Jacob laughed off my biggest ideas, gently steered me away from the parts of my ideas that didn’t fit into his picture of stability. At the time, it made sense. I told myself compromise was part of love, that healthy relationships included balancing each other.
But then I met Eli.
Someone who doesn’t just tolerate the wild ramblings of how my brain works—he embraces it. Listens like it’s poetry. Like there’s something beautiful in my mess.
Being seen like that—really seen—and loved not despite the chaos but because of it, should feel like a gift. But instead, it feels like a risk I don’t know how to take. Because love that true, that steady, only means it’ll hurt that much more when it ends.
And how could it not end?
Eli is grounded in a way I’ve never been. He builds his life with quiet intention, with roots and structure and long-term thinking.
And me? I have a travel goal chart taped to my wall and an ever-growing list of cities I want to disappear into. I chase change like it’s oxygen.
We want different things.
We live at different speeds.
The ending feels inevitable. Like something we’re both pretending not to see because we like the way the beginning feels too much to stop now.