Chapter 22 Rhianna #2
“More like I deployed my emotional parachute.” I attempt a smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
“Which is ironic considering he’s the one who convinced me to actually go skydiving.
And with one of those sketchy human-run attractions too.
No magic at all! Just trust falling! God, Alex, how did I let myself get so tangled up in someone who was always meant to be temporary? ”
Steam rises from my tea like it means to brush my tears away.
“You know, the worst part is how he’s everywhere.
I can’t do my job without thinking of him.
Half the books in the library have his fingerprints on them.
The folklore section? Might as well rename it the ‘Subjects Eli Lancaster Waxed Poetic On’ collection.
And don’t even get me started on music.”
I sniffle and trace the rim of my mug with a finger.
“He’s ruined Fleetwood Mac for me, Alex.
Fleetwood Mac! Do you know how often ‘Go Your Own Way’ comes on my playlist?
Every. Single. Day. And instead of jamming out like a normal person, I just sit there remembering how his voice powered through the lyrics, how his eyes found mind during the chorus, and—” I swallow hard.
The tea in my hands has cooled just enough to drink, and I take a sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest. It doesn’t fill the Eli-shaped hole there, but it helps.
At least I’ll leave soon. Leaving this island and the memories and the way they hurt like they’re carving me from the inside out.
Alex leans forward slightly. “You know, I almost lost Ethan because I was too afraid of looking for different options for my future. I was terrified of the truth and scared of what staying in Magnolia Cove would do to my career, my life plans.” She gives a soft laugh.
“Then this bear shifter who bakes magical cinnamon rolls came into my life and scattered all my careful planning and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
My eyes are doing the leaking thing again, and I dab at them with my sleeve.
“But this is different. You and Ethan… you’re different.
” Alex raises an eyebrow, but I barrel on before she can say anything.
“I mean, look at you, Alex. You’re actually practically perfect in every way.
And me?” I gesture at myself with a watery laugh.
“I’m the one who dressed up as Mary Poppins to distract people from the fact that I’m always falling apart. ”
“You think Ethan and I are perfect? Rhianna, I’m an anxious overthinker and Ethan didn’t reveal to me that he could change into a bear until he just showed up at my apartment and shifted right there in my living room…
after we’d already broken up.” She shakes her head, smiling fondly.
“He was so afraid of showing me his true self, we almost missed out on each other entirely.” She pauses, then adds, “Unless I’ve missed something major here, you don’t have quite that big of a secret.
You’re not falling apart, Rhianna. You’re just scared. ”
I force a smile, but my throat is tight. What I don’t say is: But that’s the difference, isn’t it? Alex saw Ethan’s messy secrets—his fear, his shifting, all of it—and loved him anyway. I showed Jacob mine… and he let me go.
Some people are meant to be loved. I mean, look at Ethan. He’s got those twinkly blue eyes and makes cookies that taste like a Hallmark movie. He’s completely sincere when he offers to judge the kids pumpkin painting contest at the Harvest Hoopla even if he has to do it at Dean Markham’s side.
That’s not me.
I talk too fast when I’m nervous. I feel too much, say the wrong thing, get big ideas I can’t always pull off. I’m glitter and chaos and half-baked plans.
No one stays for that.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Some stories don’t get happy endings. Some people aren’t meant for love that lasts.”
“I don’t believe that,” Alex says softly. “And honestly? I don’t think you do either. What about the way you swoon over every romance at book club? Or how seriously you took this matchmaking idea? Rhianna you’re a person who loves love. You pour it into everyone else. You deserve to have it too.”
I set down my mug with a decisive clink. “What I know is that I’ve seen this movie before. I know how it ends.”
My mind drifts to Jacob’s expression the night my grandmother died—how his expression shifted from sympathy to discomfort as the days passed and I couldn’t pull myself together. How he started making excuses not to come over.
“You know what Jacob said to me when he finally worked up the courage to end things?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “He said he needed someone more stable. That I was too much, felt things too intensely.” I swipe at a tear. “Alex, he was right.”
“No, he wasn’t,” she says too loudly. A couple at the table behind us turns to look.
She takes a breath, lowers her voice, but her tone stays razor-sharp.
“Eli isn’t Jacob, Rhianna. I’ve seen how he looks at you, like you hung every star in the sky.
That’s not a man who’s going to walk away when things get difficult. ”
For one dangerous moment, I let myself imagine it—a future with Eli. Mornings spent in quiet conversation. Evenings filled with laughter. A life where I don’t have to hide the messy parts of myself. Where I’m loved not in spite of being too much, but because of it.
But hope is a treacherous thing. He’s already making plans to leave Magnolia Cove. And so am I. This story always ends the same, no matter how much I hope it might turn out differently.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do.” I press my hands together in my lap. “But not everyone gets a fairy tale, Alex. Some of us are just… too much. And that’s okay.” I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’m fine with being the matchmaker, not the match.”
Alex opens her mouth like she wants to argue, but something in my expression must stop her. She presses her lips together before she speaks. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Then can I ask you something?”
I nod, wary.
“If someone were to fight for you… like really show up, no matter how messy things got—would you let them in?”
“In that romance-book scenario, which will of course never happen in real life, then, yeah, I’d like to think I’d at least try to let them in.” I attempt to sound dismissive but there’s a wistfulness I can’t quite hide. “But that kind of thing doesn't happen in real life.”
Alex tilts her head, studying me with an intensity that makes me squirm. There’s a calculating look in her eyes I’ve seen before—the same one she gets when she’s troubleshooting a recipe or planning a menu overhaul.
“What?” I ask suddenly, wary.
“Nothing.” She smiles too innocently and leans back against her black metal chair. “Just thinking.”
“Alex…” I narrow my eyes. “Whatever you’re plotting, stop it. This isn’t one of our romance book picks. There’s no grand gesture that can change anything.”
“I didn’t say a word about grand gestures.”
I grab my notebook and brush tears from my cheeks. “You didn’t have to. That look says everything.”
Alex raises her hands in surrender, but there’s still that gleam in her eye. “I promise I won’t interfere with your decisions about your love life.”
Something about her wording makes me squint. “That’s a very specific promise.”
I narrow my eyes, but I’m too emotionally wrung out to press further.
“Good. Thanks for the intervention with Iris and the shoulder to cry on. I’ll Venmo you for the gift card you gave her.
” I sling my bag over my shoulder with a sigh.
“Now I’m going to go be a mature, responsible adult and cry into a carton of ice cream in my bedroom in private. ”
Alex snorts. “I suggest the lavender honey one from Sweet Harmony. You deserve premium breakdown fuel.”
I roll my eyes, but a laugh slips out anyway.
She reaches for the empty mugs. “Go easy on yourself, Rhi. Just because you think your story’s over doesn’t mean the universe agrees.”
I pause pushing my chair under the table and look up at her. “Yeah, sure. See you at book club.”
Then I walk past customers laughing and chatting, the smell of espresso and sugar hanging in the air, the clink of spoons on ceramic, and the sound of someone sighing happily as they take a bite of the biscotti Alex bakes by hand in this cozy little haven she built after falling in love.
And I realize—no matter how much I want it, or how much the people who love me want it for me—this isn’t for me.
This isn’t my life.
I’m supposed to be the fun aunt for my friends’ kids. The one who travels and brings back weird souvenirs and stories about charming taxi drivers and mildly illegal adventures in distant cities. I’m the chaos. The glitter. The story starter, not the ending.
I’m not the person who gets the grand gesture.
I’m the one who plans the perfect party when it happens to someone else—and pretends that’s enough.
I let the door swing shut behind me, the sound final. Like a chapter closing. Like a heart trying to convince itself it hadn’t just missed the biggest chance of its life.