Chapter 23 Eli
Eli
The ferry’s engine hums beneath my feet, a steady vibration that should be comforting in its reliability but somehow only heightens my awareness of everything I’m leaving behind.
I stand at the railing, watching Magnolia Cove one last time.
The late afternoon sun casts the town in golden light, making the white-painted buildings gleam like polished shells against the verdant backdrop of magnolia and live oak trees.
Even from here, I can see the subtle shimmer of magic that hangs over the island like a delicate morning mist—visible to those of us with magic, invisible for everyone else.
Behind me, a young couple argues playfully over which restaurant had the best lobster rolls.
An elderly woman clutches a paper bag from A Novel Idea, no doubt filled with beach reads for her trip back to the mainland.
A child squeals with delight as he spots a dolphin in the ferry’s wake.
Normal people. Not the kind of people who’ve had their heart dismantled and reassembled in the wrong order.
I adjust my glasses and try to focus on my mental checklist. I need to contact the department about resuming in-person lectures.
I should email my landlord and see if they ever fixed that broken window screen in the bedroom, and I still haven’t canceled the forwarding service at the post office.
This is what I do. This is who I am. Dr. Eli Lancaster: organized, analytical, precise.
Except my mind keeps wandering to dark curls escaping from a messy bun. To fingers stained with ink and glitter. To wild, heartfelt laughter echoing through the stacks of the library.
To Rhianna.
A lump forms in my throat as I realize I now have a “before Rhianna” and an “after Rhianna” life. And I’m not sure how to navigate this “after” part where I know what it feels like to be completely, irrevocably alive, and then return to mere existence.
The thought brings an unexpected smile to my lips.
In a strange way, this pain is a gift. Mark died without this.
He never experienced the exhilarating terror of jumping out of an airplane or the transcendent joy of loving someone so completely that you’d happily rearrange your entire life just to be near them another day.
But I have. I’ve lived.
I’ve sung karaoke in a bar full of strangers.
I’ve plunged into the ocean at midnight beneath the light of a full moon.
I’ve fallen in love with a woman who contains more passion in her smallest finger than I’d previously believed possible in an entire person.
And yes, I’ve had my heart broken so thoroughly that I’m not sure it will ever beat quite the same way again.
Isn’t that what I wanted, though? To experience life outside the careful boundaries I’d drawn for myself? To be bold? To take risks?
I’ll take this back with me, I decide. I’ll carry Rhianna’s gift—her insistence on experiencing everything fully, her refusal to play it safe—back to my old life and make it new.
I’ll try dishes I can’t pronounce at restaurants I’ve never visited.
I’ll attend a concert alone just to feel the music vibrate through my bones.
I’ll listen to Fleetwood Mac and never, ever call them a soft rock band again.
The thought draws a soft chuckle from me that quickly dissolves into another wave of a heartache.
“ELI! WAIT!”
The shout cuts through the ambient noise of the ferry, and I spin around, scanning the dock. Alex Sinclair is running full-tilt toward the ferry, waving her arms frantically above her head. My heart lurches.
“IS EVERYTHING OKAY?” I cup my hands around my mouth to project my voice over the distance.
“NO!” she shouts back. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE! RHIANNA IS STILL IN LOVE WITH YOU!”
I freeze, suddenly aware of how public this exchange has become.
Mrs. Delehay, who always carries her Pomeranian in a custom-made sling, has stopped mid-conversation with Grammie Rae to openly stare.
Hazel—the owner of The Hungry Gull, where Rhianna and I have eaten multiple times a week all summer—has abandoned any pretense of not eavesdropping.
The entire town is witnessing this spectacle, witnessing me being—
Human.
The realization washes over me like warm sunlight. That’s what I am. Human. In love. Messy and heartbroken and gloriously, painfully alive.
And suddenly, I don’t care who’s watching.
“I PROMISED HER I’D LET HER GO IF SHE ASKED!” I call back, my voice stronger than I expected. “AND SHE DID!”
Alex cups her hands around her mouth. “I KNOW! BUT SHE ONLY ASKED BECAUSE SHE’S SCARED! AND SHE DOESN’T THINK SHE’S WORTHY OF A GRAND GESTURE!”
A grand gesture. I’ve heard Rhianna talk enough about romance tropes to understand what Alex means.
And if there’s anyone in the world who deserves a dramatic declaration of love, who deserves to be chosen completely and without hesitation.
It’s Rhianna Wilder—with her boundless enthusiasm, her kindness, her ability to see wonder in even the most ordinary things.
But there’s a problem.
“I CAN’T brEAK MY PROMISE TO HER!” I shout.
Even from her place in the crowd, I can see Alex roll her eyes. “PROMISES ARE ABOUT THE HEART OF THE MATTER, DON’T YOU THINK?”
The ferry’s engine changes pitch, and I feel the subtle lurch as it pulls away from the dock. Panic flares in my chest. I’m leaving. The dock is slowly inching away with each passing second.
With a gasp, I sprint toward the railing and vault over it, propelling myself toward the dock in a leap that is neither graceful nor well-calculated.
For a terrifying moment, I’m suspended in the air.
Then Marcus Blackwood—owner of A Novel Idea—lunges forward and catches me just before I would have tumbled into the water.
“Your luggage is still below deck!” calls a crewmember from the ferry.
Another flash of panic. My rare books. My research materials. My color-coded file system. “I’ve already paid!” I call back, straightening my glasses. “I’ll get it from you later!”
“It might get lost!” The crewmember warns.
Six months ago, this would have sent me into a tailspin of anxiety. But now I find myself shrugging. Right now there’s only one thing I can’t afford to lose. “I’ll figure it out! I have something more important to handle!”
I thank Marcus then weave through the small crowd that’s gathered, hearing snippets of gossip already forming in my wake.
“I just love living in Magnolia Cove don’t you?” Grammie Rae says to Mrs. Delehay with a delighted grin.
“Wait until bridge club hears about this,” Mrs. Delehay replies, already reaching for her phone—and then holding it up in the air like an antenna, trying to find a signal.
Alex meets me halfway down the dock, and I’m slightly out of breath as I reach her. “Okay,” I say, “what’s next? Where’s Rhianna?”
Alex suddenly looks sheepish. “Well, that’s the thing. I kind of promised Rhianna I wouldn’t get involved with her decisions around her love life. I didn’t think that applies to your decisions… but still, my involvement should probably end here.”
I stare at her in disbelief for a moment before a laugh escapes me. “I’m not sure you’re the person I should be taking advice from about what promises mean, then.”
Alex grins. “Maybe not. But good luck.” She starts to turn, then looks back with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh, and Eli? Just… be gentle with her. She acts like she’s allergic to being loved, but it’s really just fear with good PR.
” Her voice softens. “She loves you, she doesn’t believe she gets to have you loving her back. ”
Her words land like a stone. God, if only Rhianna knew. If she only knew how easy it is. How inevitable it’s become. I nod, not trusting my voice, and turn toward the path that leads to her.
Because I’ve seen Rhianna Wilder at her worst. And I still want her. Every messy, magnificent piece. Now I just need to let her know it.
What follows is a whirlwind tour of Magnolia Cove.
I try the library first, but Claire tells me Rhianna called out sick.
Her home yields nothing but Mrs. Wilder offering me a slice of apple pie that smells divine but which I reluctantly decline.
I stop by A Novel Idea where Mia gently shakes her head from behind the cash register.
I check the gazebos and benches around the town square and park.
I walk along the shoreline. I even go as far as the stretch of rocky beach beyond the resident’s area, where the wind whips hard and cool—each location emptier than the last.
By the time I approach The Whimsical Whisk, the sun is lowering in the sky, and I’m disheveled and sweaty.
Note to self: loafers and a button-down are not built for summer sprints.
Discouragement weighs heavy in my chest. My luggage is somewhere docked in Charleston by now, containing nearly all my possessions, including my rare book collection. And still no sign of Rhianna.
The bell above the door jingles as I step inside, and Zoe pops up from behind the counter, her purple-streaked hair twisted into a messy bun.
“Well, hey there, Sugar,” she drawls, eyebrows lifting.
“I thought you were on the last train out of this popsicle stand.” Her expression softens as she takes in my disheveled state. “You okay, Eli?”
“Tell me you’ve seen Rhianna here today,” I say, not able to muster enough energy for pleasantries.
Zoe leans against the counter. “Can’t say I have. But if I were the betting type…” Her grin widens. “And I am. I’d guess she’s somewhere trying real hard to convince herself she doesn’t miss you.”
I run a hand through my hair, which is now hopelessly disheveled. “That doesn't exactly narrow it down.”
“True.” She taps a neon-green painted fingernail against her chin.
“You know, Mia’s got her comfort spots when she’s down—usually the bookstore loft or that cliff path near the old lighthouse.
Magnolia Cove may be small, but people still have their hidey-holes.
You ever figure out where Rhianna goes when she needs to disappear? ”
A memory surfaces: Rhianna guiding me up a forest path by moonlight, her voice soft in the darkness. This is where I go when I’m feeling too much.
The hill. Of course.
Zoe tilts her head, watching my expression shift. Then she grins. “Bingo.” She points at me with a wink. “I can see the lightbulb. Give the man a prize.”
“What if I’m guessing wrong?”
She shrugs. “Look, I’ve known Rhianna since we were setting off illegal magic-infused fireworks behind the elementary school.
That girl’s got more layers than a wedding cake, but she’s also predictable in her unpredictability if that makes any sense.
I’d bet good money that whatever place just popped into your mind? That’s exactly where she is.”
I release a heavy breath. I know she’s right.
I know exactly where to find Rhianna. But marching up that hill sweaty, disheveled, and not even remotely pulled together doesn’t exactly scream grand romantic gesture.
It doesn’t feel romance-novel-worthy at all.
It’s not even a mid-tier made-for-streaming kind of moment.
Unfortunately, I don’t have days to come up with something better. I’m currently homeless, all my possessions are—hopefully—on a ferry docked in Charleston, and Rhianna’s leaving soon.
I must act now.
Still… there has to be something. Something small that says to Rhianna that I know her. That I love her. No matter how messy or chaotic life may get.
That’s when I see them—the lingering chocolate chip cookies behind the bakery glass, edges golden and glistening with magic that feels like a warm hug.
Not exactly the same as hiring a skywriter or penning an epic of our own mythology, but she once said that Ethan and Zoe’s chocolate chip cookies tasted like childhood dreams. So maybe it’s close enough.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to begin.
I exhale slowly, hope rekindling. “Do you have any more of those chocolate chip cookies?”
Zoe grimaces. “We’re about to close and only have the two left…” My face must fall visibly because she quickly adds, “But we always have time for a love-mergency. Boss?” she calls out louder.
Ethan emerges from the back room, flour dusting his apron. “What’s up, Zoe?” His eyes widen when he spots me. “Hey, Eli. I thought you were leaving.”
Zoe grins, and a mischievous twinkle sparkles in her eye. “We have a cookie catastrophe. Fire back up the ovens.”
Ethan chuckles and pulls out his phone. “Let me see if I can get enough service to text Alex and tell her I’ll be late.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Eli, grab an apron if you want and come on back.”
As I follow him toward the kitchen, I feel a strange sense of calm settling over me. I don’t know if this will work. I don’t know if Rhianna will even want to see me. But for the first time in my orderly, carefully planned life, I’m completely fine with not knowing what happens next.
The same calm somehow stays with me as I stand alone, a box of freshly baked cookies under one arm, a flashlight in the other hand, staring at the darkening path that leads to the hill.
The evening air is heavy with the scent of salt water and blooming crepe myrtle and the first stars are just beginning to appear in the twilight sky.
Crickets chorus in the underbrush as if urging me forward.
For a man who spent his life charting every step, I now find myself stepping into the unknown with nothing but hope and cookies. And somehow, that feels like the boldest move of all.