Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
ADAM
THE ADAM IS NO LONGER IN A PICKLE. HE USED HIS PICKLE.
Adam
Kellan? Really? Using my pickle?
Kellan
Someone had to memorialize the historic occasion.
Wes
How many years of drought was it again? One? Two? My houseplants get more action.
Mike
Also, I ordered the part for Eve's car, but you wanted me to add what to the detail?
Me
A pickle. Wait, I'm on my way.
I silence my phone as Wes' next message comes through, no doubt another dig at my expense. The guys have been relentless since they figured out Eve and I crossed that line. I can take the ribbing.
Eve’s dropped the girls off at daycare around 5pm and I’ve been in my office, putting a few more stitches in the lumpy green monstrosity I'm trying to pass off as a crocheted pickle.
And as I head down to Mike's garage, the air has that bone-deep December chill that promises more snow, and the town square is bustling with volunteers setting up for tonight’s holiday’s concert.
The Tangled soundtrack plays from Mike's ancient radio, and I catch myself humming along.
My steps slow when I spot Frank Mitchell leaning against the counter at Mike's garage. Great.
"We need to talk," I tell him, nodding toward the bench outside. Despite the cold, this conversation needs privacy.
Frank follows me with visible reluctance. The bench outside shows us all of Main Street and I can’t help but stare at the place I’ll always call home. Because who said you can only have one?
"You want to talk about Eve?" His hostility hits me like a slap. "Or how you broke my sister's heart?"
"You know that's not what happened." My tone comes out sharper than intended. Old habits. I take a breath, try again. "Look, I'm not perfect, Frank. I screwed up with Faye in a lot of ways."
His eyebrows lift, clearly not expecting that admission.
"I was too wrapped up in being needed here," I continue.
"Too convinced I was irreplaceable at the clinic.
Too stubborn to see there were options besides all-or-nothing.
" I've had enough late-night talks with Kellan to recognize my own patterns.
Enough talks with my therapist. Shit, even enough talks with myself or the dogs at the clinic.
Frank crosses his arms. "She took that job because it was her dream. You chose a town over her."
I stare at the snow-covered ground, remembering Kellan's words right after Faye left: "You hide behind this town so you never have to figure out what you actually want. And you strung her along when you weren’t ready to fight for her." My own brother, seeing through me when I couldn't see myself.
I look Frank in the eye. "This town wasn't the problem. Being honest about what I wanted was."
"And what do you want now?" Frank challenges. "Some nurse from Chicago who you lied to? Who'll be gone faster than you can say "Cape Cod"?"
I clench my jaw, restraining the urge to snap back. "Eve isn't a replacement for Faye. She's not a solution to anything. She's—" I stop, struggling to find words that don't sound ridiculous.
"She's what?"
I exhale, watching my breath cloud the air.
"She's someone who knew me before I was Dr. Harrison. Who saw something in me worth knowing when we were two people talking in the dark. It was not fair to Faye because I was never that involved with her. I was showing her the parts of me I thought were what she needed. And yet, even with that, I didn’t put her first. I started dating Faye like a Band-Aid on my heartbreak. Only a few months after Eve ghosted me. It was wrong." I pause. “Eve's not a fix. I’m not trying to rescue her. And I’m not performing this time. I’m just showing up. For her. For me. For real. And I let her show up for me, too.”
Frank gives a low whistle. Not saying a word at first.
I continue, “I fucked it up. For me. But mostly for her. Playing a role to fit what I thought people expected of me wasn’t fair to Faye. She thought she loved me. But she loved a version of me.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t be the one you’re telling that to.”
“I agree.”
“I got mad at you because I saw the pattern. You did the same with Torie.”
“Torie?” Torie is a school teacher at the elementary school.
“From high school. Before Cassandra. You showed her a version of yourself that had her swooning and you broke her heart, too. You were a nice guy, but being nice isn’t always what’s needed. Being nice isn’t speaking up when you need to. Nice can be fake.”
“I learned that. I’m trying to be kind, now.” And then I continue, “You took Torie to prom,” I remember, and mutter. “If you still have it for Torie, maybe you shouldn’t string Dana along.”
Frank studies me for a long moment. "I know.” He shakes his head. “Faye got back last week and she’s been trying to avoid you ever since. She’ll be at Rosie’s at six. I think talking could be good. Clear the air."
My stomach tightens. Even with Eve in my life, the thought of seeing Faye carries a weight of unfinished business. Of me doing something wrong.
"I'll text her," I say.
Mike wanders out with Rocky, tail wagging like he’s oblivious to the emotional minefield we’re standing in. "Frank brought the holiday cheer, huh?"
I grimace. "Faye's back in Pine Creek. And I fucked it up with her, didn’t I?"
"Yes. You stayed with her for all the wrong reasons and then when she got that job, you hid behind responsibilities. You stayed for the town, but it wasn’t the sole reason you didn’t go with her.” He pets Rocky and looks back up at me. "You good with that?"
"I guess I'll find out. You know what Kellan told me? After she left?"
"That you're an idiot?"
"Besides that." I smile despite myself. "He said I wouldn't know what I actually wanted until I stopped defining myself by what everyone else needed from me."
Mike nods slowly. "Your brother's smarter than he looks."
"Occasionally," I agree, crouching to scratch Rocky’s ears.
"Speaking of smarts," Mike says, "when are you telling Eve you love her?"
I stop petting Rocky and stand back up. "I'm working on it."
"Work faster," he advises. "That woman deserves to know where you stand. Don't repeat old patterns, man."
I can't argue with that, so I don't try.
Because I want her. I want Eve Foster.
Faye sits by the window at Rosie’s, her dark hair shorter than I remember, her smile easier as she waves me over.
"You look good," she says as I slide into the booth across from her. "Less..." she gestures vaguely, "rigid."
"Therapy helps," I admit. "How's Liam?"
Her entire face lights up at the mention of her son. "Starting Kindergarten, obsessed with dinosaurs, and absolutely convinced he's getting a real velociraptor for Christmas."
I laugh, the awkwardness I expected diluted by the genuine warmth in her expression. "Sounds reasonable."
"About as reasonable as expecting things to work out in DC," she says, stirring honey with honesty into her tea. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately."
I brace myself, but again she surprises me.
"We were good together," she says. "Just not great. Not what either of us deserved."
The truth of her words hits home. We'd worked on paper—similar backgrounds, compatible goals—but we'd never challenged each other in the ways that matter.
"I wanted someone who would put my dreams first," she continues. "But I never stopped to think about what that meant for yours." Her smile turns rueful. "I didn't even really know what your dreams were. That's not love."
"I should have been honest," I admit. "Instead of promising to try long-distance when I knew my heart wasn't in it. I was afraid of being the bad guy."
"And ended up being exactly that," she finishes for me.
"We were both young. I knew you got heartbroken in Pittsburgh and I thought I could be the one for you.
You thought I needed you. We were both still figuring out the difference between compromise and sacrifice.
And I knew you didn't care as much. You loved the idea of us, but you didn't love me the way I deserved. You didn’t show me any of the parts of you that may need help or weren’t as shiny.
" She pauses. "You didn't tell me missing on an internship.
You didn't tell me when your dad got sick. You didn't let me help you. Ever."
Her words land with uncomfortable accuracy, like finding a hidden fracture on an X-ray I've been staring at for too long. I flinch, not from the accusation but from its truth. The worst part is, she's right. While she had invested her heart, I'd invested my sense of duty.
"I should have let you go sooner," I say quietly. "You deserved someone who felt the same way you did."
The irony doesn’t escape me. Held onto Faye like it was noble, like loyalty made up for everything else. Let Eve go like that made me some kind of martyr. Plot twist: Back then, Lady Grey would’ve written me as the side character who gets killed off in Chapter 10 for emotional depth.
Eve lied. But I waited too long to write back. Left her hanging when she was trying, because I was hurt. And maybe she waited, too. And when I hid things from her this time, we tackled it together. Because we’re older. Maybe a bit wiser.
Faye nods, a flash of old pain crossing her features before settling into acceptance. “I spent a lot of time being angry about that. That you stayed when you weren’t all in. That you let me build dreams around someone who wasn’t building the same ones.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. Because you’re a good guy, Adam. But even good guys make mistakes.”
The waitress delivers Rosie’s peppermint hot chocolates, topped with whipped cream mountains and crushed candy cane dust. Outside, children build snowmen wearing Santa hats, parents helping place smiles and carrot noses.
“I’m sorry about Brad,” I say, meaning it.
She shrugs. “He turned out to be exactly what I thought I wanted. Someone who loved me loudly. But loving like that isn’t enough either if you don’t make time for each other. Sucks, right?” Her smile is sad but healing. “Enough about my failed marriage. I hear you’re leaving Pine Creek?”
“Teaching position and vet office,” I confirm. “On the Cape.”
“Pine Creek’s loss, Cape Cod’s gain.” Her sincerity catches me off guard. “That sounds perfect for you. You always were a better teacher than you gave yourself credit for.”
“I’m trying to be better at admitting what I want,” I say. “Not hiding behind what others need from me.”
“Good.”
Her gaze drifts past me toward the door. “Is that her? Eve?”
I turn to see Eve entering the café, snowflakes melting in her hair, cheeks flushed from the cold. She smiles at me, and it’s like when a panicked dog finally lies down. Doesn’t mean the fear’s completely gone, just means it feels safe enough to breathe
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s her.”
Faye studies my face. “You never looked at me like that.”
I start to apologize, but she waves it off.
“Don’t. It’s good.” She takes a sip of her drink.
“I liked who I thought you could be. She seems to like who you actually are.” She glances at her watch.
“I need to pick up Liam from my mother’s.
We’re decorating gingerbread houses tonight.
” She hesitates. “But Adam? I’m glad we’re talking again.
When you kept your distance after I moved back.
.. that hurt more than our breakup ever did. ”
I nod, feeling the weight of my own avoidance. “I thought it would be easier.”
“For who?” she asks, but her smile takes the sting out. “Friends again?”
“Friends,” I agree, surprised by how right it feels.
I watch Faye leave, then catch Eve’s eye across the café. She practically bounds toward me. There’s an energy about her I haven’t seen before, a lightness that makes my chest expand. This reaction is happiness and pure, unfiltered want. The kind I’ve never allowed myself to prioritize before.
“I did something,” she says as she slides into the booth opposite me, not even bothering with a greeting. Her hands fidget on the table, betraying her mix of excitement and nervousness. “Something rash. Something possibly stupid. But also maybe not stupid?”
“Okay...” I can’t help smiling at the clinical ramble that always surfaces when she’s processing something big.
“I applied for a job.” The words tumble out in a rush. “At Sandwich Bay Elementary. School nurse.”
I blink in surprise. “School nurse? What about trauma nursing? The coordinator position?”
“Remember what I told you? I’m choosing what I want.”
I nod. Eve is choosing something that brings her joy over something that proves her worth to others. She’s choosing herself. And maybe she’s giving us a chance too.
“I know, I know,” she continues, her words picking up speed.
“It’s completely different from everything I’ve been doing.
But I’ve been working with Megan, and some of the other kids at your dad’s clinic, and they don’t look at me like I’m some cold, clinical robot.
They... respond. Even Liz’s been taking notes on my approach with pediatric patients.
” She pauses, searching my face. “What do you think? I know it wasn’t my dream. ”
“That’s the thing about dreams,” I say. “They’re allowed to change. To grow with you. And sometimes you’re allowed to chase them even if that’s not what anyone expected of you. Least of all, yourself.”
“Like you,” she observes. “From small-town vet to educator.”
I nod. “It took me years to admit I wanted something different. That being needed here wasn’t the same as fulfilling my own purpose.”
“And now we’re both potentially heading to Sandwich Bay,” she says, a hint of wonder in her voice. “Not because of some cosmic force, but because we’re each following what feels right. Separately. Independently.”
“Converging paths,” I agree. “Not fate. Choice.”
Her hand turns beneath mine, our fingers intertwining. “It’s terrifying,” she admits. “Letting go of what I thought I wanted. Facing my hometown again. But somehow less terrifying than it was before.”
“Because this time you’d be going back on your terms,” I suggest.
“And with someone who sees all of me,” she adds softly. “Not just the parts that fit into some predetermined box. Unless you don’t want to continue?”
“Foster, I don’t know what chapter we’re on, but if you think I’m letting you walk out again, you clearly haven’t read enough Lady Grey. I wanted you then. I want you more now. That’s not changing.”
Inside Rosie’s, under Christmas lights and the scent of peppermint and coffee, it hits me: I’m not pretending to be someone’s plan.
Or someone’s bookmark.
I’m here. Fully. Finally. And maybe for once, I’m not the guy who almost gets it right.
Maybe I’m just... the guy.
And this time, I’m not waiting behind a screen, wondering if she’ll show.
I’m here. And so is she.
We’re together.