Chapter 10 Emily
EMILY
The next day, steam clung to my skin as I stepped out of the bathroom, towel knotted around my hair. I padded down the hallway in socked feet, the floor cool against my soles. The scent of lavender shampoo followed me.
I pushed open my bedroom door and grabbed the hoodie off the back of the chair. My hair dripped onto the collar as I pulled it on, the damp fabric clinging to my arms.
Then my laptop chimed.
I glanced at the screen out of habit. One subject line stood out like it had been written in neon:
In-House Marketing Manager Opportunity – Starts Next Week.
Marla. I hadn’t heard from her in almost a year. We’d worked together in Manhattan, back when my life had a direction. Or at least, a schedule. She was now with one of the biggest cosmetics brands in the industry. Glossy campaigns. Six-figure budgets. Award submissions with gold foil seals.
And now she wanted me.
The job was clear. In-house marketing manager. Full-time. A real desk. A real team. A salary that didn’t make me cringe. Stability. Recognition.
This was the kind of opportunity I used to dream about when I couldn’t sleep. The kind of thing I worked for, networked for, and poured hours into just to be considered.
I should’ve felt triumphant. I should’ve clicked “Reply” already.
Instead, my stomach twisted.
Because I’d thought of Jason.
Not work. Not status. Not even the money. Him. His voice. His laugh when I burned toast. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t just back, but here. Like I belonged.
But I wasn’t supposed to want to belong. That wasn’t the plan. Chrysanthemum Cove was supposed to be a stopover. A place to catch my breath, not plant roots. I had left for a reason. I had wanted more.
But now I found myself slowing down. Watching the tide roll in.
Listening to the quiet of a small town that somehow made space for me, even when I didn’t ask for it.
I knew where the creaky spots were in the diner floor.
I knew how Jason took his coffee without thinking. I had a key to the back door.
Now, I sat on this lumpy twin bed, knees under a quilt I’d outgrown ten years ago, staring at a future I’d once begged for.
This job meant moving back. It meant late nights and rooftop bars and subway rides. It meant picking up where I left off. It meant proving I hadn’t failed.
But if I said yes, what would I be leaving behind?
The screen glowed. The lighthouse outside blinked. Slow. Steady. Like it was trying to answer for me.
I shut the laptop. My pulse jumped.
I stood and pulled on my hoodie.
The diner would be closing soon.
I needed to see Jason. To remind myself of what I stood to lose.