Cecilia – Twenty-nine
The plane touched down with a soft jolt, the rubber wheels kissing the tarmac as the morning light filtered through the oval windows.
I used to think the saddest part of a journey was the landing. It meant the adventure was over, the goodbyes imminent, the real world waiting just beyond the terminal doors. But this time, the descent felt like something else entirely. Not an ending, but a beginning.
This time, I was coming home.
I pressed my forehead to the cool window and closed my eyes for a second, holding the moment close.
Just three months ago, I’d boarded this very plane with a backpack full of half-done dreams, and a heart still cracked around the edges.
I’d thought I needed to go away to find something new.
Maybe I did. But somewhere between the sunlit streets of Florence and the quiet, cliffside cafés of Santorini, I’d realised that the best parts of myself weren’t missing—they were waiting to be reclaimed.
We’d gone everywhere. Bologna, where the pasta tasted like poetry sounded – it was rich and the tastiest bolognaise I had ever eaten.
Pisa, with its leaning tower and crooked charm, despite being packed with tourists, it was surreal seeing something that I’d seen photos of my whole life.
Montepulciano, the wine-soaked village Siena had never wanted to leave.
We’d been so far out and stranded without a car, but we had food and wine to keep us company on our short stay there.
Sicily, where we danced in the streets with strangers, barefoot and happy, before wandering Palermo’s streets with aching heads, but full hearts.
And Greece—Athens with its tangled history, Paros with its winding alleys and whitewashed walls, and Mykonos, where we stayed up so late, we watched the sun rise, our cheeks sore from laughing.
Our time had been wonderful, so much better than either of us could have predicted.
But it was Santorini that stayed with me the most. Not because of the sunsets, though they were spectacular. But because there was a night where I realised it wasn’t just the travel I loved. It was the person I wanted to come home to when it was all over.
Theo.
I hadn’t told him I was flying in today. I'd deliberately said I was arriving tomorrow, wanting one thing I’d never dared to hope for before—surprise. The good kind. The kind that lets you take someone’s breath away.
I turned my phone on as we made our way through the arrival lounge, the messages flooding in—my mum confirming dinner next week, my dad telling me to have a safe flight, and Theo, of course.
"Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Let me know when you land. I'll be there."
I smiled to myself. He had no idea .
“I still can’t believe we actually did it,” I said as Siena and I collected our backpacks for the last time. “Three months. No arguments, no disasters.”
“Speak for yourself,” she grinned. “You didn’t have to climb three flights of stairs in Sicily because someone booked the wrong Airbnb.”
I laughed, taking my coffee. “Okay. One disaster. But worth it.”
She sighed as we made our over to the nearest café for a to-go coffee. “I know people say travelling changes you, but I didn’t really believe it until now.”
“I know what you mean.”
“This trip healed us both, Cece.” Her voice was quieter now. “In different ways. You’re not the same girl who boarded that plane.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Neither are you.”
Siena reached out, pressing her card to the machine as we collected our much-needed coffees and then turned to me.
“You’re my best friend. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.
And I know… I know you thought you had to figure that out on your own.
But if Theo’s what you want—if he’s your version of happy—then take it. Have it. You’ve earned it.”
I blinked hard. “He’s not like A--.”
“No. He’s not. And you know that. You know yourself now too, that’s what you said you wanted this trip to be about.”
I laughed through the lump in my throat, my heart thudding. “So, what about you?” I nudged her. “You didn’t hook up with a single man this summer. That’s got to be a record,” I teased her, even though I knew it had been a while since she’d bought up a man willingly in conversation.
Siena always shut that topic down.
She rolled her eyes. “I was working on myself. Growth and all that.”
“I really thought you were going to hook up with Nate at one point,” I teased.
At that, something flickered in her expression. Too quick to catch if I wasn’t looking.
“Ew, no,” she said, far too quickly. “I mean, yeah, he’s a dad, which can be such a hot trope and everything but he’s still so... useless! At the end of the day, just because a man is older does not mean he is any wiser.”
I tilted my head. “I thought you two were getting along…”
She shrugged. “We weren’t.”
But she didn’t meet my gaze when she said it.
I didn’t press. Instead, I pulled her into a hug, my heart full in a way I hadn’t felt in years. “I think I’m ready,” I whispered. “To start this next chapter.”
“You should be.”
She pulled away and looked at me. “I think I’m ready to go back to work too. But I want to keep travelling. One trip a year. That’s the deal.”
“Make it two,” I smiled. “And I’m in.”
We both took a sip of our coffee and then made a face and looked at one another, trying not to laugh and spit the contents out .
“Is that honestly what we’ve been drinking our whole lives?” I said, taking another tentative sip of the burnt coffee.
“God, I miss the European coffee and fresh pastries already and we’ve only been back for thirty minutes,” Siena wined and I laughed agreeing with her.
“Maybe you’ll land some dream job that means you can go back to Greece for a few months and just live off gyros again,” I suggested.
Siena looked at me and with all seriousness said, “That was probably the highlight of my entire Greece experience. I think my blood stream might even be sixty percent tzatziki at this point.”
“I thought I could smell garlic,” I joked and she swatted me, linking her arm with mine.
“I had the best time with you this summer,” she admitted and I rested my head against her shoulder briefly, even though it was hard with both our backpacks smacking against our backs and numerous bags we were holding, plus now our bitter tasting coffee cups to juggle too.
“Me too, S,” I smiled.
We walked out of the gates together and had decided to use the last of our remaining money to spend on taxis, we were officially done with public transport for the mean time.
We hugged goodbye with Siena heading off to her sister’s house and I was heading straight to Theo’s, so I could finally tell him everything I’d been holding onto for the last seven weeks .
I arrived at Theo’s building just past eleven.
The taxi pulled away, taillights disappearing down the street, leaving me alone on the pavement with nothing but my backpack and a heartbeat loud enough to drown out the world.
The night was warm, still. A breeze moved through the trees lining the street, soft and fragrant, the way summer always smelled at the tail-end — like heat and memory and hope.
I looked up at his building. Brick and ivy, soft golden light spilling through the second-floor windows.
I could picture him in there — maybe barefoot in the kitchen, a glass of whisky in his hand, music playing low through the speakers.
Or maybe brushing his teeth, ready for bed, completely unaware that I was outside, rehearsing words I wasn’t even sure I’d get the chance to say.
I climbed the steps slowly. My legs felt unsteady, my chest tight with everything I hadn’t allowed myself to feel until now.
And then I knocked.
Footsteps. A pause.
The door opened — and there he was.
Theo Finch. Standing barefoot in jeans and a black t-shirt, hair damp like he’d just stepped out of the shower. The sight of him hit me like a wave — the lean strength of his body, the quiet intensity in his eyes, the way he blinked like he wasn’t sure if I was real .
“Celia?” he said, his voice low, rough with disbelief. “You’re not— I thought you were back tomorrow. I was going to pick you up from the airport.”
I smiled, breath catching. “Surprise.”
He stared at me for another beat, eyes scanning my face like he was trying to memorise it all over again. “What are you doing here?” he asked quietly. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded. “Everything’s okay.”
He stepped aside instinctively. “Come in.”
I crossed the threshold slowly, heart still hammering.
The scent of him wrapped around me instantly — cedar and soap and something warm and unmistakably him.
I took note of the apartment. Cosy, lived in.
Lights soft, a record sleeve propped beside the player.
A dish towel slung haphazardly over the counter.
It hit me with a force I wasn’t prepared for — how much this place felt like him . Like home .
He closed the door behind me, turning to face me again. “How was the trip?”
I looked at him properly now. The damp curls falling across his forehead. The tiredness under his eyes. The hope sitting there too, unspoken and flickering.
“We can talk about it later,” I said softly.
He nodded, but his gaze didn’t move from mine.
“I didn’t come here just because I missed you,” I began, voice trembling, “or because of adrenaline or the high of being back home after three months away. I didn’t come because it was convenient. Or dramatic. Or impulsive. Or even because I felt like I should. ”
My fingers twisted nervously around the strap of my backpack. I took a breath. “I came here because it’s the truth. Because I can’t keep pretending it’s not.”
Theo didn’t move. Not one inch.
“I want you,” I said. “I want to be with you.”
His jaw tensed slightly, like he was holding something back — maybe emotion, maybe hope.
“And not just because you make me feel safe. Not just because you see me. Even though you do. God, you do, and I’m so grateful for that. But it’s more than that. I’ve fallen completely in love with you, Theo.”
A breath caught in his throat.
“I’m in love with you,” I repeated, steadier now. “And I know I have things to work through. I know it won’t be perfect. But I want this . I want you . I love you. So much.”
Silence.
And then, slowly — so slowly — his expression cracked open into the softest smile I’d ever seen.
“I think,” he murmured, stepping closer, “that might be my favourite monologue of yours yet.”
A breathless laugh escaped me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His eyes burned into mine. “Though the ending could use a rewrite.”
My brow furrowed.
He took another step, close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Because this is the part,” he said, voice low, reverent, “where I tell you that I love you too.”
Tears stung my eyes.
“I’m completely, unequivocally, maddeningly in love with you, Cecilia Hart,” he said. “I’ve loved you since the day you fell off that damn pavement. And probably before that. I just didn’t realise it yet.”
He reached out, fingers brushing my jaw as he cupped my face. “I wanted to say it before. So many times. But I thought maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe you needed time. Maybe I’d lose you if I pushed too soon.”
“You could never lose me,” I whispered. “Especially not now.”
He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against mine. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
He kissed me.
And God, it was everything.
Slow at first, like he was savouring the moment — the rightness of it — then deeper, needier.
His arms wrapped around my waist as mine found their way into his hair.
The kiss was warm and anchoring and wild all at once.
It tasted like relief and promise and six summers’ worth of feelings finally let loose.
When we broke apart, I was breathless. Dazed.
“I probably smell like plane,” I said with a laugh, cheeks flushed.
“You smell wonderful to me,” he murmured, brushing his nose against mine. “You always have.”
I looked up at him, still tangled in his arms. “What happens now?”
Theo hesitated — just for a beat. Then his eyes softened. “I bought the house.”
I blinked. “What? You did? You mentioned you’d gone to visit it, but that was months ago. ”
“Well, it was an absolute wreck when I bought it and I wanted it to be surprise for when you came home. It’s still got a bit more work to go,” he said with a grin.
“But it’s got land. Big kitchen. South-facing garden.
And enough space for a writing room and a library.
Maybe even a swing under a tree if we want one. ”
Something tightened in my chest.
“Are you going to build it just how you described in Nice?” I whispered. “The one you’d build from scratch. The one that felt like yours .”
“Yeah.” His gaze didn’t leave mine. “Exactly like the one we described in Nice.”
“You should.”
I hadn’t missed the way he had said we.
“But I don’t want it to just be mine, I want it to be ours,” he said and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
“You do?”
He smiled — the kind that made my stomach flip.
“As soon as you started telling me everything you wanted in the house, my mind started building it and then when I bought the house, I made sure the architects put everything in you mentioned too.”
I reached for his hand, threading our fingers together.
“You’re building me a house,” I said, my voice coming out small and in disbelief.
He bought my hand to hips lips, pressing his mouth gently against the skin.
“I’m building us a house.”
I shook my head, as I felt my heart crack impossibly wider. “I’ve spent years telling myself I didn’t believe in timing,” I whispered. “But maybe this – us – was supposed to happen like this.”
He pulled me close again, tucking me against his chest. “I think you’re right. I’m so glad you came home.” To me he didn’t say.
“Of course, I came home.” To you, I added in my head.
And finally — finally — it felt like the beginning of everything we’d both been waiting for.