FOREVER
PAT
August ended the way it always did, too fast and too slow at the same time.
The days were still hot, but the nights started cooling off, and you could feel the shift in the air. That awareness that summer was temporary. That everything good eventually ended.
Except this year, it wasn't ending.
Elliot packed up his cabin at the end of the month, loaded his truck with three summers' worth of accumulated gear, and drove back to Spokane.
But this time, it wasn't goodbye.
It was just logistics.
He had a house to close on, belongings to sort through, a life to dismantle and rebuild somewhere else.
He called me every night.
"How's the packing?" I'd ask.
"Tedious. I forgot how much shit I own."
"You could just leave it all."
"I could. But some of it's worth keeping."
"Like what?"
"Photos. Books. My uncle's woodworking tools." He paused. "Everything else is just stuff."
"When are you coming back?"
"Two weeks. Maybe less if the house closes early."
"And then?"
"And then I'm home."
Home.
He said it like he meant it. Like Bitterroot Ridge had already replaced Spokane in his mind as the place he belonged.
I wanted to believe it.
Most days, I did.
The call never came.
Two weeks later, his truck pulled up outside my house with a trailer hitched behind it, loaded with boxes and furniture and all the pieces of a life he'd decided to leave behind.
I met him in the driveway, and he climbed out looking tired but settled.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey." I walked into his arms, and he held me tight. "You're back."
"I'm back."
I pulled back to look at him, searching his face for doubt or hesitation.
Found none.
"You really did it," I said quietly.
"I really did."
"How do you feel?"
"Lighter." He smiled. "Like I've been carrying something heavy for years and finally put it down."
"No regrets?"
"Not one."
I kissed him then, long and deep and certain, and felt him relax into it like he'd been holding his breath the entire drive.
"Come on," I said. "Let's get you unpacked."
We spent the next few days settling him in. His furniture mixed with mine. His books filled the empty shelf in the living room. His coffee mug claimed permanent space next to mine in the cabinet.
It should've felt strange, this sudden domesticity, this merging of lives.
It didn't.
It just felt right.
Like he'd always been meant to be here, and we'd both just been waiting for him to realize it.