Chapter 21
CAROLINE
I’m unpacking a shipment of art supplies for the paint-and-sip night I’ve got planned at the gallery when Miles pulls open the front door, and I can’t help the way my entire body lights up when I see him. And I need light. Election Day has felt nothing but heavy so far.
“Hey,” he says, holding up a plastic bag. “I know it’s not your break time yet, but I grabbed you lunch from the deli.”
“Aw, thank you,” I say, closing the distance between us before I push up on my toes to kiss his cheek.
I’d woken up to my period this morning, unsure whether the dull ache in my belly was cramps or dread. Likely both. Miles had been so sweet when I told him and rubbed my lower back as I curled up in the fetal position, waiting for the painkiller to kick in.
We’d voted before the sun came up, swinging by the ballot drop box before Miles started work.
With only the faintest orange glow over the mountains across Black Bear River, it had felt almost clandestine and yet somehow so anticlimactic.
We could have waited to mark Election Day by casting our votes in person, of course, but I’d shied away from any chance of facing the media at a voting center.
I’d wanted to be alone with Miles one last time—and wanted privacy when I, for the first time in my adult life, saw my dad’s name on the ballot and left the little circle beside it blank.
As acts of rebellion go, it’s minuscule, but it felt symbolic.
I’m trying new things—like supporting politicians who’ve earned my trust rather than broken it.
Miles hands me the bag, squeezing my fingers in a way I know means he’d show me more affection if I wasn’t at work. “Figured you could put it in the fridge for a couple hours?”
I peer inside, catching a glimpse of something that looks like dark chocolate beside the wrapped sandwich.
“Got you a cookie too. Chocolate’s good for period time, right?” He cups my jaw, brushing his thumb over my cheek.
“It’s perfect.”
His sweet gesture would be swoon-worthy if it wasn’t a painful reminder that today’s our last day together.
My heart heavy and raw, I search his eyes for reassurance and finger the edge of his hi-vis vest. “You still okay to come with me tonight?”
He draws back a bit, like the answer should be obvious. “Of course.”
Election results at Pete Brennan headquarters. Our final photo op together. My throat tightens at the thought.
“Caroline, darling?” Sunny’s voice wrenches me back to the present, and I turn just as she rounds the corner into the main gallery space, trying to hide the way my stomach sinks when I feel Miles put some space between us.
Sunny pulls her reading glasses down from her hair to peer at the open binder in her hands.
“We need to finalize the table arrangement for tomorrow night. We’ve got an odd number of registrations, so we’ll have to stagger the—” She stops short when she finally looks up and sees Miles. “Oh! It’s you again.”
Sunny’s observation is neutral enough, but my expression is somewhat pinched as I send her a silent plea not to go on about the noise or the service interruptions this time—as if Miles is personally responsible for any of that.
“Yeah, hi,” he says. “I was actually just taking off.”
I spin to face him, sure the disappointment is written all over my face. “Already?”
“Yeah.” He shoots me an easy smile that I know is covering up something neither of us want to face in front of Sunny.
He’s already pulling away from me.
“Gotta get back to work.” He squeezes my hand again. “See you later, okay?”
I nod, my gaze lingering on his back as he pushes out the door and jogs across the street.
When Miles disappears from sight, a surge of anguish lurches up and there’s a burning feeling behind my eyes. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that my hormones are amplifying everything.
Needing a moment to collect myself, I make my excuses to Sunny and go to put the sandwich in the office fridge.
Last night, while Miles was out at an AA meeting, I’d talked with Adrian for over an hour on the phone.
We’d been well overdue for an epic heart-to-heart and, given everything that’s gone down in the past week or so, there was plenty of material to cover.
By some miracle, my name had—for once—stayed out of the news coverage that followed the Sonora Farm fire.
I suppose it was thanks to the darkness and general mayhem that I’d escaped notice, but it meant having to drop a bomb on Adrian. Unfortunately, it was only one of two.
He took the news about Dad withdrawing the donation about as well as learning I’d been caught in a burning building.
And, as if that wasn’t enough heavy reality for one conversation, I told him about what happened afterward: Miles’ panicked vulnerability.
The shift between us. The way we’ve barely left each other’s sides since.
Explaining it all—and admitting how hard I’ve fallen for Miles—had me in tears.
I know I have no business feeling disappointed that this thing is ending, but my heart is breaking all the same.
“Care, you have to tell him,” Adrian said. “This doesn’t sound one-sided.”
I know he’s right. But hesitation twists at my stomach all the same.
Miles had been clear from the start that he couldn’t get into a real relationship; he even said on Halloween he needed a clean break. So what’s the point of laying my heart at his feet when I know he’s gonna walk away? He has to walk away.
Still, I feel like I’m losing something incredible in slow-motion and I’m powerless to stop it.
When I finally drift back into the gallery space, there’s a shrewd look in Sunny’s eyes that reminds me of Grandpa. She closes the binder. “Have I ever told you about how Julian and I got together?”
“What?” I say, almost on reflex, then remember myself. “Uh, I mean, no?”
“Believe it or not, he wasn’t always a stuffy old grump.”
I stifle a laugh at her unexpected bluntness and tuck my hands into my trouser pockets.
She leans closer, dropping her voice a little and peering up at me over her glasses. “He was a stuffy young grump once upon a time.”
This time, I do laugh. “Okay?”
“Our families didn’t approve. And not just because of his mumbly grumbling.
” She winks. “My parents wanted me married off to a good Korean boy, and his parents, well, I don’t think they knew what to make of me, swanning about the place with my emotions.
” She clutches her chest, her features drawn and dramatic.
“It wasn’t easy being an interracial couple in the eighties, let alone being such polar opposites. But you know what they say…”
“Opposites attract,” I finish for her, unable to resist a quick glance across the street.
She nods. “Julian wouldn’t even propose for years.
He loved me, don’t get me wrong, but he didn’t think we’d ever be accepted.
We came from different worlds, you know.
And the more I badgered him, the more he dug in.
” She rolls her eyes. “You know how he is. God love him, but the man moves slow as molasses.”
I smirk, almost to myself.
Ain’t that the truth.
“But, little by little, he saw things were changing. He eventually came around. And darling,”—she pats my arm—“it hasn’t always been easy, but he was worth waiting for.”
A tight sensation squeezes my throat and I can only nod.
“Now!” Sunny claps a hand on the binder in her arms, and I almost jolt. “Let’s sort out this infernal table chart, shall we?”
In a trance, I drift to her side and peer over her shoulder as she flips to the registration list for tomorrow night, blinking to clear my vision when the names blur. I try to steady myself as Sunny’s words sink in.
She’s all sweeping arms and jangling bracelets as she gestures about the gallery, talking through her thoughts on where everything will go. Once we’ve agreed on a physical setup, she snaps the binder shut and passes it to me.
“Thanks,” I say, hugging it against my chest. “For your help, obviously, but also for sharing with me about you and Julian. I had no idea you’d had a whole star-crossed lovers backstory.”
“Yes, well, thankfully ours didn’t end in tragedy.” Her face suddenly lights up. “Speaking of good news, though, Julian said he’d be open to looking at suggestions for a few new artists. The ones you’ve been following?” She waves vaguely in my direction. “The young local artists.”
My eyes widen. “What, really? Are you serious?”
“Yes! But remember, darling,” she says, a note of caution in her voice at my obvious excitement, “molasses. I promise nothing immediate. You’ll have to give him time.”
“Of course,” I rush to say. “But it’s a first step.”
Sunny pats my arm again. “It’s a first step.”
I don’t hear Miles come into the bathroom; everything is drowned out by the hiss of water, the overhead fan, and the ache in my lower belly.
I’m turning under the shower spray, trying to angle the heat to take the edge off, when I hear a distinct clink of metal on tile.
A few moments later, he drags the curtain open and I look up.
Oh, hello, beautiful naked man.
I may be in pain, my brain exhausted and my emotions raw, but I’m never too tired to drink in the sight of this man without his clothes on.
He climbs in silently, then hisses at the temperature I’ve adjusted to, scrambling to lower the heat to something more human-friendly.
“You’re gonna cook yourself in this, Jesus Christ!”
“Sorry,” I say and, when the temperature settles, I fall forehead-first into his inked chest, tucking my arms up between us.
Don’t leave me. Or this shower. Not ever.
He wraps me in his embrace and kisses my wet hair. “You okay?”
“Not really.”
“What can I do?”
“I dunno. Remove my mutinous uterus seems like too big of an ask.”
“Mutinous Uterus. Sounds like a punk band.”
I laugh, albeit a bit sadly, and try to get closer, wishing I could climb into his skin. “I guess it does.”