Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Corey's phone sat on the kitchen counter, the text he'd sent that morning still showing the same status it had shown for the last six hours.
Read.
He’d invited her out to dinner again.
She'd read it at nine-seventeen that morning. It was now nearly three-thirty in the afternoon, and there was still no reply.
Sunday, he'd suggested grabbing coffee. She’d been too busy and asked for a rain check Monday, he'd called her during his planning period and gotten voicemail. She'd texted back four hours later: Sorry, missed your call. Everything okay? When he'd called again that evening, she hadn't picked up.
So he’d given her space. Until today. And here he was, watching his phone like a teenager waiting for a crush to acknowledge his existence.
Corey turned the phone face-down and walked away from it.
Presti, who'd been dozing on the couch, lifted his head as Corey passed. The puppy's tail thumped once against the cushion, hopeful.
"Not yet, buddy," Corey said. "Give it a few more minutes."
He’d been waiting to hear back from her all day.
And it wasn’t only about having dinner. He wanted to tell Gayle about the listing he’d found.
A small cottage on the island with a fenced yard.
It was a crazy idea, but he’d been on about to call the realtor at lunch.
He wanted to talk to someone about the idea. He wanted to talk to her about it.
Corey poured himself a glass of water and stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the parking lot. The sky was gray. The trees that lined the lot had finally given up the last of their leaves, leaving bare branches moving in the winter wind.
He turned away from the window and let his gaze drift around the condo. The kitchen his mother had picked out. The bookshelves his father had built. The reading chair angled toward the window the way she'd always liked it. All of it untouched, unchanged, preserved exactly as they'd left it.
The blue ceramic mug sat on the side table next to her chair, where he'd been using it as a pencil holder.
He'd never been able to drink from it. It was the mug she'd dropped the day she got the all-clear from her doctor, the chip on the handle a small reminder of relief and fear all tangled together. She'd refused to throw it away.
A year later, she was gone.
Corey walked over and picked up the mug, dumping the pens onto the side table.
He held it in both hands, feeling the familiar weight of it, the smoothness of the ceramic.
He could still see his mother holding it, the way her fingers had curled around the handle, the way she'd warmed her palms against it on cold mornings.
He wasn't keeping her alive by leaving it there. He knew that.
His phone buzzed on the counter, and he startled so hard he nearly dropped the mug. He set it down carefully and crossed the kitchen, his heart kicking up.
Gayle's name on the screen.
Sorry, just seeing this. Tonight isn't great. Maybe later this week?
Corey read the message twice. Then he set the phone back down and stared at it.
Tonight isn't great.
That was it. No follow-up question. No "what did you want to tell me about?" No "I miss you" or "I've been swamped" or anything that suggested she was still in this with him.
He could have pushed. Could have written back, Actually, I really wanted to see you tonight. Can you make it work? Or even, I have something important to tell you.
But he was tired of pushing.
He typed back: Sure. Let me know when works for you.
He hit send and put the phone in his pocket.
Presti padded into the kitchen, his nails clicking on the linoleum. He sat at Corey's feet and looked up at him with those soulful eyes, as though sensing something was off.
"Yeah," Corey said quietly, crouching down to scratch behind the puppy's ears. "I know."
He stayed there for a long moment, his hand on Presti's warm head, his knees aching against the kitchen floor. The condo was quiet around him. The kind of quiet that had felt safe for three years and now just felt heavy.
He stood up.
"Come on, buddy," he said. "Let's go for a walk."
He clipped the leash to Presti's collar and they slipped out the back door, down the rear stairs, past the little patch of grass behind the building. He didn't have a destination. He just needed to move.
They walked through the neighborhood as the late afternoon light started to fade. Christmas lights were starting to appear in windows. Wreaths were hanging on doors and a blow-up snowman sat in someone's front yard.
Corey watched it all without really seeing it, his mind running in circles.
He kept thinking about the fundraiser. About how Gayle had looked at him under the Christmas tree lights with her hand in his. About how she'd said, I want to be, when he'd asked if she was all in.
He'd thought they had something.
Now he wasn't sure.
Presti tugged at the leash, stopping to investigate something on the sidewalk. Corey waited, letting the puppy take his time.
The thing was, even if Gayle was pulling away, even if this whole thing was about to crash and burn, he was still standing in front of the same choice. Stay in the condo, hiding a puppy, preserving a life that had ended three years ago. Or actually move forward.
She'd been part of why he'd started thinking about it. But she wasn't the only reason.
Corey took his phone out of his pocket as they started walking again. He pulled up the real estate app, found the listing for the white cottage with the blue trim, and tapped the Contact Agent button.
Hi, I'm interested in viewing the property at 412 Sandpiper Lane. Saturday afternoon works if available.
He pocketed the phone and kept walking.
Presti looked up at him, tail wagging, ready for whatever came next.
"Yeah," Corey said. "Me too."