Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The day before Peter left for France, Landry took him with her to the farmers’ market in the town square. She figured staying busy was the best way to keep the inevitable from swallowing her whole. Wallowing in sadness, tempting as it might be, wasn’t her style.
Peter was leaving. But not yet.
Today, they had one more day. One more day to soak up the late summer sunshine, to pretend there was no expiration date stamped on their time together.
One more day to memorize the way his fingers curled around hers, the way his golden eyes crinkled when he smiled. One more day before everything changed.
They parked several blocks away and walked hand in hand toward the square, the scent of freshly baked bread, roasted coffee beans and ripe fruit mingling with the sounds of laughter and conversation drifting on the breeze.
The familiar hum of GraceTown felt bittersweet—because for her, this was home.
For him, it was just another place he would leave.
She glanced up at Peter, her heart squeezing tight. Even in something as simple as a button-down shirt and shorts, he was effortlessly striking, the kind of man who drew second glances without even trying.
“I can’t believe this is your first time here,” she said, squeezing his hand.
He smiled. “I’m glad it’s with you.”
Before she could respond, a booming voice cut through the crowd.
“Well, well, look who we have here!”
She turned as Barry Whitehead approached, his grin wide, his hands outstretched like they were long-lost friends.
“Barry.” The name popped into her head just as he reached them. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Barry’s attention shifted to Peter. “And you are…”
“Peter Elliott.”
“Good to make your acquaintance.”
Landry gestured to the bustling market. “It just keeps growing every year,” she said, to which he nodded approvingly. “We’re lucky to have such a strong community.”
He sobered slightly. “I wanted to thank you again for participating in the Row-A-Thon, Landry. Your pledges brought in much-needed funds for Eloise and her family.”
“I was happy to do it.” She glanced toward the Berries, Berries, Berries stand. “Is Eloise here today?”
Barry’s expression softened. “Not today, but we’re hoping she’ll be well enough to make an appearance before the end of the season.”
Before Landry could reply, a woman in a wide-brimmed hat called Barry’s name from across the market, waving him over. He gave them a quick farewell before weaving through the crowd with the grace of a seasoned receiver dodging tackles.
Landry exhaled slowly, pushing aside the pang of sadness that curled inside her. This time next week, Peter wouldn’t be here.
Not today, she reminded herself. Today was theirs.
She forced a bright smile. “What shall we look at first?”
They wandered through the stalls, fingers laced together, sampling juicy peaches, sniffing bundles of fresh herbs, lingering at a stand selling hand-poured candles.
Eventually, they stopped for a late lunch—tamales with rice and beans—that they ate at a wobbly picnic table beneath the shade of an old oak tree.
Landry stood with a satisfied sigh. “That was so good.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I should be too full to even think about dessert, but those crumb cookies we passed earlier are calling my name.”
Peter grinned. “Then we need to answer the call. But first…” He reached out and gently swiped his thumb along the corner of her mouth “Sauce.”
The simple touch sent a ripple of heat through her. Her voice came out softer, lower. Hungrier. “You could have just kissed it off.”
His gaze darkened. He took a step closer, his fingers skimming the small of her back.
“If we weren’t in the middle of a crowd,” he murmured, “I would have.” His breath brushed her skin, warm, teasing. “But here…” He exhaled, his lips quirking as his arms slipped around her waist. “I don’t think I’d be able to stop once I started.”
She swallowed hard, desire curling low in her belly. He’d spent the night, they’d made love just this morning, and yet, it already felt like forever ago. Like it was never enough. Like it would never be enough.
She wanted to hold him, cling to him, pretend the world beyond this moment didn’t exist.
“Let’s—”
“Landry.”
The voice hit her like a splash of cold water. She tensed but didn’t pull away from Peter’s arms as she turned.
Chad.
Her stomach twisted as she took in the stiff set of his shoulders, the way his mouth flattened into something that wasn’t quite a frown but wasn’t at all friendly either.
“Chad.” She forced her voice to remain even.
Peter’s arm remained around her waist. He didn’t step away. Didn’t retreat.
She gestured between them. “You remember Peter Elliott.”
Chad gave a tight nod. “I hear you’re leaving for France tomorrow.”
Landry’s spine stiffened. “Where did you hear that?”
Chad’s expression was all faux innocence as he shrugged. “Your mom. I ran into her at the store.”
Landry tried not to let her frustration show at the news that her mother was telling him Landry’s business.
Chad turned his attention back to Peter. “So, what’s in France?”
Peter held his gaze, his expression unreadable. “I’ve accepted a position at a university there.”
“Well, good for you.” Chad’s tone was light, easy. Too easy. “Safe travels.”
He turned to go, then hesitated, throwing one last glance over his shoulder. “See you around, Landry.”
Peter let out a low breath, shaking his head. “He thinks with me out of the picture, he has another chance with you.”
With a slow inhale, she turned, her heart hammering as she met his eyes—his warm, hazel, gold-flecked eyes that she never wanted to stop looking into.
Lifting a hand, she cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing along the sharp line of his jaw. “Chad isn’t the one for me,” she whispered, trying to will him to hear the truth in every syllable. “You not being here won’t change that.”
On Sunday morning, Landry drove Peter to the airport in Baltimore, gripping the wheel a little too tightly, as if sheer willpower could slow down time.
The closer they got, the harder it became to keep the conversation light.
She wanted to talk about anything except what was really on her mind—that this was goodbye.
Thirty minutes passed before the silence between them became too heavy, too charged with everything they weren’t saying.
“You’ll write and come visit me?” His voice was steady, but his fingers, which had been tracing slow circles over her knuckles, tightened around her hand. His hazel eyes were dark, serious.
“I know you said you don’t want to follow me, but when you make it to Paris…”
Landry swallowed against the lump forming in her throat and forced a smile. “The second I land in Paris, you’ll be my first call.”
His lips curved slightly, but his eyes betrayed him. There was longing there—and something else. Hope. A hope she couldn’t let herself lean into—because she had to stand on her own.
“I hope that’s soon,” he said quietly. “In the meantime, write, call—whatever. Just…stay in touch.”
She nodded quickly, afraid her voice would break. “You, as well.”
His answering nod was slow, deliberate. “You can count on me.”
They had made no promises to each other.
No I’ll wait for you. No I’ll come back for you.
No declarations of love, though Landry swore she had felt it in his touch when they made love for the last time, in the way he held her afterward, as if memorizing her shape beneath his hands.
She had wanted to say the words. Had felt them burning on the tip of her tongue. But what good would it do? He was still leaving. She was still staying. And love—even love—wasn’t enough to change that.
Peter exhaled and forced a smile. “I can’t wait to hear how you like the editor you’ve chosen for your book.” His voice was lighter, but there was an edge to it, like he was trying just as hard as she was to keep things normal. “I want to know everything.”
Landry managed a teasing tone, though it didn’t feel quite right in her mouth. “Your updates are bound to be more interesting. You’ll be disappointed when you get mine.”
His gaze softened, the corners of his lips tilting just slightly. “I’ll be living for your updates.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, he hesitated—just for a second—like he was about to say something important. Maybe even ask her one more time to come with him.
If he had, she wasn’t sure what she would have said.
“I wonder if this is how Caroline felt when she said goodbye to George for the last time,” she murmured, staring at the road as the airport signs came into view.
Peter reached over and laced his fingers through hers, bringing her hand to his lips. He kissed it softly, lingering just a second too long, as if he wanted to tell her something in the silence between them.
“I’m not going to be flying bombing missions over Europe.”
True, but I’ll miss you just as much.
The words swirled in her head, but she couldn’t say them. If she did, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to let him go.
Her vision blurred, her throat tight with the tears she refused to shed. Not yet. Not here. Not where he would see.
“I’ll miss you, Peter.” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
He squeezed her hand, his grip strong and warm, grounding her even as her heart threatened to splinter. “We’re going to stay in touch.” The way he said it—like a vow, like a promise carved in stone—made her chest ache.
She nodded quickly. “I promise.”
“And you’ll come visit.”
“I will.”
She meant it. She just had no idea when.
The second she pulled into the Departures area, reality slammed into her with the force of a freight train.
This was it. The moment she’d been dreading.
Peter opened his door, but before he grabbed his bag, he turned back to her, like he was trying to memorize her, like he wasn’t ready to let go either.
Neither of them spoke. What was there left to say?
She barely got out of the car before he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her own.
One long embrace. One last kiss against her hair.
And then he was gone.
Striding away. Taking her heart with him.