Chapter 30
Julia swore as one of the garden stones slipped from her grasp, thumping heavily on her bad foot.
She had woken up that morning with the renewed desire to get the place ready for their new guests.
Weed the garden, deadhead the remaining perennials.
She had looked for Norman at first, scouring the property for him to see if he could help, but he was inexplicably nowhere to be found.
Admittedly, the one place she hadn’t checked was the shed—the memories were still too fresh to venture in there just yet—and instead she’d decided it was just something she could do herself.
She’d forgotten, however, the arduousness of the task, how big the gardens were and how ill-prepared she was to take it on at that time—without proper shoes, yard waste bags, or even gardening gloves.
Again, in her avoidance of entering the shed, it also meant she resisted getting things that would make her job easier.
Doggedly, she kept moving the stones out of the way and pulling the weeds, her shoes sinking into the soft dirt, ripping the dormant blooms off the top of her hydrangeas.
The physicality of the task helped with her endurance of it, the steady, rhythmic movement the only thing that kept her going.
Soon it would be Christmas—again, she was mentally bypassing Halloween and Thanksgiving, even though Donwell thrived in the autumn and her business depended on how much she leaned in to the season.
But for the first time ever, she felt done with autumn.
Ready to move on from one season into the next.
As she considered the holidays, a soft shiver ran through her.
The day had gotten slightly warmer, with the sun now breaking through the clouds.
She had removed her scarf and put it aside, enjoying the sun on her face as the clouds had parted.
But something felt different. Not cold, per se, but like an odd silence had descended, the day going slightly muted, the breeze changing ever so slightly.
If she hadn’t paused in that moment, she never would have noticed it, but it almost felt like the time when—
“Get a grip, Julia,” she said to herself, as if saying the words aloud somehow gave them power.
“That’s what I’ve been saying to myself this whole time.”
A voice behind her made her whirl around with a gasp.
Standing there—backpack over his shoulder, remnants of brown autumn leaves blowing between his ankles and over his sneakers with the breeze that had inexplicably picked up again—was Ethan.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she took him in, feeling like she needed to memorize the details of him, as though he would disappear again.
She couldn’t help but compare the Ethan standing in front of her now to the one from a few weeks ago.
That Ethan had been all polish and distance—his clothes fashionable, his luggage designer, his beard and hair trimmed to perfection.
The man before her felt different. Familiar in a way that made her chest ache.
He looked tired, undone in so many small ways, as though the shine had worn off and what was left was something truer—and something she hadn’t realized she’d missed so much until this moment.
Even though the way he’d left—the things he’d said—had cracked her wide open and made her rethink everything, she was heartened to see that the cool, untouchable Ethan hadn’t remained and this warm, familiar one had made his return.
She wanted to say she was sorry, but the word felt too small for the distance between them and her throat too closed to speak, so instead she just took him in.
He was wearing a casual sweatshirt, one she recognized from their collage days, with worn-in jeans and sneakers that had obviously been made for use and not display.
His hair was the same as it had been when he’d left a month ago, maybe a bit longer, but without the perfectly styled gelled-back layers.
Instead, it was messy and wavy and flat in places where he had perhaps worn a hat.
And he’d shaved. No longer bearded, he looked more stubbled and like the Ethan she had grown up with.
Altogether, though he appeared more casual and less put together, he was still painfully handsome, his eyes glowing their effervescent blue, his smile subdued.
“What are you doing here?” she croaked out finally, realizing she was just standing there, gaping at him, a fistful of uprooted weeds dangling from her fingers.
“I regret the way we left things,” he said quietly, though she couldn’t discern what emotions were imbued in his words.
“I think we—everything we’ve ever been to each other—deserves more than that.
That’s how we fucked things up the first time.
” His eyes met hers, and she was struck by their guilelessness.
“Why don’t you come inside?” she said, trying not to be too hopeful, wondering what direction the conversation would take. “I’ll make you a cup of tea, and we’ll sit in the kitchen. It’s busy today, but we should have some privacy down there.”
“Okay,” he agreed, something akin to relief quiet yet palpable in his expression and demeanor. “I’d like that.”
* * *
Ethan watched as Julia prepared the tea for them, pouring the hot water from the kettle into two stoneware mugs.
Her movements were fluid, each step deliberate yet natural, as though she were attuned to some quiet, unspoken rhythm.
There was an elegance in the way she navigated the small kitchen, her easy confidence catching him in a way he couldn’t explain.
She moved as if the space had been made for her, every motion carrying a warmth and familiarity that stirred something deep within him.
God, I love her.
It had been a truth he had always known, but it was that epiphany at his parents’ house that had truly solidified it.
The swelling in his chest, the flutters of his stomach, the heat in his face.
All those visceral reactions that came from seeing her, being near her, even anticipating her presence.
He had loved her for as long as he’d known what love was.
Loved her for longer than he could put a word to it.
But his fears and his insecurities had let him believe that his love had never been enough.
When she’d agreed to take the cottage, it had felt like she’d purposely chosen a life that didn’t include him.
And again, when she’d been successful, proven she hadn’t needed him by turning it into something great, instead of being happy for her, he’d taken it as proof of what he’d always known deep down: He had nothing to give that anyone would ever truly need.
He’d left that day still seething with the weight of everything he’d said, the rawness of having laid himself bare in front of both Gem and his boss.
But sitting here now, he felt something different.
Something steadier. He didn’t want to rewrite the past or pretend that it hadn’t hurt both of them in different ways; he only wanted a chance to make it right.
To show her that he could be more than the boy who walked away, more than the man who never said what he meant until it was too late.
If she would let him.
She placed the steaming mug in front of him and sat down across the table.
He found himself just looking at her, as though she were a piece of rare art in a museum, seeing her through the context of his lens, appreciating the fine and beautiful things that could be revealed through a photograph—and finally being able to do so without hiding behind the camera.
He had so much to tell her about the last few weeks.
“So, why are you here?” she asked hesitantly. He could see from her expression that she held the weight of what he’d revealed that day. Could see her guilt and uncertainty. It wasn’t what he wanted—they had both wasted too much time on guilt and things left unsaid.
“I think…” he began hesitantly, unsure now of how he wanted to start. “I feel like I’ve been walking through life with a bag over my head” was what he settled on.
Good one.
She blinked at him. “A…bag?”
He decided to just run with it. “Yeah, a bag. Like, maybe I could see a little bit, breathe a little bit. But I wasn’t really living.
My view was always…obstructed. And I didn’t fully realize why until the last few weeks.
” He reached across the table to put his hand on hers.
He felt it twitch, then settle, and was grateful when she didn’t move it.
“Because when I was here, with you, it felt like I could see again. Like I could breathe again. And when I left…” He shook his head.
“When I left, the bag went back on. And it was all the more constricting, debilitating. I couldn’t stand it anymore, now that I had felt what life was like without it. ”
Julia looked at him, eyes glinting with unshed tears. “What are you saying, Ethan?”
“I’m saying…” Ethan took a deep breath and sat back, crossing his arms and regarding her for a beat. “Let me show you.”
He reached down into his backpack and pulled out a manila envelope, laying it on the table between them.
“When I was here,” he said, untying the closure on the envelope and reaching into it, “I wasn’t just taking pictures of Noah and Katy.” He pulled out the contents and spread them out, letting her see them, trying to envision what they looked like from her eyes.