Chapter 23- Oliver
The morning light slips through the blinds like it’s afraid to wake me. For the first time in weeks, my chest doesn’t feel like it’s collapsing in on itself. My eyes sting, swollen from everything that came before, but the ache is different now — lighter, almost tender.
Ellie’s face flashes behind my eyelids. The way she ran into my arms at Crysta l? Lake — the way her breath trembled against my shoulder — it replays in my head like a song I don’t want to end.
Moony nudges my hand, tail thumping softly against the carpet. I scratch behind her ears, whispering, “We’re okay now, girl.”
And somehow, I believe it.
Crysta l? Lake used to be the place I went to forget.
Now it’s the place she went to cry, to think, to exist.
It’s strange — how the same place can hold both our pain and our healing.
I’m scared, though.
Scared I might lose her again.
Scared that the universe might decide I’ve had enough good things for one lifetime.
But I want her.
I need her.
And this time, I’m going to do everything right.
By the time I pull into the café parking lot, my hands are sweating on the steering wheel.
It’s stupid — I saw her last night, I held her last night, I felt her heartbeat against mine — but somehow this feels harder.
More real.
More vulnerable.
Moony whines in the backseat, nudging my shoulder like she’s telling me to breathe. “I know,” I whisper. “I’m trying.”
Ellie’s car is already there.
My chest tightens.
I step out, and the cool morning air hits me like a reset button. She’s standing by the entrance, holding two coffees — one in each hand — like she wasn’t sure if I’d show up but hoped I would anyway.
Her eyes lift.
And God…
That smile.
Small. Soft. Nervous.
Like she’s afraid to break the moment by smiling too big.
I walk toward her, slow, careful, like she’s something delicate I don’t want to startle.
“A cookies and cream Frappuccino, for you” she says, holding out one of the cups.
My throat tightens.
She knows that’s my favorite drink.
“Thank you,” I say, and my voice comes out lower than I meant. “Really.”
We stand there for a second — not talking, not moving, just… existing.
It’s awkward, but not the bad kind.
The kind that means we’re trying.
The kind that means we care too much.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Better than I have in a long time,” I admit.
Her eyes soften. “Me too.”
I take a sip of the drink just to have something to do with my hands. She watches me — not in a weird way, but in a way that makes my chest warm.
Like she’s studying me.
Like she’s memorizing me.
“I, um…” she starts, then stops. “I’m still scared.”
I swallow. “Me too.”
She looks up, surprised I said it so easily.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” I add, voice barely above a whisper.
Her breath catches.
She steps closer — just an inch — but it feels like a mile.
“You won’t,” she says softly. “Not if we both try.”
I nod, because she’s right.
Because this time, it’s not about being perfect.
It’s about choosing each other even when it’s messy.
“I have something for you,” I say, reaching into my pocket.
Her eyebrows lift. “Oliver…”
“It’s not big,” I say quickly. “It’s just… something I should’ve given you before.”
I pull out the small box — the one I bought weeks ago, the one I never had the courage to give her.
Her breath stutters. “Is this…?”
“Our anniversary gift,” I say quietly. “I didn’t want it to sit in a drawer. It was always meant for you.”
She takes it with both hands, like it’s fragile.
Like it matters.
“Can I open it?” she whispers.
“Please.”
She lifts the lid slowly, carefully — and when she sees what’s inside, her eyes shine.
A tiny silver moon pendant.
Simple. Soft.
Just like her.
“You’re the only person who ever made me feel like I wasn’t alone in the dark.” I say softly.
Her breath trembles.
She steps closer — close enough that I can feel her warmth — and she whispers:
“Oliver… I love it.”
I exhale, relief flooding through me.
And then, before I can stop myself, the words slip out — quiet, honest, raw:
“I want to marry you one day.”
Her eyes widen.
Her lips part.
Her heartbeat stutters — I can see it in her throat.
But she doesn’t run.
She doesn’t flinch. She just looks at me like she’s seeing the future in my eyes.
“Someday,” she whispers back. “Me too.”
Ellie slips her hand into mine as we walk toward my car, and it’s such a simple thing — so small, so gentle — but it hits me harder than anything else today. Like forgiveness.
Like another chance.
Like home.
Moony jumps into the backseat the second I open the door, tail wagging like she’s been waiting her whole life for this exact moment.
Ellie laughs softly. “She’s so cute.”
“She loves you,” I say, buckling my seatbelt. “A lot.”
Ellie blushes, and I swear my heart does a full somersault.
The car is quiet at first — not awkward, just… peaceful.
Her fingers play with the lid of her coffee cup.
Her eyes look out the window, soft and thoughtful.
I want to say something.
I want to fill the silence.
But I don’t want to ruin the calm.
So instead… I reach for my phone.
And I play her favorite song.
The moment the first notes hit, Ellie’s head snaps toward me, eyes wide, lips parting in surprise.
She smiles — that small, shy smile that kills me every time — and then I do the stupidest, bravest thing I’ve done all day.
I start singing.
Badly.
Horribly.
Like a dying vacuum cleaner.
Ellie bursts out laughing — loud, unfiltered, beautiful — and the sound fills the whole car.
“Oh my God, Oliver,” she wheezes, covering her face. “You’re so off-key.”
“I’m giving you a free concert,” I say, dramatically placing a hand on my chest. “You’re welcome.”
She laughs even harder — and then she starts singing too.
And her voice… God.
It’s soft and sweet and perfect.
Soon we’re both singing — yelling, really — windows down, Moony barking along like she’s part of the band.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel it.
Happiness.
Real, stupid, loud happiness.
I glance at Ellie — hair blowing in the wind, eyes shining, smile brighter than the sun — and the thought hits me so hard it almost knocks the breath out of my lungs:
This is exactly what I want.
This.
Her.
Us.
Forever.
By the time we reach the park, the sky is turning gold.
Moony jumps out first, sprinting across the grass like she owns the place.
Ellie and I chase after her, laughing, breathless, throwing sticks and running like little kids. She trips once and falls into me, and I catch her by the waist — and for a second, we just stare at each other, smiling like idiots.
The sun sinks lower.
The world turns orange and pink.
We lay down on the grass — me, Ellie, and Moony curled between us — the three of us breathing in sync.
Ellie turns her head toward me.
Her eyes are soft.
Warm.
Full of something that makes my chest ache in the best way.
“I love you, Oliver,” she whispers. “To the moon and back.”
My breath catches.
She moves closer, her hand finding mine in the grass.
“And honestly… this last week we weren’t talking?” Her voice cracks. “It was the worst week I’ve ever had.”
I swallow hard, my heart twisting.
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a folded piece of paper — worn at the edges, like she’s held it a hundred times.
“I wrote a letter for you, my handsome,” she says softly. “Read it when you’re home, please.”
Before I can speak, she leans in and kisses my forehead — slow, warm, lingering — then wraps her arms around me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I hold her back just as tightly.
And in that moment — with the sunset painting her skin gold, with Moony snoring softly beside us, with Ellie’s heartbeat pressed against my chest — I know one thing with absolute certainty:
I’m never letting her go again.
The sky is almost purple by the time we finally get up from the grass.
Ellie brushes dirt off her jeans, Moony shakes her whole body like she’s trying to fling the sunset off her fur, and I… I’m just trying to memorize everything.
Her laugh.
Her eyes.
The way she keeps looking at me like she’s choosing me all over again.
We walk back to my car slowly, fingers brushing, hands finding each other without even trying. The drive back to the café is quiet — not heavy, not awkward, just… peaceful. Like the world finally stopped spinning so fast.
When I pull into the parking lot, Ellie doesn’t get out right away.
She turns toward me, her knees tucked up on the seat, her hair falling over her shoulder in that way that always kills me.
Her voice is soft when she speaks.
“You are my one and only, Oliver. Never forget that.”
She swallows, eyes shining. “I’m sorry again… for everything.”
My chest tightens — not with pain this time, but with something warm, something steady.
I shake my head gently. “No, my beautiful,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over her hand. “We have to work through this together. Don’t apologize anymore.”
Her breath catches.
“We’ll be fine,” I tell her, meaning every word. “As long as we’ve got each other. And Ellie…” I lean closer, my forehead almost touching hers. “I love you to the moon and back even more.”
Her eyes soften — that soft, watery look she gets when she feels everything at once. She squeezes my hand, then slowly opens the door.
I watch her walk toward her car — slow steps, like she doesn’t want to leave yet. She turns once, gives me a tiny smile, then gets in.
I don’t move until her headlights turn on.
I don’t move until she pulls out of the lot.
I don’t move until she’s gone.
Only then do I exhale and start driving home.
The road is quiet.
Moony is curled up in the backseat, tired from running, her breathing soft and steady.
And all I can think is:
She’s the one for me.
I know it.
And nothing in this world is ever going to change that.