Chapter Fourteen #3
The same car from the hospital.
The same girl not running.
The same woman not staying just because he wanted her to.
She turned with her hand on the door handle.
“Tomorrow is the Fourth.”
“Yes.”
“Your dad’s parade.”
“Yes.”
“And Monday you leave.”
Crew’s throat tightened.
“Yes.”
She nodded once.
The word left her carefully.
“Okay.”
He hated that okay.
He stepped closer.
Not too close.
Enough to be honest.
“I’m coming back after meetings.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Her face went still.
Crew continued, voice low.
“I don’t know exactly when. I don’t know how simple it will be. I don’t know what you’ll want when I do. But I know I’m coming back to Honeybrook.”
Her fingers tightened on the door handle.
“You shouldn’t say that because of me.”
“I’m not.”
Hurt flashed.
He corrected quickly.
“I mean, not only because of you.”
She looked away.
He took a breath.
“Dad is here. The center is here. The town is here. You’re here. I am tired of treating everything I love like something I visit between obligations.”
The words landed.
In him too.
He had not known exactly how true they were until he said them.
Marin’s eyes came back to his.
No wall this time.
No full one.
“What does coming back mean?”
“I don’t know all the logistics yet.”
She started to look away.
“But,” he said, and she stopped. “It means I don’t disappear after Monday. It means I tell you the plan as it becomes real. It means I ask instead of decide. It means if you tell me no, I still come back for my father and for this town because I should have been doing that anyway.”
Her eyes shimmered.
“You are getting dangerously good at answers.”
“I had a rough learning curve.”
“You caused the curve.”
“Yes.”
That one-word yes held.
No defense.
No joke.
No tragic dressing.
Just yes.
Marin looked down at the gravel between them.
“I don’t trust it yet.”
“I know.”
“I want to.”
The words were barely audible.
Crew’s chest tightened so hard he almost lifted a hand.
He did not.
“Okay,” he said.
She looked up.
“That’s all?”
“No. That’s everything.”
Her mouth parted slightly.
He took one small step back, because if he stayed where he was, he might ask for too much with his face.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
She nodded.
“Tomorrow.”
Then she opened the car door.
Before she got in, she looked back.
“Crew?”
“Yeah?”
“If you tell anyone I said I want to trust you, I’ll deny it and ruin you with frosting.”
His mouth curved.
“Your secret is safe.”
“Good.”
She got in the car.
He closed the door after she settled, because she allowed it.
That felt embarrassingly huge.
Talia looked at him through the windshield and gave him a two-finger warning gesture that seemed to mean behave or die.
Crew nodded solemnly.
Message received.
They drove away.
Crew stood in the parking lot until the taillights turned onto Main Street.
Not because he thought she would vanish.
Because watching her leave and knowing it was not an ending felt new enough to respect.
When he returned to the lawn, Tom was watching him.
Of course he was.
“Walk her to the car?” Tom asked.
“Yes.”
“Say anything stupid?”
Crew sat beside him.
“Probably.”
“Did she smile?”
Crew looked at the road where Marin had disappeared.
“Yes.”
Tom leaned back, satisfied.
“Then not too stupid.”
Crew almost laughed.
Then his phone buzzed.
Group chat.
Wilder had somehow regained access to his device.
Wilder: I have respected silence for 47 minutes and need recognition.
Sutton replied:
Sutton: He typed this on my phone. Pray for me.
Frankie:
Frankie: TOMORROW IS PARADE DAY. I HAVE MADE ZERO GRAPHICS ABOUT LOVE. ONLY TWO ABOUT ROOFS.
Cooper:
Cooper: Destroy one.
Hayes:
Hayes: Send both first.
Beck:
Beck: no
Junie:
Junie: I brought parade snacks and tissues. For allergies.
Milo:
Milo: Quiet support continues.
Crew read the messages, feeling the noise of his people gather around him like a net.
Then a new text came in.
Marin.
His heart reacted before his brain did.
Marin: Talia says you looked “emotionally hydrated” when we left.
Crew stared at it.
Then typed:
Crew: Is that good?
Her reply came fast.
Marin: Unfortunately.
He smiled.
Tom looked over.
“Marin?”
Crew put the phone facedown.
“Maybe.”
Tom laughed softly.
Crew looked toward the veterans center roof, where the last light of day caught the edge of the blue tarp.
The roof was saved.
His father was home.
Tomorrow was the Fourth.
Monday was coming.
But for the first time in years, leaving did not feel like the strongest force in his life.
Coming back did.
Then Mayor Halford’s microphone squealed from across the lawn, and Frankie shouted, “THE MAYOR NEEDS INTERNET SAFETY TRAINING.”
Tom sighed happily.
“I love this town,” he said.
Crew looked at the chaos.
The bunting.
The roof materials.
The team.
The committee.
The spot where Marin had stood.
His phone buzzed again.
Marin.
Marin: Also, if the mayor says couple tomorrow, I’m throwing a roll.
Crew smiled before he could stop it.
Crew: I support the roll.
Marin: Good. Bring one.
Crew laughed.
Out loud.
Tom looked at him, eyes soft.
And across the lawn, the Spitfires turned in unison.
Frankie gasped.
“He laughed. Somebody mark the time.”
Crew lifted his eyes to the darkening sky and accepted, with weary dignity, that tomorrow was going to be a disaster.
But maybe, finally, the kind worth staying for.