Chapter Fifteen #3
I kept my eyes on Tom.
“I wanted to be.”
The words felt huge.
Crew did not answer.
Good.
Any answer would have made them bigger.
The parade lineup started moving after the applause finally faded.
Tom was helped carefully into the red convertible by Crew and Eddie while Mrs. Bell supervised like a military commander with a purse. I stood back, holding Tom’s water bottle and pretending my hands were not shaking.
Tom settled into the passenger seat, Mrs. Bell beside him with hydration authority, and Crew leaned down to say something I could not hear.
Tom grabbed the front of Crew’s shirt and pulled him close.
Crew froze.
Tom said something.
Crew nodded once.
His jaw tightened.
Then Tom let him go.
Crew stepped back.
His eyes found mine immediately.
Something had changed.
Not bad.
Deep.
I walked closer before I thought better of it.
“What did he say?”
Crew looked at the convertible.
Then at me.
“He said, ‘Don’t waste the life you’re trying so hard to earn.’”
Oh.
My chest hurt.
“Very subtle.”
Crew’s mouth curved faintly.
“He’s hospitalized-adjacent. We have to be gentle.”
“We absolutely do not.”
His smile grew.
The parade marshal waved from the front.
Engines started.
The crowd shifted toward Main Street.
Talia appeared beside me.
“We have to get to the Webb & Whisk table near the square.”
I nodded.
Crew looked toward the Spitfires gathering behind the veterans center banner.
“I have to walk with the team.”
“Right.”
The word should have felt like distance.
Instead, it felt like logistics.
Temporary.
Known.
He looked at me.
“I’ll see you at the square.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Not maybe.
Not if.
Yes.
His face softened.
I pointed at him.
“Do not get emotionally hydrated in public.”
His mouth twitched.
“I’ll try.”
“Crew.”
He caught himself.
“I’ll behave.”
“Unlikely.”
“Fair.”
He started to walk away.
Then stopped and turned back.
“Marin.”
The parade noise swelled around us.
“Yes?”
His eyes held mine.
No crowd.
No hashtag.
No secret.
Just the road between us, still long, still open.
“I’ll come find you after.”
My heart did not panic.
That was new.
It simply beat.
“Okay,” I said.
He nodded.
Then he went to join his team.
Wilder clapped him on the shoulder. Sutton said something that made him nod. Frankie pointed at his empty head, clearly mourning the absence of patriotic stars. Cooper handed him a water bottle. Hayes said something that made Beck roll his eyes. Junie passed out tissues “for allergies.”
Crew looked back once.
I was still watching.
I did not pretend otherwise.
He smiled.
Small.
Real.
Mine answered before I gave it permission.
Talia made a strangled sound beside me.
“No,” I said.
“I didn’t speak.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say Happy Fourth.”
“You were not.”
“I was about to say happy emotional independence day.”
“Talia.”
She grinned.
The parade began.
The convertible rolled forward with Tom waving from the passenger seat, Mrs. Bell holding a water bottle like a ceremonial weapon. The crowd cheered. Flags waved. Kids shouted. Somewhere, a drumline started too fast and corrected itself.
Tom saw me as the car passed.
He lifted the sticky note from his pocket.
BEING BUSY IS NOT PROTEIN
He had kept it.
Of course he had.
I laughed and cried at the same time, which was deeply inefficient.
Talia handed me a tissue without comment.
The Spitfires passed next.
Wilder waved with both hands and no phone.
Sutton looked proud of this.
Frankie pointed at me and shouted, “FOR THE ROOF!”
I shouted back, “OBVIOUSLY!”
The crowd loved it.
Crew walked in the center of them.
Captain Serious.
Captain Problem.
The boy who left.
The man who said he would come back.
As he passed, his hand lifted.
Not a wave to the crowd.
A small one to me.
I lifted mine.
No one screamed.
No one posted.
No one made us content.
For once, Honeybrook let the moment simply exist.
And that made it hit harder.
After the parade moved down Main Street, Talia and I hurried to the Webb & Whisk table near the square. We sold bottled water, cookies, and the last approved batch of Captain Problem aprons from a discreet side bin because apparently capitalism had no holiday boundaries.
The square buzzed all afternoon.
Kids with painted cheeks.
Veterans in folding chairs.
Families under tents.
Food trucks.
Live music.
Firework crews setting up near the park.
The Fourth had arrived fully now, all heat and noise and sugar and flags.
Crew checked in twice by text.
Once:
Crew: Dad seated in shade. Eating sandwich. Mrs. Bell victorious.
Then:
Crew: Team assigned trash pickup. Wilder says this is justice.
I replied:
Me: It is.
He replied:
Crew: He agrees.
That was it.
Small.
Normal.
Wonderful in a way I refused to examine near the cookie table.
At four, the mayor made it through another announcement without saying couple.
At five, the roof crew finished securing the work area for the holiday.
At six, Tom appeared at the square in a golf cart driven by Eddie, looking tired but happy and heavily supervised.
At six thirty, the fireworks crowd began spreading blankets over the park lawn.
That was when my nerves returned.
Fireworks.
I had always hated the first blasts.
Loved the sky afterward.
Hated the sudden sound.
Crew knew that.
Old Crew knew that.
New Crew probably remembered.
I wished he did not.
I hoped he did.
Annoying.
Talia nudged my shoulder as we packed up the table.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
She stared.
I sighed.
“Fireworks.”
“Ah.”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine is not a blood type.”
“Mrs. Bell has infected everyone.”
Talia’s face softened.
“Want to watch from behind the bakery like usual?”
I looked toward the park.
Families gathered on blankets. The Spitfires had claimed a section near the veterans center tent. Tom sat in a lawn chair with Mrs. Bell, Eddie, and Mrs. Paxton nearby. Crew was carrying a cooler toward them.
He looked up.
Found me.
Even from across the square.
My heart did the thing again.
“Maybe not behind the bakery,” I said.
Talia’s eyebrows rose.
I ignored her.
“Maybe the park.”
“Big move.”
“I can leave if I want.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m not watching because of Crew.”
“Obviously.”
I gave her a look.
She smiled.
“For the fireworks. Obviously.”
We walked toward the park with a blanket, two waters, and one emergency bag of cookies because Talia believed in preparedness and bribery.
Crew met us halfway.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
He looked at the blanket.
“Watching from the park?”
“Apparently.”
His eyes softened.
Not too much.
Just enough to tell me he remembered.
“You want a spot near the back? Less crowded.”
Yes.
Exactly.
Rude.
“I was going to suggest that,” I said.
“Then I support your independent plan.”
Talia made a sound.
I elbowed her.
Crew led us to the edge of the Spitfires’ blanket colony, near a maple tree and far enough from the main crowd that the noise felt less tight.
He did not assume he could sit with us.
He stood there holding the cooler, waiting.
I hated how often waiting worked.
“You can sit,” I said.
His eyes lifted.
“If you want,” I added quickly, because dignity.
“I want.”
The words were simple.
Too simple.
I looked away and spread the blanket with unnecessary aggression.
Talia dropped onto one corner, then immediately popped back up.
“Oh no. I forgot I promised Sutton I’d help with snack diplomacy.”
I stared at her.
“Snack diplomacy?”