27. Flick
Flick
“So.” Maya looks around at the circle. “What’s new?”
I bite my lip, wanting to share but also slightly embarrassed. “Well... I started therapy. Went to the first session yesterday. I figured it would be a good way to, you know, work through fears over my illness.”
The girls gasp and clap at my announcement, their projects momentarily forgotten.
“Flick, that’s great!” Alexis’s whole face lights up, and I notice she’s already halfway through what looks like a complicated lace pattern.
Heat creeps up my neck and I shrug. “Thanks.” I’m happy to have their support but still feel exposed.
“How is it going with the steroids?” Devin’s question is gentle, mixed with concern.
“Better than I thought it would. I’m tapering off them, and the NSAIDs are making me queasy, but not as bad as they used to be.” My stomach rolls at the memory of this morning’s dose, but it’s manageable. Everything’s manageable when you learn to read your body’s signals.
Hannah beams at me from across the circle, pride radiating from every line of her face. Our eyes meet, and I pour all my gratitude into that look. She’s the one who convinced me therapy wasn’t giving up—it was giving myself the tools to fight smarter.
“Any more news on the stalker?” Maya hesitantly asks and I’m already shaking my head.
“I did speak to the detective on my case yesterday. He said they couldn’t find any prints on the package or yarn aside from mine and since it was hand delivered, with no label or tracking, that was a dead end too.
My file’s still open and active, but until something else happens, I’m not expecting much. ”
Alexis’s fingers fly as she knits a pair of socks. “Have you heard from Sebastian? Or is that?—”
A knock on the front door cuts through Alexis’s question. We all turn in our seats at the interruption.
“I’ll tell them we’re closed.” Hannah’s already standing, but then she freezes. “Huh. Speak of the devil.”
My heart slams against my ribs and my hands start to tremble. Sebastian stands on the sidewalk, shoulders hunched against the evening chill. Even from here, I can see the uncertainty written across his face, the way his weight shifts from foot to foot like he’s calculating whether to stay or flee.
“I—I’ll get it.” The words stumble out as I set my project aside. My legs feel unsteady as I cross the floor. Each step echoes too loud in the sudden quiet.
The door handle is cold under my palm. “Hi.”
Cedar and vanilla wash over me, that scent I’ve been trying to forget but that my pillow still holds traces of.
Standing this close, I can see the exhaustion etched around his eyes, the way his scrubs hang looser than they used to.
My body remembers his warmth, and I have to grip the doorframe to keep from swaying toward him like yarn drawn to static.
“Hey.” He licks his lips, a nervous habit I recognize from our first date. “Can I—can we talk?”
Behind me, I feel rather than see my friends studiously not staring. Maya’s needles click in an overly casual rhythm. Devin clears her throat. The performance of disinterest is almost comical.
“Sure. Uh, come inside. We can go into the storeroom.”
I lead him through the shop, past the circle where everyone waves with the kind of forced normalcy that fools no one. Hannah mouths “good luck” as we pass. The storeroom door closes behind us with a soft click, sealing us into a space that smells of hope and possibility.
The overhead bulb casts harsh shadows between the metal shelving units packed with inventory. I fidget with the light switch, then force my hands still. “So. We’re finally here.”
His forehead creases in that way it does when he’s processing something unexpected.
“Remember when I said we could come back here sometime and organize yarn?”
Understanding dawns across his face like sunrise over the harbor. “Oh.” The smile that breaks through is worth the awkwardness. “Yeah. I remember.”
“That feels like forever ago.” My hands don’t know what to do with themselves—waist, pockets, crossed arms. Nothing feels natural when every nerve is hyperaware of his presence.
The space between us thrums with unspoken words. I’ve rehearsed this conversation a hundred times while dyeing yarn, while lying awake listening to Cat’s purrs, while forcing myself not to text him at 2 AM when the steroids made sleep impossible.
“Yeah, a lot has happened, and I...” His voice catches like yarn on a rough edge. “I haven’t handled much of it well. We can do that now, if you like. Organize the yarn.”
The offer hangs between us, absurd and perfect. “Is that why you came over here?”
“Um, no.” His hand finds the back of his neck, fingers rubbing the tension there. “I’m sorry. Sorry for always trying to fix things without first asking what you need. I was trying to be solution-oriented. It’s the way I’ve always been and—well, not always. Since the divorce.”
The laugh that escapes him is hollow. “My brother called me out on it, actually. And he’s right. Ever since the divorce, I’ve just been go, go, go, trying to fix everything everywhere because it... it distracts me.”
The admission lands heavy. All this time, I’d built up his divorce as something clean, mutual, processed. Like a skein wound too tight, the truth is messier underneath.
“So, when you said you had worked through the divorce...” I let the sentence dangle, an invitation rather than a demand.
“I literally did that. I put in more and more hours at work.” The self-deprecation in his voice makes my chest ache—the emotional kind, not the physical. “I just didn’t realize what I was doing at the time.”
“Realized that you were using work as a coping mechanism?”
“Yeah.” His gaze drops to the floor, studying it like it holds answers. “I turned the job that I love into drudgery, something I don’t even want to do half the time now.”
“I get that.” My sneaker traces patterns on the worn carpet runner between the shelves. “I literally feel physical pain when I work too much.”
“You shouldn’t have to live like that.” The softness in his voice undoes something in me.
I meet his eyes, finding understanding there instead of pity. “I know. I’m slowing down. I really mean it. I’m also going to therapy to... learn better ways to cope with my situation.”
“You are?” His whole face transforms, genuine joy replacing the uncertainty. “Flick, that’s great.”
The salt of it burns—that he can be happy for me even after I pushed him away with both hands. What was I thinking, letting fear drive away something this real?
“I don’t think I’m opening the sanctuary.” The words burst from him like water through a dam.
My eyes go wide. “What?”
“I want to help animals. Of course I do, but—maybe that path isn’t for me. I already have the main practice and the emergency clinic, and...”
Guilt rolls off him in waves, completely undeserved.
“Sebastian.” My hand finds his arm before I can stop it. “It’s okay. I agree with that. You can’t help every single animal in the world, and the thinner you stretch yourself, the less you’ll be able to give to your patients.”
The touch sparks between us, electricity gathering where skin meets skin through the thin fabric of his scrubs. I pull back before I’m pulled under completely, but the phantom warmth lingers.
“Thank you.” His voice drops to that register that used to make me forget my own name. “I don’t want to be stretched thin anymore. I need to support myself more, I know, and I... I want to support you better. I’m sorry, Flick.”
The wave of emotion crashes over me without warning. My eyes burn, tears threatening to spill. I blink hard, trying to hold the dam, but one escapes anyway, tracking hot down my cheek.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the inventory boxes. “I could have done better too, though. I didn’t even give you a chance to change. I just pushed you away.”
“You were scared. It happens.”
“Yeah.” Another tear follows the first, and I give up trying to stop them.
“My illness isn’t the only thing I’ve been discussing in therapy.
I... I freaked when it came to us. You were trying to manage me, yeah, but I could have given you an opportunity to do things differently.
Talked everything through. Instead, I used it as an excuse, and I pushed you away.
I was afraid because of—because of how close we were.
How right it felt being with you. It wasn’t something that I was used to, and I didn’t know how to handle it. ”
“Really?” The word cracks down the middle, all his professional composure crumbling.
“Yeah.” The room blurs through my tears. “But that’s my thing to change. I don’t want to cut and run anymore when things get hard in my relationships. I want to work things out and compromise. Be a team.”
“Hey.” He steps closer, closing the careful distance between us.
His hand is impossibly gentle as it finds my face, thumb brushing away a tear before tilting my chin up.
“I love you, Flick. If you’ll have me back, I’ll do whatever it takes.
I’ll prioritize you and me. Not just to keep you, but for me too.
Because it’s also what I need. You helped me find me, gave me a reason to see who I want to be and realize what I’ve been missing. ”
I turn into his touch like a flower seeking sun. “That sounds good. I’d really like for us to try again.” The words come out steady despite the tears. “I love you too, Sebastian.”
The joy that spreads across his face could power the whole island.
He closes the last inches between us, and his lips find mine with the certainty of coming home.
The kiss is everything our first one wasn’t—no hesitation, no holding back.
Just the steady, sure knowledge that this is where we both belong.
My arms finally remember their purpose, sliding around his shoulders as he pulls me closer. His fingers press into my hips, anchoring us both. The familiar heat builds between us, pouring into every point of contact.