Chapter 28
Ethan
I locked the register, flicked off the lamps, and let the bookstore sigh into silence.
Most nights, closing felt heavy—like sweeping the same corners of the same room, waiting for tomorrow to look exactly like today.
But tonight… Tonight I lingered. Straightened a stack of paperbacks, re-aligned the local history display, even wiped a smudge off the counter I would’ve ignored last week.
Lily’s voice kept circling in my head: We’ll fix it. No one’s missing prom if I have anything to say about it.
The way she’d said it. Certain, fiery, like she’d already decided it was done, had lit something in me I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Not since… Well. A long time. I usually spend my evenings dragging my feet, thinking more about what was missing than what was here.
Now all I could think about was how to turn this bookstore and even my dusty upstairs apartment into something bright enough to hold a dozen kids’ dreams.
I locked the door, stepped into the night, and crossed the street instead of going toward my truck. The hardware store’s windows glowed in front of me.
Nate was flipping the “Open” sign to “Closed” when I caught him. “You got five minutes for a brainstorm?”
He squinted at me. “That tone… Is this about Summerfest?”
I shook my head. “Prom.”
He stopped mid-turn. “Prom? Ethan, we’re already chaperoning. What’s left? Telling teenagers not to grind to slow jams?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Not exactly. Lily had an idea.”
“Oh boy,” he muttered, but he leaned against the counter like he was settling in for a story.
“She wants to put together a… prom boutique.” I waved a hand, not sure how to package it neatly. “Dresses, suits, shoes—everything. Free. No one has to know who can’t afford what. Just come in, pick something cool, feel good about themselves. No pity, no spotlight.”
Nate blinked. “That’s… actually brilliant.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “She wants it to feel like an event, not a handout. And she can’t do it out of her place on Mulberry. She’ll need space. Racks, dressing rooms, somewhere for volunteers. I was thinking maybe we could clear out the shop for a weekend. Maybe even open the upstairs apartment.”
Nate leaned against the counter, arms crossed, grinning like a man about to watch a good show. “So let me get this straight. Ethan Calloway—bookstore hermit, sworn enemy of glitter—is volunteering to host a prom boutique.”
“Not for me,” I muttered. “For the kids.”
“Uh-huh. For the kids. And absolutely nothing to do with the extremely hot event planner who’s got you suddenly rearranging your life like it’s a display table?”
I shot him a look, but my ears burned anyway.
Nate chuckled, clapping my shoulder. “Alright, man. If you’re serious, you’ll need garment racks.
Mirrors. Lighting, if you don’t want it looking like a funeral parlor.
I’ve got extension cords, spare bulbs, plywood if you need to throw together some platforms.”
I pulled out the notepad I usually reserved for inventory, already scribbling. “Racks. Mirrors. Lights. Got it.”
He shook his head, still grinning. “Look at you. Planning a prom fitting party. Who even are you?”
The answer stuck in my throat. I wasn’t sure myself. For the first time in ages, it felt like I was stepping outside of my own shadow, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was her contagious excitement pulling me into the light.
By the time I made it back, arms full of a borrowed dolly and a box of odds and ends that Nate shoved at me, I didn’t stop on the bookstore floor. I climbed the stairs and opened the apartment door I usually avoided. The space smelled faintly of dust and old takeout.
I stood in the middle, turning slowly, imagining it the way Lily would: string lights along the beams, racks lined with dresses, mirrors catching little sparks of shine. Laughter bouncing off the walls instead of silence.
After what felt like a lifetime of just going through the motions, I rolled up my sleeves. Hauled boxes I’d meant to sort years ago down to the basement. Cleared corners, shoved furniture aside, found the floor again. I even dug out the vacuum, running it until the hum rattled through my bones.
When I paused, leaning on the handle, sweat cooling at my collar, I realized I was smiling.
What was this? Lily herself, with her fire and her lists and her refusal to let anyone sit still?
Or was it the weekend, showing her Willowbrook like I was seeing it for the first time myself?
The church full of vows, the farmers opening their barns, even laughing with Joni?
All of it had reminded me what this town was, and maybe who I still was, too.
I didn’t know the answer. Not yet.
But as I stood in the middle of a cleared floor, the bones of something new taking shape, I knew one thing. I hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. And I wasn’t about to let it go.
I killed the vacuum and glanced at the clock on the microwave. Past nine.
“Crap.”
Mom.
I yanked the apartment door shut and took the stairs two at a time, out into the night that had settled soft over Main Street. The bookstore glowed faintly behind me, but my mind was already on the house sitting on Arden Lane.
The truck door creaked as I slid in. For a minute, I just sat there, hands loose on the wheel, the smell of motor oil wrapping around me like it always did. Old habit tugged, and before I could stop myself, I said it out loud, low and rough,
“Well, Dad. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
The words filled the cab, too big and too small at the same time.
I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. “I wish you got to meet her. She doesn’t let me brood, doesn’t let me sit still.
Just… lights a fire under me. Half the time I don’t know whether to argue with her or follow her around taking notes. ”
The rearview mirror caught my reflection, faint in the dim glow spilling from the streetlamps.
For once, I didn’t look exhausted—not the way I had all winter.
I let out a slow breath. “I still miss you. Every damn day,” I admitted.
“But tonight… I felt like I was moving forward. Alive, even. You’d tell me not to overthink it. Just keep going. So I’m trying.”
I twisted the key, the old engine grumbling awake, and pointed the headlights down the dark road toward Mom’s place.
By the time I rolled into the drive, the house was dark except for the lamp in the front window. My chest tightened. She always waited up.
I jogged up the porch steps and let myself in. “Mom? I’m so sorry. It’s late, I know. I lost track of time. I should’ve checked in hours ago.”
She looked up from her armchair, book folded on her lap, and gave me that patient little smile that said she’d been listening to my excuses since I was ten. “You’re here now.”
“I was at the store, and then Nate got me talking about racks and lights, and before I knew it, I was vacuuming like a madman. Vacuuming, Mom, can you believe that?” The words spilled too fast, too much, but I couldn’t seem to dam them up.
“Lily’s working on this prom boutique, and I thought maybe—maybe the bookstore could help.
The kids deserve something good, something fun.
So I—well, I cleared space. Started planning. Forgot the time completely.”
I dragged a hand over my face, half-laughing at myself. “Listen to me ramble. I sound like—” I broke off before I said Dad.
Mom’s eyes softened, and she set her book aside. “Like a man who’s got something to be excited about.”
Heat pricked behind my eyes, sudden and sharp. I ducked my head, pretending to study my boots. “Maybe. Just… hadn’t felt that in a while.”
Mom rose, the blanket slipping from her lap, and crossed the room slower than she used to but just as steady. She set a hand on my cheek, cool and familiar, and tipped my face up so I had no choice but to meet her eyes.
“There you are,” she said softly.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
Her smile curved, tender and knowing. “For months now, it’s like I’ve only had half of you.
You did the work, but your light was gone.
Tonight…” She studied me for a beat, thumb brushing the stubble on my jaw.
“Tonight, you look like my son again. I remember the kid who once spent a whole Saturday redesigning the fairgrounds on butcher paper—traffic flow, booth layout, the works.” She smiled.
“And the teenager who stayed up late reorganizing the bookstore because you were convinced people would read more if the shelves ‘made sense.’”
A quiet laugh escaped me.
“And in college,” she added, her voice warm, “you’d call home every week with a new dream—publishing, grad school, taking over the shop. I loved every version of you.”
The lump in my throat thickened. I swallowed hard, blinking fast. “It’s just… It’s small stuff, Mom. A boutique, some racks, dresses—”
“Don’t you dare downplay it,” she cut in, gentle but firm.
“Small things matter most. You think those kids will call it small when they walk into something magical you helped make? You think their parents won’t remember who cared enough to do it?
You’ve always had that heart. You just—” She shook her head.
“You just needed someone to remind you.”
Lily’s name flared in my chest, but I couldn’t say it out loud. Not yet.
“I don’t know what Dad would say,” I murmured instead.
Mom’s smile softened. “He’d say exactly what I’m saying. I’m proud of you. And I’m glad to see you living again, not just existing.”
The words landed deep, steadier than anything I’d felt in years. I pulled her into a hug, and for a moment, standing there in the quiet living room with her heartbeat against mine, I let myself believe it might be true.
“All right, Mr. Calloway,” she said, backing up a step and wagging a finger like I was a schoolboy. “You’ve been all heartfelt and sentimental. Now come sit down, and I’m going to kick your butt at Rummy.”
I let out a laugh—one of the easy, surprised ones that don’t come around much—and shook my head. “You’re on. Don’t go easy just because I rescued the town’s prom wardrobe plans or whatever it is I’m doing.”
She snorted. “Please. I raised you. I know your tells.”
As the first hand played out, I found myself smiling for real. I missed Dad every day, but the ache sat a little less sharp tonight.
I won the first hand by a hair and then lost the next two. When I finally stood to leave, Mom squeezed my shoulder and said, half-joking, half-serious, “Keep that spark, Ethan.”
“I’ll try,” I promised, meaning it. Outside, the night was cool and carrying the soft hush of the town.
I climbed into the truck thinking about racks and mirrors and ribbons and the way ordinary people showed up for one another.
Whatever this was—a beginning, or a nudge toward something—I was ready to follow it a little farther.