Chapter 35
Lily
I’d barely been home an hour since church, but I’d already peeled off my sundress and kicked it into the corner.
Now I was curled in my comfiest shorts and a tank, bare feet tucked under me on the couch, coffee mug warming my hands.
The events of yesterday still swirled in my mind—Ethan’s laughter, the splash of water, and that moment when everything felt electric between us.
The silence in the house felt strange after days of constant noise. I sipped my coffee, trying not to think about Prom night, but the stillness betrayed me. There he was again in my mind—Ethan's back retreating across the dance floor, leaving me frozen under the spinning lights.
I do. Two little words, tossed like a stone into my chest, and then he was gone. I kept replaying it, the way his eyes looked—steady, aching, like he wanted something from me I didn’t know how to give.
The truth.
He wanted the whole of me. And God, some days I almost wanted to hand it over—lay it all out, the scrapes and bruises and lonely nights. But I couldn’t.
I’d spent too many years building this version of myself, the glitter-and-gold Lily who knew how to dazzle, how to lead, how to never look like she needed anyone. I’d clawed my way out of the foster kid who folded laundry on prom night, who never got picked, who was always just passing through.
If people saw her, the scared girl underneath, I was sure they’d see weakness. Or worse, they’d pity me. And pity was something I couldn’t survive.
Because the truth was, no one who’d ever known that girl had let her stay.
Foster homes closed without warning—divorces, new babies, illnesses, “not a good fit anymore”—all the reasons caseworkers recited like weather reports.
Some families only ever meant to keep me for a few weeks.
Others just didn’t know what to do with a kid who flinched at raised voices or shut down when she got overwhelmed, and they mistook survival instincts for “attitude.” The more people saw of the real me, the faster they decided I wasn’t worth holding onto.
So I kept her buried. I worked harder. I made myself indispensable, unforgettable. Strong. Untouchable.
And yet… Ethan had looked at me like he’d seen through it anyway. Like he wanted the girl I’ve tried so hard to leave behind. That thought tempted me and terrified me in equal measure.
I sipped my coffee, with Lucky curled heavy in my lap, his paws twitching in some dream-chase. I stroked the soft patch behind his ear, trying to chase the ache back down. But it lingered, low and heavy, refusing to be drowned.
I let my gaze drift to the fridge across the room, where a single Post-it fluttered on the door. Inside, I knew exactly what waited: half a carton of strawberries, expired yogurt, and not much else. Figures. If I wanted to survive the week, it was a grocery-run kind of Sunday.
I nudged Lucky off gently and stood, tugging on a pair of sandals.
The air outside was warm, cicadas already buzzing like it was mid-July instead of June.
My steps carried me toward Carol’s before I even thought about it.
She always had a list—milk, tea, maybe something sweet for when she thought no one was looking.
Checking in on her had become a habit I didn’t want to break.
Her screen door was propped open, a faint cross-breeze carrying the smell of something lemony and clean. I tapped once and stepped into the cool shade of her home.
Carol was tucked into her armchair by the window, glasses sliding halfway down her nose, a paperback open in her lap. She looked up, finger marking her place, and her face softened into a smile.
“Heading to the store,” I said, holding up my keys. “Need me to grab you anything?”
She set the book aside and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Oh, sweetheart, you read my mind. But you know what? Maybe I’ll just come with you. If you don’t mind the company. I could use an outing.”
We climbed into my car, the seats already warm from the June sun. Carol buckled in with a satisfied sigh, like even a trip to the store counted as an outing.
“Black Bear Market or Neely’s ?” she asked, settling her purse in her lap. “I’ll take either, as long as they’ve still got those peanut butter pinwheels. Haven’t had one in years.”
I laughed as I turned onto Main. “If they’re out, I’ll personally file a complaint.”
She chuckled, patting my arm. “That’s the spirit. Groceries with a side of justice.”
For a few miles, we just rode with the windows cracked, the air thick with cut grass and the faintest whiff of honeysuckle. Carol hummed along to whatever the radio offered, me smiling despite myself. It felt easy in a way I hadn’t expected. Like what I imagined a family would feel like.
By the time we pulled into Black Bear’s cracked lot, the sun was high and the asphalt shimmered. Carol fussed with her list, muttering about cucumbers and the price of eggs, while I grabbed a cart.
The automatic doors sighed open, cool air rushing out. I was still shaking the humidity from my skin when Carol nudged me with her elbow, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“Well now,” Carol murmured, dry as dust. “Looks like we picked the right store after all.”
I followed her gaze and nearly tripped over my own cart. Ethan, in his weekend uniform of jeans and a faded Willowbrook Baseball tee, was bent over a list in his mom’s hand. She looked exactly as she had the day I met her—warm, no-nonsense, a presence that filled the aisle without trying.
Carol didn’t wait for me to collect myself. “Margaret!” she called, waving her hand like she was flagging down a parade float. “You saving all the good peaches for yourself?”
Margaret’s face lit up, and in seconds our carts were nose to nose. “Only if Ethan gets there first,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Lord knows he’s already cleared out the bread aisle.”
Carol laughed. “That boy would eat through a bakery if we let him.”
I managed a smile, trying not to notice the way Ethan straightened when he realized I was standing there. His eyes caught mine for the briefest second—steady, unreadable—before sliding away.
Carol and Margaret were in their element, chatting like only lifelong friends could. I trailed along with the cart, nodding at the right times, trying not to notice how close Ethan was every time he reached for something on the shelf.
Then Margaret pivoted, her eyes lighting like she’d been waiting all morning. “Ethan told me he took you all over Willowbrook a couple weeks ago. Said you two had the best time.”
I blinked. My grip on the cart handle tightened. Ethan’s head whipped around. “Mom.”
I laughed too quickly. “He did. It was nice.”
Margaret tilted her head, studying me with that gentle curiosity only moms seem to get away with. “So I heard you went to Ray’s pond? And the farm? Even cruising on the square?” She ticked them off like items on a grocery list, then arched a brow. “What about the bike path?”
I blinked, caught. “No… not the bike path.”
Carol gasped like that was a federal offense. “Oh, Lily, you’d love it. It winds right along the river—shady trees, little wooden bridges, even a spot where the wildflowers spill over the fence line.”
Margaret nodded, doubling down. “And my son could use more fresh air. Why don’t you two go this evening?”
I opened my mouth. “Oh, I don’t want to—”
Ethan, at the same time, said, “No, we couldn’t—”
The women just smiled, steamrolling us both. “Perfect. Settled.”
Heat crept up my neck. I felt cornered, exposed. Ethan rubbed the back of his neck like he wanted to disappear, then finally turned to me with that careful, polite voice. “So. Want to go?”
Every instinct screamed to make an excuse, to bury myself in work. But Carol and Margaret were looking at me like the whole world had just been arranged, and he was standing there, waiting.
I managed a smile, though my stomach flipped. “Sure. Why not?”
***
Back home, I stood in front of the mirror longer than I’d admit, towel still wrapped around my head. It wasn’t a date. God, it wasn’t even close. It was two people who worked under the same roof, forced into fresh air by their matriarchies. That was it.
“Okay,” I muttered at my reflection, tugging the towel free. “You survived prom. You survived a water war with half the town watching. You can survive this.”
Lucky blinked up at me from his perch on the bed, tail flicking like he didn’t buy a word of it.
I pulled on denim cutoffs, a soft white tank, and tied a plaid button-up around my waist in case the air cooled later.
Sneakers, no heels. I swiped on a bit of mascara, slipped in my favorite gold hoops, and left my hair down in loose waves.
If anyone asked, it was comfort over effort. Totally casual.
I saw Ethan’s truck pull up through the window. My stomach dropped. No big deal, I told myself again. Just a bike path. Just Ethan.
I grabbed my water bottle, kissed Lucky between the ears, and stepped out onto the porch.
He was there at the curb, arm draped out the open window. And when his eyes lifted to me, something unreadable flickered across his face, gone almost before I could name it.
“Ready?” he asked, voice careful.
I nodded, though my pulse was anything but.
Ethan cut the engine and stepped out of the truck, circling around to open my door. I managed a quiet “thanks” as I slid in, trying not to notice how close his hand was to mine on the doorframe.
The cab smelled like clean laundry and motor oil, the windows cracked to let in the warm June air. For the first few blocks, it was silent. Not easy, companionable silence—the other kind. The heavy kind.
I cleared my throat, staring straight out at the road. “It was nice of you to agree to this,” I said, keeping my tone light. “When it’s obvious you don’t actually want to.”
His hands tightened a fraction on the wheel. “It’s fine,” he said simply, eyes never leaving the road.