Chapter 40
Ethan
Another month, gone. July already. Summerfest was getting closer every day, and with it, Lily leaving.
I tried not to think about it—kept myself buried in bookstore plans, rearranging displays, calling vendors, scribbling half a dozen schemes onto the backs of receipts.
Anything to distract myself from the way her laugh still echoed in my head long after she left the room.
She was back to full strength, charging around town with that clipboard like she’d been born with it in hand.
The community adored her—neighbors dropping by to thank her for ideas, kids waving from bikes, even old man Bodin stopping to say she had “spunk.” Watching her fit so seamlessly into Willowbrook made my chest tight in ways I couldn’t name.
I wanted her here. And I hated myself for wanting it, knowing she had bigger dreams waiting.
She agreed without hesitation, sliding into the passenger seat that afternoon in a blue sundress dotted with tiny white flowers, a red scarf knotted loosely in her hair. The hem skimmed her knees, and more than once, I caught myself sneaking glances at the curve of her legs in the sunlight.
Apple Valley looked like every Fourth of July I remembered as a kid, like nothing in the world had ever changed.
The lake shimmered under the sun, dotted with rowboats and kids daring each other to jump from the dock.
Grill smoke curled through the air, tangling with the sharp crack of sparklers.
The whole place smelled like sunscreen, cut grass, and charcoal—the scent of summer pressed into my bones.
We staked out a picnic table near the playground. Ben claimed the grill with the kind of focus usually reserved for football games, Maggie perched on a blanket with Ian tugging at her sleeve, and Nate wandered over late—as usual—carrying… nothing.
Rachel squinted at him. “You didn’t bring anything?”
Nate held up his hands. “I bring the vibes.”
Sarah snorted. “The vibes don’t feed anyone, Nate.”
Rachel rolled her eyes and leaned closer to Lily. “Why do we put up with him?”
Lily laughed, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Because he’s adorable and keeps us laughing.”
Nate pointed at her. “See? She gets me.”
Rachel snorted.
At the end of the table, Ava tugged at my sleeve. “Uncle Ethan, Ian said he can swing higher than me.”
“I did not!” Ian yelled from the swings.
“Yes, you did!” Ava argued, stomping her foot.
Lucas toddled over, clutching half a juice box, juice-slick fingers grabbing at my jeans. “Up!”
I scooped Lucas up, earning a sticky handprint on my shirt, and looked toward the swings. “Tell you what, whoever can hold still the longest gets the first sparkler tonight.”
“That’s not fair,” Ian groaned, but he started swinging slower anyway. Ava immediately copied him, her determination written all over her face.
Rachel shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re dangerous with that uncle logic.”
“Better than bribing them with chips,” I said, deadpan.
“Debatable,” Nate muttered, cradling the chip bag like a baby.
Lily was everywhere at once—hugging Lynn’s daughters, laughing with Sarah over sparklers, checking in with Mr. and Mrs. Durbin about the 4-H kids.
At one point, she had three moms nodding along like she was running for office, and the next, she was down in the sand helping Ava and Lucas build a lopsided castle. She made it all look easy.
I tried not to watch her too much, but the guys noticed anyway.
Nate nudged me with his elbow. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”
“I do not,” I said too quickly.
Ben grinned, tearing into a hot dog bun. “Yeah, you do. And honestly? We get it. She’s… pretty amazing. And hot as hell.”
Matt flipped a burger, not even looking up. “You’re obvious, Calloway. You’re worse than Ben was in high school, crushing on Rachel.”
Ben nearly spit his soda. “Would you stop—”
Nate cut in, grinning wide. “You doodled her name in your math notebook, man. With hearts.”
“Shut up,” Ben groaned, but even Rachel’s laugh carried across the grass where she was helping Maggie with sparklers.
The guys broke into low chuckles, and I tried to hide mine with a swallow of Coke.
“She’s leaving in August,” I said finally, the words heavier than I meant them.
That sobered them quickly. Nate shrugged first. “Then all the more reason to go for it. Get what you can, while you can.”
Ben leaned back, quieter. “Have you even told her? I mean… actually told her how you feel?”
I didn’t answer.
Matt slid a burger onto the tray, set the spatula down, and finally looked at me.
“You’re tying yourself in knots, man. Don’t.
Just… take it as it comes. Trust your gut and all that.
” His expression was steady, serious, underscoring the weight of his words.
“And whatever happens? We’ve got your back. ”
I didn’t answer. Across the grass, Lily stood in the sun, hair tied up, ribbon blowing in the breeze, clipboard in hand as she charmed another family into volunteering. She caught me looking then, just for a second, and the smile she gave me was softer, quieter than the ones she gave everyone else.
And damn it, it felt like hope. The one thing I’d been trying not to let myself have.
Hours later, fireflies winked to life in the grass as the sun slipped down behind the tree line, little lanterns flickering while kids darted barefoot between the picnic tables.
Sparklers hissed and spat, leaving trails of gold as Ava and Ian raced in circles, shrieking with laughter.
Lily leaned down to light one for Lucas, steadying his small hand while he gaped at the sparks like it was sorcery.
“Careful, bud. Keep it out, not up,” she coached, her smile wide and sure.
I caught myself smiling as Lily dug into the box for another sparkler. She flicked the lighter once, twice—nothing. Her brows knit as she tried again, muttering under her breath.
“Need a hand?” I asked, already reaching.
She shot me a look, lips curving. “What, you think I can’t handle fire?”
“Not saying that,” I murmured, leaning closer, “but if you set half the county ablaze, we’re both on cleanup duty.”
Her laugh was low, quick. “Fine. Be my hero, Calloway.”
I clicked the lighter, flame catching. She held the sparkler between us, her fingers steady, her eyes steady too—on me.
For a second, it wasn’t about sparks at all.
It was about how close she was, the scent of sunscreen and sugar, the way her smile softened when the fire finally caught, and the sparkler flared to life.
“See?" I said, my voice rougher than I meant, suddenly aware of how close we were standing, her shoulder brushing mine. The sparkler illuminated her face in golden flickers that caught in her eyes, making them dance.
"Dangerous teamwork," she shot back, her grin turning quick and wicked as she spun the sparks into the night. Her fingers were inches from mine, and I could feel the heat radiating between us that had nothing to do with the fire in her hand.
Before I could do something stupid, like trace her name into the night sky, Mayor Davis tapped the microphone.
“Folks,” his voice boomed, cheery as ever, “thank you for being here for another Willowbrook Fourth of July.
Every year, I look out and see the same thing—same families, same blankets, just taller kids and maybe a few more gray hairs.
" He chuckled, the sound rolling across the crowd.
"When I see you all together like this—sharing food, catching fireflies, holding each other close when the big ones boom—that right there is the heart of this town beating strong.”
The crowd cheered, Lily clapping hard, her eyes shining.
“So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!” he finished, tipping his hat before the first firework shrieked skyward.
We spread out on a blanket near the lake. At first, Lily sat cross-legged, bouncing with every crack and boom. “Oh! That one’s my favorite—no, that one!” she cried, pointing like she’d never seen a firework before. Her joy was so big it made my chest ache.
Gradually, she stretched out flat on her back, hair fanning over the blanket, her eyes fixed on the sky. “Best seat in the house,” she whispered, voice bright with awe.
I eased down beside her, the grass cool beneath the blanket, the night air humming with laughter and distant sparklers.
Another firework cracked open above us—green and gold, raining light.
And her pinky shifted, just a fraction, into the no-man's-land between us.
I felt the heat of it there, not quite touching mine but close enough that my skin prickled with awareness.
Three more bursts exploded overhead before I let my hand relax, our little fingers now separated by nothing but intention.
Her breath hitched when I finally closed that paper-thin gap. The pad of my pinky brushed against hers, tentative, questioning, and electricity shot up my arm. For five thundering heartbeats, that's all we allowed ourselves.
The next volley rattled the sky, and she let herself lean just slightly into me, eyes wide and glowing in the color-streaked night.
By the time the finale began—cascades of silver exploding over the lake—our fingers had woven together one by one, thumb hooking over thumb, palms pressed warm and certain, the simple touch more dizzying than any kiss I could imagine.
And for a moment, the whole world felt as fragile and brilliant as those sparks raining down—gone too fast, but unforgettable.
The fireworks bled into smoke and cheers, families gathering blankets, kids chasing their last sparklers across the grass.
Lily and I stood, brushing grass from the blanket, neither of us quite meeting the other’s eyes.
We said goodbyes, hugged the kids, waved to Matt and Sarah, clapped Ben and Nate on the shoulders.
Then it was just us, walking back toward my truck under the fading echo of crackles in the sky.
The drive was quiet, too quiet, the night air still thick with gunpowder and laughter.
She sat angled toward me, not the window, like there was some invisible pull she hadn’t even noticed.
Every flash of the streetlights caught the curve of her cheek, the loose ribbon in her hair, the way her knee nearly brushed mine on the bench seat.
Every few miles, she hummed under her breath, soft and content, and I gripped the wheel tighter, fighting the urge to reach for her hand and close the space that was slowly undoing me.
By the time I pulled up to her house, my chest felt like it was holding the last firework that hadn’t gone off. I killed the engine. Silence pressed in.
When I got out and walked her up the porch steps, she arched a brow. “Well, this is new. Calloway actually escorting me to my door?”
I tried for casual, but my voice came out rough. “Figured I’d make sure you got home safe.”
She turned toward me, the porch light catching in her eyes, making them shine like the lake had under the fireworks. “I was already safe,” she teased softly.
The porch light cast a golden halo over her, softening the edges of her dress, catching the loose strands of hair that had slipped free in the breeze.
She tilted her body toward mine, standing near enough that the heat from her skin reached across the inches between us, like magnets finding their inevitable alignment.
Her hand brushed mine—barely a whisper of touch, deliberate enough to set every nerve alight. I froze, pulse hammering. She looked up, eyes wide and shining, and I swore the world tilted under my feet.
I leaned down, cautious at first, giving her the space to turn away. But she didn’t. She tipped toward me like she’d been waiting, her breath catching just as our lips met. Soft. Testing. A question neither of us dared put into words.
She pulled back a fraction, her eyes searching mine, and for a breathless second, I thought it was over. Then she smiled—small, radiant, like the beginning of something—and tugged me closer.
This time it wasn’t soft. It was fierce and certain, a kiss that stole every thought from my head.
Her fingers curled in my shirt, pulling me down to her, and I pressed her back gently against the porch rail, every inch of me aching to keep her there.
She tasted like cinnamon gum and summer air, and I couldn’t get enough.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, she rested her forehead against mine, her laugh trembling and disbelieving. My hand lingered at her waist, unwilling to let go.
“Ethan…” she whispered. Her voice was rough with something I didn't dare name, but hearing it—my name in that breathless tone—sent a current down my spine that made my fingers tremble against her waist.
“Yeah,” I managed, my thumb brushing her hip. “I know.”
Neither of us moved. Neither of us wanted to. And under that porch light, with the night humming all around us, I let myself believe—for the first time—that maybe, just maybe, this was real.
Her lips parted, her forehead still resting against mine. “We probably shouldn’t…”
I huffed a laugh, rough and low. “Probably not…” My hand tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against me. “But I don’t think I can stop.”
And then I kissed her again.
I didn’t ease into it. I kissed her like the choice had already been made—like there was no careful edge left to mind.
Her mouth opened beneath mine, and my tongue slid against hers, slow at first, then deeper, hungrier, like I’d been waiting years for this exact moment.
Her fingers clutched my shirt, twisting tight, dragging me down as if she couldn’t bear a single inch between us.
My hands traced her waist, her back, memorizing every line, every curve.
She made a sound—a soft, helpless whimper—that went straight through me, and I kissed her harder, losing myself in the taste of her. Sweet and warm and dizzying, everything I didn’t know I needed until right then.
We might have gone on forever if not for the sudden voice cutting through the night.
“Alright, kids!” Carol’s voice rang from her porch next door, half amused, half scandalized. “Time to say goodnight. Goodness, putting on a show out here!”
We jolted apart, wide-eyed, both of us bursting into breathless laughter. I couldn’t stop smiling, no matter how hard I tried.
Still laughing, I reached for her hand, laced my fingers through hers, and leaned down to press one last kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, Harper.”
She giggled, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing brighter than the fireworks had. “See ya, Calloway.”
I walked back to my truck with a stupid grin plastered across my face, my heart so light it felt like it might float out of my chest. My whole body buzzed, my lips still tingled, and for once I didn’t bother trying to rein it in.
Because whatever this was, whatever it was turning into, I was in deep. And I didn’t care.