Page 21 of Say When
“He didn’t have to.” She shrugs one shoulder. “I know my brother. When he’s hurting, he gets quiet. When he’s hurting over someone he loves, he gets dangerously quiet. He’s worried about you. Not angry. Not giving up. Just… worried.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes before I can stop them. I blink hard. “I’m scared, Liv. I’m so scared I can’t breathe sometimes. He’s everything good I didn’t think I’d ever have again, and I keep waiting for the moment it disappears. For him to realize I’m too old, too damaged, too much work. For me to ruin it because I don’t know how to trust happiness anymore.”
Liv reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. Her touch is warm, steady, sisterly in a way that makes my throat close.
“Grace,” she says quietly. “Happiness isn’t the problem. Fear is. You’ve spent years believing you don’t deserve it because someone told you so loud and so long that you started repeating it to yourself. Jake isn’t that someone. He’s the opposite. He sees you, really sees you, and he’s still here. He’s still choosing you, even when you pull away and even when you don’t answer his texts. That’s not a fling. That’s a man who’s already decided you’re worth waiting for.”
I swallow hard. “What if I can’t be what he needs? What if I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and I push him away until he finally leaves?”
“Then you’ll lose something beautiful.” Her voice stays gentle. “But you’ll lose it because you chose fear over love, not because you weren’t enough, or because you’re too old or too broken. It will be because you decided the risk was too high and you’ll have to live with that.”
The words land heavily, truthfully, but kindly. I look down at our joined hands. Hers is tanned and calloused from years of holding surfboards and ropes. Mine is softer, paler, marked by the faint white line where my wedding ring used to sit.
“I miss him,” I whisper. “How can I miss him so much after knowing him for such a short time?”
Liv squeezes once, then lets go. “Because you have feelings for him. He’s not going anywhere unless you tell him to.”
I nod slowly. “I want to see him.”
She smiles, looking relieved. “Good. There’s a bonfire tonight. It’s just a few of us, but if you want it to be just the two of you, I can make sure everyone else stays home.”
I exhale a shaky laugh. “You’d do that?”
“For my brother? For you? Yeah, I would.” She stands, grabs a napkin, and scribbles loose directions on it. “Same spot as last time.”
I take the napkin as my fingers tremble. “Thank you, Liv.”
She leans down and presses a quick kiss to the top of my head. “Don’t thank me yet. Thank him when you see him. And Grace?”
I look up.
“Choose happiness this time, even if it’s scary, maybe especially if it’s scary.”
She leaves me there with cooling coffee and a racing heart.
The rest of the day flies by. I shower and try on three different outfits before settling on jeans and a soft green sweater that brings out my eyes.
At seven-thirty, I drive to the beach.
The road to the pull-off feels longer tonight as the gravel crunches under my tires. I park, kill the engine, and sit for a full minute with my hands gripping the wheel. Then I grab the blanket from the backseat, the same one we used last time, and walk the path to the beach.
He’s already there.
The bonfire burns low and steady, flames licking at driftwood he must have gathered earlier. He stands near it, back to me, shoulders broad under a dark hoodie, hands in his pockets. Moonlight silvers the waves behind him. The sight of him alone, waiting, patient, cracks something open in my chest.
I step onto the sand.
He turns at the sound of my footsteps. For a second, he just looks at me, expression unreadable in the shifting firelight. Then relief washes over his face, raw and unguarded.
“Grace.”
I stop a few feet away. “Hi.”
He takes one step toward me, then stops. “Liv said you might come. I didn’t know if you would.”
My voice shakes. “I’ve been hiding from you, from how much I feel.”
He nods slowly. “I know.”
