Page 20 of Say When
I stand. “I’ll try.”
She walks me to the door. “And Jake?”
I pause on the porch.
“When she’s ready to talk, really talk, don’t let fear make you careful. Tell her the whole truth. She deserves to know how deep this goes for you.”
I meet her eyes. “I will.”
She smiles. It’s small and proud. “Good.”
I drive back to the shop in silence. The radio stays off. The windows stay down. Wind whips through the cab, loud enough to drown out most of my thoughts.
I park behind the building, sit for a minute with my head against the steering wheel, then I pull out my phone.
Me: Hey. Thinking about you. Hope the rest of your day was okay. I’m here if you need me. No pressure.
I hit send before I can overthink it, see the message is read as soon as it’s delivered, but there’s no reply.
I set the phone face down on the dashboard and go inside.
The rest of the evening passes in mechanical motions. I restock the store and then head upstairs to my lonely apartment. My mind stays on Grace and Liv’s words.
Liv’s right, Grace has to decide for herself that I’m worth the risk. All I can do is stand steady, visible, and unchanging, until she’s ready.
9
GRACE
Three days stretch longer than any three days have a right to. I wake each morning reaching for him before my eyes open, fingers curling into empty sheets that still carry the faint ghost of his cedar-and-ocean scent.
I tell myself the silence is what I asked for. I wanted space and time to think. Time to breathe, but breathing feels harder with every hour he isn’t here.
I miss him desperately.
The ache sits under my ribs like a bruise I can’t stop pressing. I lie in bed at night and trace the faint red marks his beard left on my inner thighs, marks that are fading faster than I want them to, as if my body is already erasing evidence of how completely I let him in.
I’m terrified of how much I want him back.
This morning I woke to gray light pressing against the windows and the low growl of thunder rolling in from the sea. Rain taps the roof in a steady drum. I make coffee I don’t drink, open my laptop, stare at the blinking cursor until my eyes burn.
I close the laptop. Pull on jeans, a soft sweater, and rain boots. The cottage feels too small to hold all the restlessnessinside me. I need air. I need motion. I need to stop thinking in circles.
The town is quiet under the drizzle. Tourists stay inside cafés and rental houses. Locals move with the ease of people who know where they’re going. I walk Main Street without a destination, hands shoved deep in my pockets, hood up against the mist. The hardware store window displays new paint swatches and galvanized buckets. The bakery window shows trays of cinnamon rolls still warm from the oven. I keep walking.
Liv steps out of the coffee shop two doors down, paper cup in one hand, phone in the other. She spots me immediately, a smile breaking wide and warm across her face. No hesitation. No judgment. Just the same open welcome she gave me at the bonfire.
“Grace.” She crosses the sidewalk in three easy strides. “You look like you could use a dry place and a good cup of coffee.”
I laugh despite myself, small and surprised. “That obvious?”
“Only to people who’ve been there.” She tilts her head toward the shop. “Come on, my treat.”
I follow her inside as the bell chimes softly. Warmth wraps around me immediately: coffee, cinnamon, the faint sweetness of fresh pastries. We claim a small table by the window. Rain streaks the glass in slow silver trails. Liv orders for both of us without asking me what I want. She gets two lattes and one cinnamon roll to share. When the barista walks away, she leans forward on her elbows.
“I talked to Jake,” she says simply. No preamble. No fishing. Just a fact.
My heart stutters. “He told you.”
