Page 63 of Just One More Thing

Mrs. Kravitz is perched at the table by the window, narrating the moral decline of the new couple renting the old Barnwell house. “… clearly not married because no married couple keeps up that level of stamina on a weeknight.”

I’m half listening. Half scrolling.

A headline stops my thumb midair.

Meteor shower peaks tonight. Best visibility after midnight.

Midnight. The lighthouse.

The noise of Mrs. Kravitz and Granny fades. Or maybe my brain just leaves my body for a second.

Years ago, Jake and I snuck out after midnight and climbed the spiral steps in sock feet because shoes echoed.

We lay on our backs at the top, shoulders touching, staring at streaks of light split the sky open.

He told me if you watched one long enough, you could wish on it twice.

We pinky promised we’d forever watch meteor showers together.

We pinky promised a lot of things at sixteen. Forever was a casual word back then.

“Emory.” Granny waves a powdered hand in front of my face. “How’s zoo-zoo land this time of year?”

“I’m not ignoring you,” I say, sliding my phone into my apron pocket. “I’m just not listening to you.”

Mrs. Kravitz narrows her eyes. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly.

Everything.

I untie my apron and grab my bkr.

“Where’re you going?” Granny asks.

“I’ll be back.”

I nearly miss the door handle at Tall Tales because apparently my coordination has clocked out early.

Get ahold of yourself, Emory. It’s space rocks. Not a proposal.

The bell over the door jingles as I step inside. The whole shop looks up in unison. Mr. Humphrey peers around a bookshelf with a disapproving hmph.

Walt looks at me over his glasses. “Evening.”

“I need a card,” I blurt, skipping hello entirely.

He doesn’t blink. “Romantic, formal, casual or confrontational?”

How do you categorize inviting your best friend to climb a lighthouse at midnight and maybe change everything?

“Romantic,” I whisper.

He nods toward the nonfiction aisle. “By the window.”

Of course it is. Romance lives in natural light and judgment.

I find a thick cream card with a navy border. Simple. Serious. No cartoon penguins in tuxedos to hide behind. I stare at the blank center until my hand starts tapping the pen against it as if I’ve forgotten how writing works.