“I’m not?—”
“Youare. And I get it, because I did the same thing. You want to know what Brandon told me when I filed for divorce? He said I was too much. Too loud. Too ambitious. That my personalitywas exhausting.” She picks at her shirt hem. “I spent two years trying to shrink myself to fit in his beige world. Stopped laughing so loud. Stopped wearing red lipstick. You know what I learned?”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer.
“It doesn’t make them love you more. It just makesyoudisappear. And Mare, Calvin doesn’t want Elena’s version of success. He wants you. The actual you, not some polished version you think you should be.”
I think about my hidden notebooks, my unfinished stories, all the pieces of myself I’ve tucked away. The tattoo I hide. The writing I don’t do. The dreams I don’t voice because who has time for dreams when there are people who need you.
“You’re right,” I say quietly. “I know you’re right. But what if tomorrow he realizes what he’s done? Kissing the local bartender in some grief-fueled moment?”
“Then he’s an idiot. But based on tonight? Based on how uncomfortable he looked with Elena touching him? Based on how he kept trying to catch your eye? I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”
I manage a small smile, not entirely convinced but wanting to believe her.
She stands, offers me her hand. “Come on. We have a bar to run.”
I take her hand and let her pull me up.
Back in the kitchen heat, everything feels too bright. Jayson’s plating nachos, extra jalapeños on one half because he knows the Pattersons’ preferences. The dishwasher’s running full blast, steam rising. Through the service window, the bar is still packed with Friday night customers.
“You good?” Jayson asks as we pass.
“Getting there,” I say.
Behind the bar, I throw myself into work. Pour drinks, take orders, smile at regulars. Vodka tonic for Shirley celebrating herdivorce. Whiskey neat for Tom mourning his. Two IPAs for the couple on their third date. The repetitive motions help quiet my racing thoughts.
My hands move on autopilot while my mind churns. I keep touching my ribs where Calvin’s words hide under cotton. The tattoo I got years ago, finding solace in a stranger’s understanding of death. Now that stranger has a face, hands that touched me like I was valuable.
The next two hours drag. Every drink I pour, I’m thinking about what I’ll say to him. How to explain that it’s not him I don’t trust but myself. The fear that sits heavy in my chest.
Around ten-thirty, the crowd starts thinning. Couples settle tabs and stumble into the night. Regulars nurse last drinks, not ready for empty houses. Adrian and Elena left long ago, which was a relief. One less thing to navigate while my brain spirals.
Finally, eleven arrives.
“You heading out?” Lark asks, appearing with a knowing look.
“Yeah, all finished.”
“Good luck with whatever you’re about to do. And Mare? Stop making yourself smaller.”
I grab my bag from the office, that cramped closet with delusions of grandeur. The mirror above the tiny sink in the bathroom shows what everyone’s been seeing. I look like someone on an edge, though I can’t tell if it’s a breakdown or a breakthrough.
Outside, the night hits chilly against my skin, rain coming down hard enough to plaster my hair to my forehead. The path to the cabins is slick and shining, puddles pooling in the low spots I know by heart. I hunch into the chill, shoulders tight, but my feet still carry me forward even as my brain screams to turn back.
But I keep walking. Because I’m tired of being the girl who chooses safety. Who pulls back just when things might get real.
Through the trees, I can see the lights from his cabin glowing warm against the darkness. He’s awake, waiting, just like he said he would be. The gravel crunches under my feet, announcing my approach to the night. Somewhere an owl calls through the rain.
I stop at the edge of the light spilling from his windows, rain running down my face. This isn’t just a conversation I’m walking toward. It’s the possibility of being known, really known, by someone who might actually stay. Or who might leave and take pieces of me with him.
Either way, I’m already too far gone to turn back now. And for once, I want something more than I want to be safe.
CHAPTER 18
CALVIN
I’ve been lying on my bed for the past hour, fully dressed on top of the covers, listening to the rain drum against the roof. The sound usually calms me, but tonight it just reminds me of water, of wetness, of Maren pressed against the bar. My mind keeps circling back to the same moment. Her mouth under mine, the way she said my name like she was drowning.
