“Convenient timing,” I say, voice low.
Marlene gives me a curious half puzzled, half amused look but shrugs.
“Anyway. I’m glad we talked Stormy. I’ll be in touch.”
She leaves with a bounce in her step, and the bell jingles behind her.
Stormy doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. I can feel it in the way she’s holding herself. I brush a thumb across her cheek and press another kiss to her temple, this one slower. “He’s gone,” I whisper against her skin. “You don’t have to see him again.”
Such a goddamn coward, skipping town instead of facing the fallout … Although, I know I wouldn’t have stomached seeing him around here. Not after what he did. Stormy deserves peace. Space to build something without ghosts lurking in the corners.
So good riddance. Let him go. Let him hide behind state lines and a mother who’ll coddle his excuses.
I hope he never sets foot in this town again.
Stormy stays quiet for a beat longer and I keep my arm around her. Then she exhales and turns towards me. Her eyes are still shadowed, but there’s something else dancing there now. Something lighter.
She leans in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.
“Will, who?” she says, voice quiet and almost playful.
But I see the way her shoulders are still tense. The way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Stormy …” I begin, but before I can say anything, before I can tell her she doesn’t need to hide from her hurt, she speaks.
“Like you said, Ford, he’s gone.” Her voice is steady, but there’s heat in it now. Not anger. Resolve.
“I’m done spending time and energy on men like him,” she says. “This is my life. Mine. Nobody gets to control it but me.”
She presses another sweet kiss to my lips this time. Then she pulls back, hopping up onto the counter, swinging her legs like she’s trying to shake off the weight of the moment. And then her smile curves, sly and teasing.
“So,” she says, changing the subject, tilting her head. “What was it you were saying earlier? Something about being undone on this counter?”
There’s a glint in her eye— flirty, mischievous, and just a little daring. It’s the kind of look I’m never going to get used to. It’s a look that makes my breath catch and my heart kick against my ribs.
I stand there for a moment, looking at this brave, beautiful woman in front of me. She’s so much braver than she knows. Not because she’s pretending that she’s fine, but because she’s choosing to feel it, to carry the ache and still move forwards.
She’s refusing to let someone unworthy take up space in her mind.
She’s still healing. Of course she is.
And maybe one day, it’ll sneak up on her again—the memory and the sting of it all. But if it does, I’ll be here. I’ll help her hold it. Help her walk through it, piece by piece.
Because thisisher life. And no one gets to take that from her.
I step closer, hands finding her knees, voice rough with affection. “I stand by every word.”
She laughs. The sound is brighter now, and I swear the whole world feels warmer for it.
53
Stormy
It’s early evening, the kind that creeps in slow and soft.
The sun was out all morning, but now the sky has turned a moody grey and the clouds are thickening, as if they’re deciding whether to cry or just sulk. Inside the bookshop, it’s dim enough that I’ve had to switch on the overhead lights. Their warm glow casts soft shadows across the half-painted walls and scattered boxes.
Ford’s here again. He’s been finding time to help out in the evenings, showing up with paint-streaked jeans and that quiet steadiness I’ve come to rely on more than I expected. He’s painting the far wall with his sleeves rolled up. His forearms flex with each stroke. I pretend not to notice. I fail.
