I shake my head.“Oh, no. I thought maybe I could make one out of cardboard boxes… or books…” I trail off, feeling Ethan’s eyes on me.
He knows why. He knows I can’t afford more.
“I need to get going,” I add quickly.“Penny has Mia, and I bet she’s driving her crazy.” I laugh, but even I can hear how thin it sounds.
“See you around,” Ethan says.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll see you guys at dinner?” I ask.
Jude nods. Ethan shakes his head.
“No, I have other plans. But have a nice night, Summer.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, turns, and walks off. No frustration, no teasing, no lingering look. Just distance. Jude hesitates, glancing back at me like he’s not sure what to say.
“See you later, Summer,” he murmurs before following his brother.
The breath I’ve been holding slips out of me, shaky and uneven.
This is what you wanted, Summer.
He’s backing off. He’s respecting the boundaries you pushed between you.
He’s leaving you alone.
So why does it feel like someone just pressed a hand to my chest and squeezed?
I swallow hard, the ache settling low and heavy. My fingers tighten around the basket handle until my knuckles throb.
I need to focus on Mia. And the shop.
That’s all.
That’s enough.
Right?
???
The next morning, as I drive Mia to school, I can’t stop thinking about the emptiness I felt at the dinner table yesterday. Almost everyone was there, but Ethan’s absence was palpable, like music missing from a song. Breakfast this morning was the same, every Hawthorne brother at the table except him, and it felt like a knife in my heart. He’s not coming to his parents’house because of me.
After I drop Mia off, I make my way to the shop. The morning air smells of frost and roasted beans from the café down the street. When I park, I see a big box with a red bow sitting in front of the door. My breath clouds in the air as I walk closer, the small bags of decorations still in my hands. I stop short when I see the note attached.
A gift from a friend.
I recognize that handwriting immediately. Ethan’s written me notes before, every night, leaving one on my pillow with aflower. When I didn’t find one yesterday, a hole opened in my chest. I never thought the absence of those notes could make me feel so… empty.
I pull the big box inside, the cardboard scraping softly against the floor, open it, and gasp. It’s the biggest Christmas tree I saw at the store yesterday.
I grab my phone and text him a picture of the box:
Ethan, thank you, but this is too much… I can’t accept it.
A few minutes pass. The typing bubbles appear, disappear, then appear again before his reply finally comes through.
I don’t know what you’re talking about
Then another text follows.
