Of course he does. Because the universe clearly wants to punish me with the perfect on-paper guy when I can't stop replaying the way Caleb looked at me that night.
"Earth to Ivy!" Vinnie waves her hand in front of my face. "You went full space cadet on us."
"Just distracted by work stuff." The lie comes easier every time. "Summer tourist season is wild."
What's really on my mind is how my couch is too big without Caleb sprawled across it—critiquing my Netflix queue, or feeding Ducky contraband bread despite my lectures on proper duck nutrition. The silence in my house stretches longer each night, now that his midnight texts about failed pizza experiments, or philosophical rants about whether a hot dog counts as a sandwich, are gone. (It doesn't, and I'll die on that hill.)
I focus on Amelia's story about her mom, but my mind keeps drifting. Keep wondering if Caleb's as okay with this distance as he seems to be. But he made it clear what happened between us was a mistake. So I'll bury how I feel and go on this date with Mark.
"You're doing it again," Amelia says, pulling me back to the present.
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you disappear into your head while pretending to listen." She steals the last bite of my ice cream. "Usually means you're overthinking something."
"I'm not—"
"You've reorganized those sprinkles six times,"Vinnie points out.
"I'm just tired." I drop my spoon. "And worried about the date tonight."
"Wear that green dress," Daphne suggests. "The one with the—"
"Already picked out," Amelia interrupts proudly. "Along with backup options if she chickens out."
"I'm not going to chicken out."
But part of me wants to cancel, curl up on the couch with Salem, and ignore the growing hollow in my chest.
"Good!" Amelia stands, pulling me into a hug. "Go home. Take a bath. Put on that dress. Let yourself have this."
I hold her tightly, resisting the urge to cry into her shoulder like I'm fifteen again, fumbling through my first heartbreak.
"Text us how it goes?" Vinnie asks as we head outside.
"Every detail," Amelia adds. "Especially if he makes you something on the pottery wheel. VeryGhost-moment potential there."
I manage a laugh that doesn't sound completely forced. "You've seen that movie too many times."
"There's no such thing as too much Patrick Swayze," Daphne says sagely, and we're all giggling like we used to, like nothing's changed.
But everything has.
I chose Brookside forthis date for three reasons. It's thirty minutes from Hallow's End, has an actual sushi restaurant, and most importantly zero chance of running into anyone who knows me. Being the town's resident mystic means everyone has opinions about my love life, and I'm not ready for the well-meaning questions that would follow if this works out. Or worse, the sympathy if it doesn't.
The cherry blossom wallpaper at Miso Pretty is as Instagram-worthy as the reviews promised. Soft pink neon signs cast a rosy glow across pristine white tables, and the music is loud enough to mask awkward silences without drowning out conversation. Between the empty appetizer plates, and Mark ordering a second beer, I'm starting to think this might be going well.
I smooth my dress under the table. The tiny crescent moon pendant at my throat catches the light, and my fingers twitch with the urge to fidget with it. Instead, I focus on Mark, who's proving to be as promising as Amelia said.
"The bank finally approved the proposal," he says, his smile warm and polished like a toothpaste commercial. At twenty-nine, he radiates the kind of stability that makes my twenty-six feel young and messy in comparison. "The new program should help a lot of first-time homeowners."
I nod, impressed. "That's amazing. When finance is accessible, it can change lives."
"Exactly!" His green eyes light up, and I take him in. He's beautiful in that Ralph Lauren ad kind of way—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair styled with just enough product to look effortless. His navy button-down looks like it cost more than my entire vintage wardrobe, and the way he carries himself says he's never once questioned his place in the world.
My stomach doesn't flip when he smiles, but isn't that good? Butterflies mean uncertainty. This feels . . . safe. Solid. Exactly what I should want.
"What about you?" he asks. "Amelia mentioned owning a business?"
