Darn her for breaking my heart just a little bit. Here I thought she’d be nothing more than an adversary, Arlo’s ex who would do anything to keep us apart, and then she speaks the words I never thought I’d hear from anyone, handing me an olive branch of friendship.
“It’s okay.” I shrug, allowing the inky black night to sink into me as I pretend I’m telling my secrets to the forest. “There isn’t much to tell. I thought I loved Lark’s father, but he left me. I ended up befriending his best friend, and though we weren’t lovers, he was my everything—my partner in crime, Lark’s pseudo father when she had no one else, my roommate, my best friend. I loved him like no other.”
“Oh no.” Pain, raw and full of anguish, stretches across Paris’ face as she swallows over and over. It’s a pain I know is reflected on my own face. “How?”
“He wanted nothing more than to be a cop, to solve the crimes that went forgotten. He got a call a year ago for a robbery.” I continue to pick at the wine label, the pain of losing my best friend rushing back at me. “He didn’t come home that night.”
I swallow my pain over and over, but it’s still so fresh, so burdensome, that it steals the very breath from my lungs. My chest burns, and each breath sears my sternum.
“It’s been one year, three months, and ten days.” I feel the hot wash of tears slide down my face.
Then I feel four sets of arms surround me, hugging me so tight, they don’t just steal my breath, they inhale that breath, hold it for me, then breathe it back into me.
CHAPTER 16
Something shiftedin the forest as we laughed out in the cold, dark night. A wall shattered between the five of us as we played light as a feather, stiff as a board. Paris, of course, demanded to go first.
None of it worked. Paris barely moved, actually none of us moved, and we ended up building a fire in the middle of the ruins of an old chapel that Autumn’s family built hundreds of years ago, long before the one that remains was constructed.
We laughed until we cried.
We drank until the bottles ran dry.
A bond formed under that moon that observed five women in varying stages of life, living in the moment and connecting in a way that I could only ever have dreamed about.
We finally trudged back toward the house, the fire long dead, in the moments before dawn spilled across the sky. Our elbows were linked as our laughter cut across the quiet of the night. Tiptoeing inside with the old house creaking, we each stumbled to our own rooms, falling fast asleep.
The scent of sizzling bacon and the fulfilling aroma of eggs and cheese wakes me hours later. The sun spills warmth across my bedspread, while Cooper nuzzles beside me.
Contentment warms my souls as laughter spills through the vents. I roll over toward the window, my eyes catching on the trees outside, the wind causing them to flutter to the ground.
Next week is Thanksgiving, and Robin will be here in a matter of days.
I’m both elated to see him and filled with trepidation. Arlo wasn’t wrong. Magic swirls in the air here, enrapturing those who wander in and showing them all the things they never thought were possible. This town, in the short weeks that we’ve been here, has weaseled itself into my heart.
Last night solidified it. Sure, I could have seen myself falling for Arlo, I still do, but the kinship that developed burns through me, leaving a trail of want so desperate that I fear more than anything else in this moment it just may not be real.
After Eric, I swore I’d never befriend another again. I’d never fall in love with that friendship. Yet here I am doing just that, and I love it here.
I know I’m going to tell Robin we are going to stay, and I just don’t know how I feel about it. I used to tell Lark that each deviation of life was nothing more than an adventure. Each loss, each pain filled moment, and each and every single minute of joy led to a path we walked and cherished, an experience to explore.
Is Silent Springs my new adventure?
I want it to be more than anything else in this world.
A knock on my door echoes through the room a moment before Lark walks in, dressed for school and holding a plate of toast she sets on the side of the bed.
She crawls in beside me, her red hair fanning across the pillow, her eyes full of mischief. Brown eyes, so like mine, shine back at me, probably the only thing I gave her as I grew her in my belly.
“There’s aspirin on the plate with a small cup of orange juice.”
“What?” I gasp. “No coffee?”
“Arlo said no coffee until you’ve had the aspirin and orange juice.” Her eyes glint with amusement.
“Did he now?” That tricky man.
“Did you have fun?” she asks, almost hesitantly.
