And for someone who writes love stories for a living, I know exactly how important beginnings are.
I spend the rest of the morning floating approximately three feet above the ground.
This is not an exaggeration. I’m fairly certain my feet aren’t touching the sidewalk as I walk back to my condo, check emails without absorbing a single word, and stare out the window at the harbor like a character in one of my own novels.
She’s scared but she wants to try.
I replay every moment of our conversation, cataloging her expressions, her words, the way her hand felt in mine. I think about the letters she reread, the realization she came to on her own. She figured out I was jealous of myself. She understood what that meant.
She sees me. Not just the masks, but the person underneath them.
Around noon, I force myself to eat something. Then I shower, change, and head to Hensley House for the event prep.
Hazel is already there when I arrive, tablet in hand, looking only slightly less exhausted than she did yesterday.
She studies me for a moment. “Coffee meeting went well?”
“Is there anything that happens in this town that everyone doesn’t immediately know about?”
“No. Also, Michelle texted Amber who texted me, so I have a pretty detailed report.” She grins. “I’m happy for you. Both of you.”
“Nothing’s official. We’re just...figuring things out.”
“That’s how all the best relationships start.” She checks something off on her tablet. “Mrs. Sanders wants to discuss the chair arrangement. She has concerns about sightlines.”
“Of course she does.”
I spend the afternoon moving chairs under Mrs. Sanders’s supervision, adjusting flower arrangements, and debating the optimal angle for the podium. It should be tedious, but I’m too buoyant to care. Every task feels like forward motion. Every decision brings us closer to the reveal.
Five days until I stand in front of this town and tell them the truth.
Five days until V. Langley stops being a secret.
And somewhere in all of it, is Jessica trying with me.
I’m not naive enough to think this will be easy. She has fears I can’t fix by loving her harder. She has wounds that won’t heal just because I want them to. We’re going to stumble. We’re going to have hard conversations. She might panic and push me away, exactly like she warned.
But she’s worth it. Whatever comes next, she’s worth it.
My phone buzzes.
Jessica:Caroline says you looked “dopey” walking away from the shop. Her word, not mine.
I grin at the screen.
Me:I prefer “romantically contemplative.”
Jessica:She prefers “dopey.” She’s very firm about this.
Me:Tell her I said her opinions are noted and disregarded.
Jessica:She says that’s fair.
A pause, then another text.
Jessica:Thank you for this morning. I mean it.
My chest tightens with something warm and fierce.
