"I should probably go through security," I finally say, though neither of us moves.
"Yeah."His voice is rough, like he's been swallowing glass.
His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles have gone white.The air conditioning hums between us, but it does nothing to cool the suffocating atmosphere of impending goodbye.
"Do you want me to come in with you?"he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I look at him—really look at him—memorizing the way the afternoon light catches the golden flecks in his eyes, the stubble along his jaw, the way his hair falls across his forehead.
"It's probably going to be easier to say goodbye here."
We both know I'm right, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I get out first, shouldering my carry-on bag.He meets me around my side, running his hands through his hair in that gesture I've come to recognize as his way of trying to hold himself together.
"Bye Nate," I say, the word feeling inadequate for everything we're leaving unsaid.
"It's never goodbye with us," he replies, stepping closer.His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones."Just see you soon."
He kisses me then, and it doesn't feel like a final kiss, but the uncertainty that surrounds us feels as heavy as any goodbye.
Some say it's painful to wait for someone.
Some say it's painful to forget someone.
But the worst pain comes when you don't know whether to wait or forget.
The security lines move slowly, deliberately, like the universe is testing how much it can make my chest ache.Every step toward the gate feels heavier than the last, each footfall carrying a little piece of the morning we spent tangled together, his hands memorizing me as much as I memorized him.
I catch myself half-turning, half-expecting to see him leaning against the terminal wall, grinning that lopsided, infuriating grin that makes everything harder and softer at once.
I breathe, try to steady myself, but the image of his eyes—storm clouds and sunlight wrapped in one—won’t leave me.I clutch my boarding pass like a lifeline, yet every heartbeat seems to echo in the empty space where he should be.
By the time the plane lifts into the sky, I’m a fragile mix of excitement and dread.Spain falls away beneath me, the memory of him still vibrating through me.
Landing in Eden,the familiar smells and sounds of home are almost shocking after the intensity of Spain.I don’t tell Mom I’m flying in early.I take a taxi straight from the airport to the lake house, my suitcase bumping along the road, my thoughts replaying the last morning with Nate over and over.
By the time the lake house appears through the trees, I’m braced for a mixture of relief and something heavier, something I can’t name.
Lydia is already there.She opens the door with arms wide, and I let myself fall into her embrace, letting the world soften around the edges for the first time in hours.
“Oh, sweetheart.I’m so happy you’re back,” she says, and I close my eyes, taking in her warmth.
“Your room is ready and waiting,” she continues, leading me inside.“But come, sit—I made tea, and there are cinnabons waiting in the kitchen.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to argue, tugging me gently toward the smells and sounds that have always felt like home.Somehow, no matter how much time passes, this place never changes.
“So,” she says, words tumbling over each other, “how are you?How was London?The internship?Your mom says they might publish your work?Honey, that’s amazing!”
Her eyes are bright, and I can tell she’s caught up in her own excitement, her joy spilling over.I see the moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes and reach for her hand, a quiet tether.
“Lyds, I’m good.Really good.London has been great too.”
Her smile falters for a fraction of a second, and she laughs, a little breathless, like she can’t quite believe it.“Ugh, why am I already crying?I’m an emotional wreck these days.”
Makes two of us.
“So, you were with Nate in Spain?How’s my boy?”she asks, leaning forward, curious, but cautious too.
