All of it felt precious, borrowed, like I was stealing moments I had no right to claim.
When we finally left thecafé, the sun was setting over Main Street, painting everything in shades of amber and rose gold.
I lifted my camera automatically, framing shots of the courthouse steps where old men played chess, the flower boxes outside Finley's shop that somehow managed to look cheerful despite being filled with half-dead petunias.
But mostly I found myself photographing Evan when he wasn't looking, capturing the line of his profile against the fading sky, the way he moved through familiar streets like he owned them.
Like they owned him.
“You're gonna miss this place,” Evan said quietly as we walked toward home, falling into step beside me with the easy rhythm we'd perfected over three years of shared paths.
“Maybe,” I said, lowering my camera. “Some of it.”
Most of it. All of it. You.
But those words stayed locked behind my teeth, too dangerous to speak aloud.
We walked in comfortable silence for a while, past the library where we'd spent countless afternoons, past the high school thatlooked smaller now, diminished by the weight of everything we'd left behind. The evening air was heavy with the scent of pine and woodsmoke, that distinctive Hollow Pines perfume that I'd grown to associate with home.
“You'll do good there,” Evan said as we reached the turn-off toward my house. “In Chicago.”
His voice was soft, careful, like he was handling something fragile. The sincerity in it made my throat burn, made me want to say things I couldn't take back.
“Yeah?” I managed, trying to keep my tone light. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because you see things.” He stopped walking, turned to face me with an expression I couldn't read. “Really see them. Make them matter.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, cutting through every defense I'd built against caring too much about his opinion. Because that's what I'd always wanted, wasn't it? To matter. To create something worth looking at, worth remembering.
And here was Evan Callahan, who spoke maybe twenty words on a good day, telling me I already had.
“Evan,” I started, but he was already walking again, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
We'd reached my front porch before I found my voice again, before I worked up the courage to say what had been burning in my chest all day.
“This is it, then,” I said, trying to make it sound casual instead of like a death sentence. “End of an era.”
Evan nodded, jaw tight with whatever he was thinking but couldn't say. The silence stretched between us, heavy with all the things we'd never managed to put into words.
I wanted to ask him to come with me. Wanted to beg him to apply to schools in Chicago, to find a way to make geographyless of an obstacle. Wanted to tell him that the thought of leaving him behind made my chest ache in ways I didn't understand.
But looking at him standing there in the porch light, all broad shoulders and careful composure, I knew it was pointless. Evan belonged to Hollow Pines in ways I never could. And I belonged to dreams that stretched far beyond the borders of this small town.
“I'll miss you,” I said instead, because that much was safe. That much was true.
His eyes flashed with something that might have been pain, quickly hidden behind that mask of stoic acceptance he wore so well. For a heartbeat, I thought he might say something more. Might break through that careful control and give me something real to hold onto during the long months ahead.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”
He took a step back, creating distance that felt like a chasm opening between us. My hands twitched with the urge to reach for him, to close that space and make him stay just a little longer. But Evan was already retreating, already pulling back into himself the way he did when emotions got too big for the safe boundaries he'd built around his heart.
“Evan, wait—” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, desperate and raw in the summer air.
He paused, half-turned away from me, shoulders rigid with tension. “What?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. What could I say? Don't go? Stay and talk until dawn? Help me figure out how to leave when every instinct I have is screaming that walking away from you is the biggest mistake I'll ever make?
“Nothing,” I said finally, the lie bitter on my tongue. “Just... take care of yourself, okay?”
