I do. I was six.
It wasn’t a high bridge, but I was small for my age. When my feet left the edge, I thought that I might fall forever, felt the rush of air snapping past my ears, and absorbed the jolt of cold stealing my breath the second I hit the water. The river was dark blue and glassy, daring in the way only something wild can be. Tess’s scream echoed down from the bridge when I surfaced with my wrist bent at a sickening angle.
Dr. Brooks had wrapped the splint without reprimanding me, even as my teeth chattered and the pain made everything buzz at the edges, muttering about boys and their stupid stunts as if it was just another Tuesday.
“I remember Tess crying so hard,” I say. “You told me I owed her ice cream for a year.”
“And I remember calling it the dumbest smart decision I ever patched up,” he replies. “Impulsive as anything, but you weren’t trying to be reckless. You were trying to prove something to yourself.”
He scrunches the bag to pick it up and stands. “Thing is, healing doesn’t always start where the hurt happened. Sometimes it starts when you let someone see the break.”
The words force their way into what I’ve kept sealed for too long. Not a punch, rather a slow, steady pressure against something that needs to be clamped.
I nod, slow and thoughtful.
He doesn’t push. Just gives a parting nod and heads inside the quilt shop, probably looking for the scones.
I take the long way around Sweetpines, quilt cradled against my side. The wind changes direction as I cross the street, warm sun resting on my left cheek and the scuff of Peaches’ paws matching my steps like the steady rhythm of a snare drum. A car door slams somewhere behind us. A lawnmower hums in the distance.
The town’s usual rhythm is still ticking. Mrs. Voss is watering her potted geraniums with military precision across the street, and Walt is playing the same old harmonica tune from the barbershop porch. Sweetpines looks the same, but it jars with the churning in my chest as if nothing has changed, when I know everything has.
Life around me carries on ordinary and unbothered, while I’m here carrying something that seems simple but fits perfectly in the space I’ve been trying not to notice was hollow. Peaches glances up, eyes too knowing, and I give her a dry smile.
She keeps pace beside me, seeming to know exactly where I’m going. I pass the square, cross over Main, then turn down the quiet lane where Botaniqûe sits tucked between a thrift store and the alley with the crooked lamppost.
The truth is, I didn’t jump off that bridge to impress anyone. I jumped simply to see if I was brave enough. To prove I could fling myself off something terrifying and still come up breathing. That if I was afraid, I was capable of facing the fear, even if it left a mark.
And I wonder if this is another kind of leap. Maisie, the quilt, this whole accidental fairytale of a week. Not from a footbridge this time, but something higher, riskier, because it’s not only bones on the line.
I’ve been standing on the edge again, but this time I’ve been pretending I didn’t already fall.
Because the moment I kissed her and she kissed me back, I gave up controlling the narrative of my story, the same way I did when I revealed my song lyrics. But Maisie didn’t run away with my heart. She stayed.
By the time I reach Botaniqûe, my heart’s pounding.Not from panic. More the startled thud of waking up too fast.
I push open the door. The bells jingle, but otherwise the shop is quiet. The air smells of citrus, eucalyptus, and the rose blend that always reminds me of her. It’s unmistakable. The way warmth seeps into stone that’s been shadowed too long.
Maisie’s not here, though.
The counter is clean. No scattered ribbon or stray petals. No brightly colored apron tossed haphazardly across the stool.
I swallow hard.
She’s not here…but I am.
And with the right amount of bravery, I think I’m ready to give her full access to the vulnerable parts of me I’ve kept locked away.
Brave enough to be known. The way I know my lyrics, and the way they know me.
Chapter 15
The Dare
Maisie
It’s early evening and the town is gathered in the music hall. It’s some sort of truth-or-dare party Tess dragged me to.
Barbie Trina is daring everyone to sing boy band songs. A voice from the quilt club hollers, “Only if you know the choreography!”
