But I don’t live here.
I have a life back in Belgium. A life that’s full and real and waiting for me in two weeks. A life I chose. A life I love.
And yet… my chest tightens at the thought of leaving tonight exactly where it is, as if it were nothing more than a pleasant memory.
“Thank you,” I say softly, reaching for the card. “For everything tonight.”
Our fingers brush as I take it, and the contact is brief—barely a second—but it sends a sharp warmth racing up my arm. My pulse jumps, quick and traitorous, like my body knows something my mind is still trying to rationalize.
He hands me the book next.This Present Darkness.
“Here, you should borrow this.”
I cradle the book in my hands, suddenly aware that I don’t even know if I’ll have time to finish it before I leave. But that almost doesn’t matter.
“I look forward to reading it,” I say, offering him a small smile.
There’s a flicker in his eyes at that—something warm, hopeful, restrained. Like he’s relieved I didn’t close the door he just quietly opened.
I turn toward the door before I can overthink the moment any further. If I linger too long, I might say something I’m not ready to promise.
I open the door of the car and slowly step out. The night air feels cooler now, brushing against my skin. The crickets are still singing that familiar song, which fills me with a sudden, tender ache.
That sound is home.
Something I know I’m going to miss when I’m back in Belgium. The sound in Belgium is just so… different. Less alive somehow. Less wrapped in warmth.
I’ll miss this kind of night too—the balmy air, the salt-tinged breeze, the way everything feels soft and slow and full of possibility.
I step onto the porch and glance back at him. He’s still watching, hands resting loosely on the wheel, like he wants to be sure I’m safely inside before he lets himself drive away.
I lift my hand and give him a small wave.
He nods once, a quiet acknowledgment, and only then begins to pull away.
I unlock the door and slip inside, the familiar scent of home greeting me immediately. I lock the door behind me and make my way down the hallway, walking lightly so I don’t wake anyone. The tiled entryway muffles my steps, thankfully—not like the wooden floors in some of the other rooms that creak at the worst possible times.
I head into the bathroom and flip on the light. The warm yellow glow fills the space instantly, cozy and soft after the dark outside.
I reach for a cotton ball and start removing my makeup, letting the night replay itself in my mind—laughter at dinner, the moonlit ocean, Camila’s knowing smile, the way Nate listened so intently whenever I spoke.
I look up into the mirror—and gasp.
“Mom!” I clutch my chest, taking a deep breath.
Her grin breaks into laughter.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I ask, pressing my palm over my racing heart.
“I’m just keeping you alive—healthy and full of youth.” She waves a dismissive hand, making a littlepfffsound.
“I think I’m already alive and healthy. With an extra dose of adrenaline now, that’s for sure.” I can’t help but laugh.
Her face shifts into a mischievous grin.
“So, how was tonight?”
I blow out a slow breath, because I don’t even know where to start. I turn to face her fully, leaning my hands against the sink as I pause, replaying the evening in my mind.
