While it lasts.
Like she knows something and is just waiting for me to do what I always do.
He drivesme home with his hand in mine.
At the door, he kisses me—soft and slow, the kind of kiss that promises more to come. His hands cup my face, and I lean into him, trying to stay in this moment instead of spinning out into the future.
“Best first date I’ve ever had,” he murmurs against my lips.
“We’ve known each other for twenty years. Does it still count as a first date?”
“It counts.” He pulls back just enough to look at me. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“You want to see me two days in a row?”
“I want to see you every day. I meant what I said, Delilah. I’m not goinganywhere.”
I nod and kiss him again, then watch him drive away.
Then I go inside, past Mom’s knowing smile and Ruffy’s wagging tail, up to my room.
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and all I can think about is the meeting he’s missing and the career he’s putting on hold. The manager who called three times during dinner because something is happening that he’s not telling me.
While it lasts.
My mother chose to stay in Twin Waves. She chose this town over everything else. And my father never forgave her for it.
What happens when Levi realizes what he’s giving up? When he looks at me and sees the woman who kept him from his dreams—again?
I pick up my phone. His last text glows on the screen:Tonight was everything. You’re everything. See you tomorrow.
I want to believe it, to trust that this time will be different.
But there’s an old familiar itch in my chest. The one that saysgo, that saysleave before you get left—the one that’s kept me running since I was seventeen.
I set the phone down and close my eyes.
I’m not going to run. I promised.
But the doubt is there now, curled up in the corner of my mind, waiting.
Sleep doesn’t come for a long time.
FOURTEEN
LEVI
The morning is perfect. That’s the problem.
I’m sitting on the wrap-around porch of my rental, bare feet propped on the weathered railing, watching the sun climb over the Atlantic. The coffee in my hand has gone lukewarm. My guitar is balanced on my knee, and for the first time in months, the melody coming out of it doesn’t sound like background music for a funeral.
It sounds like hope and possibility—like a woman with brown eyes and a laugh that makes me forget my own name.
I play through the chorus again, scribbling lyrics in the notebook balanced on the arm of my rocking chair. The salt breeze ruffles the pages. Somewhere down the beach, a dog barks. Theocean does its eternal push-and-pull against the sand, steady and unconcerned with my emotional breakthroughs.
This is really good.
My phone vibrates on the porch railing. I ignore it. It vibrates again, and I keep ignoring it.
