Brooke was perched atop the highest hay bale with a cluster of friends, holding court while eating a caramel apple.
Honey swallowed around the ache in her throat. She told herself she’d be back to visit. They wouldn’t even notice if she slipped out right now. They were wrapped in each other, in their community, just like they were supposed to be. This was a life she’d only been borrowing.
But she’d promised she wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.
So, she took a breath and walked toward the corn maze,waving as she neared. “I’ve got to get going. I’m going to get a ride back to the city with Ruby.” She tried to keep her voice light, but it ended up coming out too cheerful.
Ethan hoisted Melly off his shoulders and set her down on the ground. “You’re going now?”
“It’s time,” she said quietly. Her voice caught, and she covered it with a small smile.
Melly rushed over and wrapped her arms around Honey’s legs. Honey ran a hand over her hair, holding her close. “I’ll miss you.”
Brooke climbed down from her throne of hay bales and walked over.
Emma stood just behind them, her fingers toying with the sleeve of her sweater. “You’ll come back, right?”
“Of course. I’ll come back for the harvest festival. Clover told me there’s an apple pie bake-off that I think I have a shot at.”
“That’s not for a whole month,” Melly said.
Honey crouched to her level, brushing a wisp of hair behind Melly’s ear. “Well, I definitely need time to practice. Unless you think I can’t take the competition?”
Brooke snorted. “You won’t stand a chance. But it’ll be fun watching you try.”
Honey laughed, pulling her into a quick hug. “I’ll bring my A-game.”
Her smile faltered when she looked at Ethan. He had his hands on his hips, and his gaze was too full of things he wasn’t saying.
“You sure?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got to get back. New job and all that.”
The words tasted flimsy. She took half a stepforward, every part of her aching with the pull to bridge the space between them, but he didn’t move, and for a heartbeat she thought maybe that was her answer. That she should leave clean, and let the memory of these days stay unspoiled.
Still, she looked up at him, trying to capture the memory of him the way you press a flower between pages: his warm, scruffy face, the soft crease in his brow, the strength he carried.
She didn’t want to go.
God, she didn’t want to go.
“I’ll come back,” she said.
And then—eff it. Her body moved before her doubts could catch up. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding on like she could pour all the things she couldn’t say out loud into the hug. “Not just for pie,” she whispered against his shoulder.
For a breath, he was still, and she braced for the regret of having gone too far. But then he dipped his head, his voice rough. “Drive safe.”
She turned before she could cry, and jogged back toward the cab where Ruby waited. She took a minute before getting in, digging for composure as Ruby looked on.
She got in and Ruby immediately grabbed her hand and squeezed. “You ready?” Ruby asked.
Honey looked over at her friend, took one last calming breath, and nodded.
“Let’s get that witch.”
A couple hours later, they pulled up in front of a squat brick building tucked between a shuttered thrift store and a doggrooming salon. It didn’t look like much—just a faded metal sign above the door that read The Core: Transitional Housing & Resource Center. The kind of place you could pass a dozen times and never look twice at. A few rusting bikes were chained to a post outside. The lawn had gone mostly to weeds. But the front window glowed warm and golden, and a hand-painted sign taped to the glass read: YOU ARE SAFE HERE.
“This is not at all what I pictured,” Honey said.
