It’s tucked just above the handle, half-hidden inside the frame like it was slipped there in secret.
There’s no postage or return address, just my name written across the front in clean, deliberate handwriting.
This was hand-delivered.
My stomach drops at the sight.
I already know who this is from. After seeing Alex’s notebook every week for months, I’d recognize those strokes anywhere.
I stand there for a second, staring at it like it might disappear if I look away. Like opening it will shift something I’m not ready to disturb.
“Okay,” I mutter to myself, reaching forward to grab it, dislodging it from its resting place.
It’s heavier than I expect. Thick, expensive paper if I had to guess.
I run my thumb along the edge before finally sliding it open to find a single card with elegant, foil lettering across the top.
Northern Flame
Grand Opening Invitation
March 27th
5:00 PM
The address scrolls across the bottom in small, clean font that’s easy to read.
My eyes scan the words once, then a second time, slower.
I flip the card over like there might be more. Like there should be more, but there isn’t.
I sink down onto the top step without meaning to, the envelope creasing in my grip.
It’s been six months.
Six months of building something new. Of settling into a life that feels steady and good and mine. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to having everything I’ve ever wanted.
And nowthis.
The questions start coming uninvited, sharp and sudden. I press my lips together, closing my eyes.
Was our connection real? Of course it was. I know it was. There would be no way to fake it all that well.
Hadn’t Alex moved on? If he had, then why would he bother inviting me?
I stare at the card again, tracing the embossed lettering with my finger.
Does this mean something, or is it just polite?
A courtesy extended to everyone from the show?
A strategic move to create more buzz for the opening?
I groan a sigh—Do I evenwantto go?
The last one lingers longer than I expect it to, because the truth is—I don’t know if I want to go.
Going means stepping back into something I’ve spent months learning how to carry differently. It means seeing him again. Standing in his space, his world, and pretending like it doesn’t matter more to me than it should.
