Page 68 of Blurred Lines

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CAELEB

The afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the Emberton farmers' market, the air buzzing with the cheerful hum of weekend shoppers. I weave through the stalls, the scent of fresh bread and blooming lavender a comforting balm after a restless night. It was foolish, really, to check my phone every other hour hoping for that text from Emily, the one that would explain everything.

Then I see her.

I'm almost sure it must be a mistake. She wouldn't come back here, not after leaving like she did.

Would she?

There's really no mistaking her, or the way she smiles at a vendor selling plump peaches. My heart thuds a frantic beat against my ribs. Emily. Back in Emberton, as if nothing happened, as if she hadn't shattered our world with her sudden departure.

A wave of anger threatens to overtake me, followed by a desperate flicker of hope. Maybe she's here to explain. But why didn't she call? Text? My feet propel me forward before I can talk myself out of it, a puppet strung along by invisible cords of unresolved feelings.

She turns, her eyes widening in surprise when they land on me. "Caeleb? What—what are you doing here?"

"I live here, remember?" I manage, my voice rougher than I intended. "What about you? Figured a big city was more your scene these days."

The warmth fades from her expression, replaced by a guarded coolness. "Just taking care of some things. Now, if you'll excuse me…" She turns to leave, the basket in her hand swinging lightly. I don't know what possesses me, but the words tumble from my lips before I can stop them.

"Emily, wait! Please, can we talk?"

She hesitates, her shoulders tense. Then, with a sigh, she turns back to face me. "Caeleb, trust me, all I've done since coming back here two nights ago is wonder how to reach out to you guys. I haven't been the best at any of it?—"

"You think?" I retort immediately, then proceed to mentally curse myself. She stops mid-sentence and looks at me with reproachful eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asks, her face suddenly impassive. She's good at hiding her feelings. I should know.

Okay, time to give this another shot.

"Look, I know I'm not the best at communication," I fumble for the right words, "but I just … I need to understand why you left so suddenly. Why you couldn't even give us a reason."

Her gaze softens, the faintest hint of sadness in her eyes. "I was an idiot. But my situation was complicated. And it's not about you, or Silas, or Finn. I just had some things I needed to deal with."

"So … everything's okay now?" A sliver of hope flickers to life.

She hesitates. "I'm working on it." It's not much, but it's more than I had.

The awkwardness between us hangs heavy in the air. Before I can lose my nerve, I point to her basket of fresh produce. "Need some help carrying that?"

To my surprise, a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "Sure. Why not?"

As we walk through the market, the tension slowly begins to dissipate. We talk about inconsequential things: the unusually warm weather, an upcoming art exhibition, the merits of sourdough versus rye. It's a strange sort of comfort, this normalcy in the midst of so much uncertainty.

"I'm actually hosting a dinner party tonight," I mention casually, surprised by the impulsive words leaving my mouth. "A few friends, nothing fancy."

"Sounds fun," she replies, but there's a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

The words hang between us. An invitation seems wrong, too forward when there's so much unspoken between us. And yet, a desperate part of me wants her there, lighting up my house the way she lights up even this crowded marketplace.

Before I can overthink it further, I blurt out, "Would you … would you like to come?"

Her eyes search mine for a long moment. "I … I don't know, Caeleb."

"Emily, please. It would … it would mean a lot."

A flicker of a genuine smile touches her face. "Alright," she relents. "But just for dinner, and then I need to head home."

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