Page 7 of I Love a Good Challenge

I want the steady kind of love. The gritty kind that can handle fire and failure and isn’t lost along the way. The kind of love that can be tested and tried and stretched to the edge of itself without shattering. The kind I know I can trust even when I don’t always trust myself.

From the moment Graham held my hand, I knew I’d been hit by lightning. It altered my life forever as our connection traveled faster than the speed of light. I want to stop the madness.

When I first returned home from LA, I waited by my phone for weeks. I slept with it and even kept it on the counter near the shower with the ringer on high volume, hoping Graham would reach out. He didn’t. I can’t say I blame him. If he had told me our relationship was one-sided (even though it was a lie) and freaked out at any indication of marriage, I wouldn’t have stayed either.

Gladys mentioned hope, and the truth is, I’ve always hoped I would see him again. But it’s a delusional hope where you believe a chance meeting would change everything. Perhaps we’d run into each other on the train to Boston. Or perhaps I’d return to LA, feeling sorry for myself, and find him again at an afternoon matinee.

Instead of turning toward my apartment, I walk the other way, along a not-as-familiar path toward Founding Street. It’s off Main Street and quiet when I arrive. I don’t come down this road often, sticking closer to the streets with shops, not having much reason to venture down surrounding residential streets. Here, there are rows of vintage houses turned into quaint apartments. It’s a street filled with neatly cut grass and iconic architecture that looks so historic and yet homey.

I love my small town, even though I’m vocal about my view of the insanity and frequency of our themed events. And I’m not merely talking about Christmas or Easter festivities. I’m talking about parades for pets, a chowder festival, and even a Bake Fest and a Regency Ball that will happen next spring (I’m proud to say that’s my doing).

People can assume you’re boring when you live in a small town—as if you aren’t adventurous. But I’ve learned to find adventure in the cobblestone streets and in the way this town wrestles with my patience. There’s fun to be found when Angie from the pie shop always wants to give me an extra slice. I even find pleasure in the changing of seasons here. I think adventure is in the way you live your life, not in where you happen to wander.

As I turn onto the street, I catch sight of a moving truck four houses down. My heart picks up speed. It’s always like this when new people move to our tight-knit community. You don’t know how their dynamic will change the state of things or what it will mean to have them invade all the spaces that have become your staples. You wonder if there’s room enough for another person in your tight-knit community and then find yourself acclimating to them like they’ve always been there. It’s one of my favorite things about Birch Borough.

The large truck commands my attention, and as my feet pick up speed, I look at the license plate. California. My brow furrows, the memories of my time in LA instantly halting my ability to take a deep breath.

Hearing movement near the truck and spotting a pair of men’s trousers peeking from behind the rear wheels, I paste a smile onto my face. I’m ready to see what character has just been added to our community when the man rounds the corner. He steps into full view, a cardboard box in his hands. Spotting me, he freezes. The box falls to the pavement with the sound of glass breaking.

I would normally move to help or find the whole scene amusing. Instead, I’m frozen in place.

Crystal-blue eyes meet mine, familiar and yet haunted. His hands hang limply at his sides, the shift of his hair in the breeze the only movement between us.

“Graham,” I breathe reverently and honestly. I recognize the affection in my voice. It’s been so long that I almost forgot I was capable of it.

A dangerous hope begins to creep up my spine. Millions of moments between us flood my senses. I remember the sound of his laugh, the scent of his beard oil, and the feeling of his mouth on mine. This version of him before me is so different, yet it’s similar enough to wreck me. I swallow, tears already burning the edges of my eyes.

If this is what it means to dream and have it fulfilled, then I’m all in. The expression of shock on his face hasn’t shifted, and I’m sure it mirrors my own. If I’m questioning if the man before me is a hallucination, he’s surely doing the same.

It’s right that Graham shouldn’t have expected to see me here. He had mentioned in LA that he wanted to find a new home outside of Boston. I had sworn to him that I was going to go on adventures. The usual . . . work in a few chocolate shops across Europe and do my best to give American tourists a better reputation. I was about to shake the dust of Birch Borough off my high tops, ready to add some international excitement to my life. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave after all.

And suddenly, here he is, the embodiment of long-term plans and life-changing love. The sight of him is a shock to my system, not only because of the incredible odds but because how I feel for him has intensified over the time we’ve been apart. The relief of seeing him is tangible, streaming from the top of my head to my toes. I don’t know what I did to manifest a second chance, but this is my opportunity to come clean. To tell him the truth that’s been raging in my heart.

I open my mouth. The courage to finally speak the words brewing in my heart is gathering when his eyes close tightly. In the bright sunlight, I think it’s a drop of sweat from his brow I see falling down his face. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a tear.

I’m waiting for him to give me any sign to rush toward him. My arms already ache to hold him. I want to bury my face in his neck and tell him I’m so sorry for making him believe he was less than everything to me. Taking a deep breath, I step forward as his eyes flash open. The emptiness behind them stops me in my tracks.

“Graham,” I plead.

But he shakes his head. So defiant. So assured. And the words that I’ve waited for die between us.

“I can’t do this again.” His voice is gritty and unsteady, the edges of it rich with grief.

The disappointment startles me. I feel hot tears pouring down my face, the nightmare of this reunion more than I can physically handle. Disappointment turns to shame, shame to red-hot frustration. And frustration turns to fury. I recognize that I blew it, but the fact that we’re here together and he won’t give me a chance to make it right hits me harder than if we had never seen each other again at all. I know that now.

The only thing I can do from this moment on is what I’ve become an expert at doing throughout my life: turning disappointment into self-preservation. Wildly, my eyes dart until I spot a to-go cup on the back of the truck. The telltale sparrow of our familiar logo tells me he’s already been to Sparrow’s Beret. Rage pours through me because I missed him being there, and now I know he’s already entered yet another sacred space in my life.

“Sparrow’s Beret,” I grind out through gritted teeth. “Don’t ever set foot in it again.”

I turn on my heels. My vision blurs as I rush down an alley and back toward Main Street. I’m practically running—anything to get away from him as quickly as possible. Ignoring the looks of people I know I’ll have to explain myself to later, I rush up to my apartment. Throwing open the front door of the house, I trip on my way up the stairs before reaching my apartment on the top floor. My knee is scratched, my heart throbbing. I barely make it into my home before I hit the floor, my sobs echoing throughout the antiquated space. And as much as I think I could cry until I’m empty, something in me tells me it still won’t be enough.

Chapter Four

Lily

EIGHT MONTHS LATER - SPRING

Lily, you’re my heart. You’ve become all of it,” he says in a low voice, the rumble of it pulsing through my hand on his chest. I feel his heart beating beneath his button-up shirt. My hand drops to my side as I slowly back away, the pain I’m feeling reflected in the look of confusion and heartache on his face.

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