Page 8 of A Forever Love

“For the most part.” Carter chuckles, his deep voice sounding more potent and more powerful, resonating with more intensity than before, much like everything about him tonight. “I underestimated the amount of wining and dining.”

“Ah, and you only love the macho stuff.” I make a gun sign, curling three fingers and pointing one at him.

“Thank God there’s still a trace of that crazy girl in there,” he says wryly and shakes his head as we walk to the wrought-iron bench surrounded by cyclamens.

The air morphs into cold, hitting me right in the middle like a sucker punch. “What do you mean?” I stop as he slips onto the cold metal with utmost grace. Even his shoes are no longer those mud-stricken biker boots, but fine brown wingtips. The fabric of his pants, which I now know are black, stretches over his thighs. He’s an entirely different man, not the one I’ve hated myself for loving.

“You used to be…more casual, Mere. I never saw you wearing makeup at ten at night. And since when have you started wearing Chanel No. 5? I didn’t even know you were a fan of luxury brands.” Carter’s jaw tics.

The movement is slight, but I have no problem noticing it. As always, he’s the center of my attention, everything else blurring in the background.

“I wasn’t aware you had such a strong nose for women’s perfume,” I murmur, feeling like the biggest fool right now. I’m about to turn around and leave when Carter grabs my hand, and every nerve ending in my body pulls taut.

“I’m sorry.” His voice drops low as regret flashes through his eyes. When he slowly lets go of my hand, I’m able to breathe normally, but only for a second. “Too much has changed in the past four years, and I hate sitting in the back seat and letting life drive me to whatever destination it feels right. So yeah, I’ve gained an ardent hate toward change.”

Emotion fills my chest—worry and awe. The usual mix when it comes to Carter.

Even though I stayed out of touch, I knew life hadn’t been easy for him. I sometimes feel like the moment I acknowledged that I love Carter, I ruined a part of his life by transferring some of my curse to him.

“I’m so sorry about Lily.” I finally muster the courage to address the painful topic—Lily King. Carter’s mother tragically lost her life in a car accident just months after my departure from St. Peppers. “I thought about writing or calling you,” I admit softly when the weight of silence becomes unbearable.

“I would have loved to hear from you, even if I wasn’t the best version of myself those days,” Carter replies. “Did I manage to guilt you into staying?” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Carter may be skilled at concealing his emotions around others, but I know better. I’ve spent countless hours studying the dimples that appear at the corners of his lips when he smiles genuinely.

I settle down beside him. “You don’t have to put on a facade with me.”

“It’s been four years. I need to move forward.”

People often say that time heals all wounds, but the harsh truth about losing someone is that the pain never truly diminishes. Time doesn’t magically lessen the grief; it’s more about making room for other emotions in your life. You grant yourself the space to think about other things. Yet, whenever your focus shifts back to your loss, the same intensity of pain resurfaces in a roaring rhythm.

“Ready for your welcome home gift?” Carter raises an eyebrow, steering the conversation away from heavy topics, and I’m more than willing to oblige.

“You know I never turn down presents.”

He chuckles before retrieving a box from beneath the bench.

“Someone came prepared!” I say.

“I did, but now I’m not sure if it was a dumb idea,” Carter grumbles softly before lifting the lid off the small box holding a lone blackberry lavender chocolate cupcake. “I wasn’t sure if you still liked it.” He shrugs lightly before running his hand through his perfectly styled hair—a nervous habit.

“I haven’t had one in four years,” I respond. This isn’t just a dessert, it’s a bundle of happiness wrapped in creamy memories—one of the many he’s given me. Misinterpreting my reply, he starts to close the lid, but I stop him. “This was our thing. It would have felt like cheating to share it with someone else. Did you share it?” I’m not sure why I phrase it that way, but the question sounded right in my head.

When I glance up, Carter is wearing an intense frown, as if confused by my silly question. Well, obviously he is, you dumbo.

But then he shakes his head slowly. “Just like you said, it was our thing. I didn’t visit that bakery for four years.” He pulls out a slip of paper from his jacket’s inner pocket and hands it to me. “Flip it over.”

I turn over the glossy five-dollar coupon to find a handwritten note.

Don’t wait another four years for your next visit. And bring your friend.

“It was the same old lady. Franny was her name, right?” he asks, and I nod slowly.

Nostalgia mixes with an unwelcome emotion, tingeing my chest pink, making it warm.

“She isn’t retired? God, she must be really old now?”

Carter shrugs. “I feel like she’s stuck at the age of…”

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