Page 55 of Since the Day We Kissed

Kara didn’t reply, but Ethan could see that she was smiling as she rolled down her window, leaning out to let the breeze catch her outstretched hand.

Seven minutes later, they pulled up in front of Kara’s tiny house. Ethan’s hand moved to the door handle, ready to step out into the night. But before he could make a move, Kara reached out, her fingers brushing his arm.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door, Ethan.”

“Yes, I do.” He hopped out and jogged over to her door, opening it. “Old habits, you know.”

Kara nodded, taking his hand as she got out. “That was a long time ago.”

“It was,” Ethan said, walking up the stone path to her porch.

“Well,” Kara turned to him, taking her keys out of her purse, “I had a nice time tonight.”

“So did I,” Ethan told her, though his voice came out quieter than he expected. He didn’t want the night to end—not after what almost happened. He had been so close to her. So close.

And now it’s over.

Kara smiled, but there was something in her eyes that made Ethan pause.

Is she hesitating? ... Is she thinking about ... Should I say something and break the silence, or leave it for another night?

For a brief second, it looked as if she might say something more, something that could bring them back to the moment before Clyde interrupted. But instead, she fidgeted with her keys.

“Should I come by tomorrow?” Ethan asked, though it felt like such a small thing to say after everything that almost was.

Kara nodded. “Sounds good.”

Another silence stretched between them.

Ethan shifted his weight, unsure of what to say next, his eyes wandering to the small porch behind her. The driftwood loveseat, weathered but inviting, caught his attention first, surrounded by hanging ferns that swayed gently in the breeze. A whimsical wind chime made of colorful sea glass tinkled softly, catching glints of starlight. He could almost picture her there, in the quiet of the evening, barefoot and sipping sweet tea as she stargazed, always keeping one ear out for her rescue animals.

The whole setup had a cozy, intimate feel—simple yet full of life, like Kara. It made him want to stay longer, say something more to fill the silence. But what?

Just say something. Anything.

Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The words were stuck tangled in a mess of emotions he couldn’t explain. His hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach for her, to hold on to whatever it was they had rekindled tonight.

Kara, wait ...The thought came, but his voice didn’t follow. He wanted to say her name, to stop her from leaving, but the words remained stuck within him.

Before he could gather himself, she turned to the door, fiddling with the lock. And just like that, the moment was gone.

“Um, well, good night,” Kara said.

“Yeah. Good night.”

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Ethan waited until she unlocked the door and went inside, then walked back to his truck.

As he pulled away from Kara’s house, the soft glow of her porch light faded in his rearview mirror. Driving through town, Ethan’s thoughts kept returning to her—the easy conversation over dinner, her laugh echoing in the warm evening air, and that particular smile that had always made his heart skip. Then there was that moment—breathless and suspended in time—when he’d leaned in, drawn to her by an irresistible pull. Kara had tilted her face up, her eyes fluttering shut. He could almost feel the warmth of her lips, just a heartbeat away.

What if Clyde hadn’t shown up?

Ethan sighed, the memory of their almost-kiss replaying in slow motion—equal parts regret and longing. But as he rounded the corner and passed Walker’s Pharmacy, the thought evaporated, and his stomach twisted, dragging him back to the last time he’d set foot there ...

Ethan parked his truck outside Walker’s Pharmacy and hopped out. Last night, his phone had slipped from his grip, sinking into the ocean—lost to the currents forever. He’d promised Kara he would call her today, but now all he had was an empty pocket and a sense of urgency to replace the phone before she thought he’d forgotten. With a sigh, he squared his shoulders, hoping Mr. Walker might be in a generous enough mood to advance his paycheck a few days.

As Ethan neared the entrance, something felt wrong. There, hunched before the door, stood Whitaker Walker—or rather, a shadow of the man Ethan remembered. Gone was the crisp white coat and neatly combed hair. Instead, a rumpled shirt clung to his thin frame, and bruises bloomed in sickly purples and yellows across his skin.

Mr. Walker’s trembling hands—hands that looked far older than they should—fumbled with a piece of paper as he tried to tape it to the door.

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