Page 69 of One Room Vacancy
“I called Jamie, Wes and I’s financial advisor for the trust. I asked her what it would take—I’m gonna do it, Gabe. I’m going to buy the bar.”
The air shifts.
Just like that, I know I’m looking at the bravest girl I’ve ever known—standing there, braids pulled back in a hasty bun, fingers curled around my cowardly letter like it’s sacred, like it mattered.
“You’re serious?” I breathe.
She nods. “Terrified. But yeah.”
I take a breath like I haven’t since she told me to leave. “Sage?—”
She crosses the room before I can finish, and suddenly, she’s in front of me. Her hands find my shirt, balling in the fabric. I don’t hesitate. I reach for her, and this time, she lets me.
She melts into me like a home I forgot how to find.
I hold her tighter, not because I’m afraid she’ll slip away again, but because I finally believe she won’t. That we’re not just circling each other anymore—we’ve landed.
Her voice is muffled against my chest when she says, “Don’t leave again.”
“I won’t,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of her head. “Not unless you tell me to. And even then…I’ll probably wait on the porch.”
She lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and real and beautiful. “We don’t have a porch.”
“Then I’ll wait by the door.”
We stay like that for a long time. No grand declarations, no promises we can’t keep, just two people who finally stopped running—quiet, steady, and holding on.
And this time, neither of us lets go.
EPILOGUE
GABE
The thing about Harry’s is—it still smells the same.
Beer-soaked wood and fryer oil, cheap whiskey and too-loud laughter. But the lighting’s better. The bathrooms are cleaner. There’s a framed photo of Sage and Harry behind the bar now, taken on her first official day as the new owner. She’s grinning, arms thrown around his shoulders like the future never scared her at all.
I still remember the way her hands shook when she signed the paperwork. How she pressed her forehead to mine that night and whispered, “I don’t know if I can do this.”
And how I whispered back, “You already are.”
Today, the place is packed for lunch, which is not so unusual anymore. Office regulars, neighborhood weirdos, a couple hungover college kids ordering greasy fries like they’re sacred.
If I’m honest, I’m just glad to have somewhere with decent food now that isn’t that fucking roast chicken from Andre’s Liam doesn’t shut up about.
Sage moves through the customers like she’s been doing this her whole life. Her microbraids are twisted into a haphazard bun, a loose tee with the bar’s new logo scrawled across the chest, laughter riding easy on her lips.
She doesn’t notice me yet, so I let myself watch her a little longer.
Behind her, at one of the pub tables, Wes and Savannah are halfway through a basket of nachos. Savannah’s got their new baby cradled in one arm, effortlessly bouncing her knee while gesturing with a chicken wing in the other.
Savannah catches me looking and shoots me a knowing grin over her wing. Wes follows her gaze, then lifts his drink in salute, like I’m not already here three times a week.
I head toward the bar, dodging a guy trying to order shots at noon and slipping into the space Sage just vacated. She turns a second later and startles when she sees me.
“Jesus, Keaton. Lurk harder.”
I shrug. “Didn’t want to throw off your groove.”
