Page 40 of Second Chance with the Half-Elf
I don’t blink.
Jamie climbs into my lap, snuggling in like he’s built of heat and purpose. I open the book. My voice is lower than usual. Slower. Every word heavy.
“The kraken lived alone beneath the tide, where sunlight could not reach…”
It’s a story about longing, dressed in whimsy. And a creature too big, too strange, too full of music to be understood. How it sings to ships it will never meet, and how the sea always swallows its voice before anyone truly hears.
The kids lean in. Jamie clutches my arm. And across the room, Evie flinches at a line about loneliness—just a twitch, just a heartbeat, but I see it.
Because Iknowit.
She’s the one who taught me what lonely sounds like.
By the time I close the book, the air feels like it’s holding its breath. The tide’s crept up behind the store; I can hear it, restless and rhythmic, brushing against the jetty stones with a sound like slow applause.
The kids cheer. Jamie shouts something about an encore. I ruffle his hair, gently ease him off my lap, and stand.
Evie’s gone.
I find her outside, pacing the edge of the weather-worn deck that runs along the side of the shop. Her boots creak against the boards. The wind tosses her hair. She’s staring hard at the sea like it might give her answers if she glares long enough.
“Evie.”
She stiffens, doesn’t look at me. “Don’t.”
“I’m not here to argue.”
“Good.”
“I just want to talk.”
“That’s worse.”
I move closer, careful, like she’s a bird about to take off. “Why’d you leave this morning?”
Her arms fold tight across her chest. “You know why.”
“I wantyouto say it.”
She turns then, fast. Her eyes flash with something raw. “Because every time I get close to you, I forget where I end and you begin. That’s why.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“It is when I know how this ends,” she snaps.
“You don’t know anything,” I growl, voice low and cutting. “You think you’re the only one scared?”
She glares at me, but it’s trembling now. “I’m not built for forever. I don’t do white picket fences and grocery lists and… hope.”
I step forward, one slow stride, enough that she can feel the heat off me. “I’m not asking for a fairytale, Evie. I’m asking for a shot. Atreal.Atus.”
Her breath shudders. But she doesn’t lean in.
She pulls back.
“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you,” she whispers.
“And I can’t promise I won’t fall apart if you walk away again.”
