Page 74 of Second Chance with the Half-Elf
Rowan sits beside me, hands wrapped around her knees. “Is it still?”
That’s the question: is it?
Because once, I would’ve burned whole cities for that call. I would’ve sold my spine to the nearest gallery, just to feel wanted by something sharp and shiny and cold. And now, here I am, sitting in a sun-drenched town with my heart tied up in sea breeze and a man who builds things with his hands instead of breaking them—and I don’t know if that old want fits anymore.
Aeron finds me later near the bluff, camera forgotten in my lap, my legs pulled up like I’m trying to make myself smaller.
“Hey,” he says, low, rough. “Heard you got a call.”
I don’t answer right away. Just nod.
He crouches in front of me, arms resting on his knees, those storm-gray eyes locked on mine.
“You gonna take it?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
He doesn’t press.
Just waits.
And something in that—his stillness, his silence, the lack of panic in his eyes—makes me want to cry.
“You’re not mad?” I ask.
He huffs out a breath that sounds more like a laugh. “I want you here. That hasn’t changed. But I want you happy more.”
“I don’t even know what that looks like anymore,” I admit.
He reaches up, brushes his thumb against my cheek. “Then maybe you let yourself figure it out. And if that means going for a while, I’ll still be here.”
That breaks me.
Not because it’s what I expected, but because it’s what I didn’t.
I nod, trying to hold it together.
“Okay,” I say.
But even as I say it, my fingers itch to reach for his.
Because maybe I don’t want to go, I just need to know Icould.
And right now, that might be enough.
Later, when the festival lights have dimmed to a warm flicker and the last of the vendors are sweeping up popcorn and bottle caps, I find Jamie curled up on a bench near the ship sculpture, his head resting against a rolled-up hoodie and one shoe missing.
“Hey,” I whisper, crouching beside him. “Your mom’s looking for you.”
He blinks up at me, eyes glassy but awake. “I was just resting.”
“You asleep?”
“No,” he says, then yawns like a traitor. “Maybe.”
I sit down next to him, shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with leftover sugar and ocean cold.
For a while, we just sit.
