Page 113 of The Space Between
I feel chosen. I feel wanted. I feel… loved…
Even if he doesn’t know how to say it yet.
I’m standingat the front of my first-period classroom, trying to focus while one of my students tells me about a science experiment gone wrong that ended in a melted pencil case and half a set of eyebrows gone missing.
I try to laugh, but my mind’s not here.
It’s back at the cabins.
With him.
With yesterday morning’s dawn kiss.
Slow and almost too soft—like he didn’t want to let go, but he had to.
I haven’t heard from him since and he worked really late last night. The shop lights were still on when I turned out my lights and went to bed.
I feel him… like a pulse under the skin of this day… like a low thrum that I can’t tune out no matter how many times I reread my lesson plan.
At lunch,I check my phone.
Nothing.
No missed calls. No texts. Not even a stupid message like the last one he left scribbled on my grocery list.
I don’t panic because Saturday nightwassomething and whether he’s ready to face it or not, I know hefeltit.
I know I did.
I keep the phone screen turned face-down in my open top drawer, but I don’t put it away.
At dismissal,I make my way out to the lot and climb into my car, half-expecting to see his truck parked in the shade across the road again.
It’s not there. Of course, it’s not. It’s a work day for both of us.
My chest tightens but not with rejection. With understanding.
This is who he is. He’s making the effort.
Hurt just doesn’t leave easy.
Grief doesn’t let go with a kiss.
And love—if that’s what this is—isn’t a cure all for pain.
It might just be the thing that softens what grief can’t break though.
And I can be patient.
For him,I can be.
I will be.
I don’t seehim when I drive past the shop, so I park in front of my cabin.
The air is thick with river heat, but there’s a quiet to it—It’s too late in the day for anyone to launch form here. There are no floaters. There’s no yelling. No laughter. No music.
I glance toward the dock again. There’s still no sign of him but when I step onto my porch, I see it.
