Page 59 of Kellan & Emmett
So I laughed too easily at a joke from the Petersons, tipped my head toward the pie stall like that was all I cared about, and swallowed every word that clawed at my throat.
Kellan walked beside me, close enough our arms brushed in the crowd. He didn’t even notice how my chest ached with all the things I couldn’t say.[35]
I needed air. Needed something easy to hang on to.
So I tugged Kellan toward the line at the lemonade stand, the sharp-sweet scent of citrus cutting through fried dough and barbecue smoke. The teenager at the booth grinned too wide, ladled out two cups, and I pressed a few crumpled bills into her hand.
I shoved one into Kellan’s. “Don’t say I never treat you.”
He snorted, lips curving against the straw, and for a second it was just us again — no crowds, no questions, no futures hanging like anvils. Just Kelly rolling his eyes at me like we were seventeen.
We wandered the green, shoulders brushing, bumping now and then when the crowd swelled. I caught myself slowing just enough so the backs of our hands almost touched. Almost.
Kids darted past with sparklers even though the sun was still high. A fiddler tuned up near the stage, testing strings until the first few notes caught. Women in sundresses gathered near the pie table, lifting foil to check crusts and compare recipes.
This festival had been mine my whole life. Miss Cole used to drag me here every summer, her hand light on my arm, telling me stories about who was who. I still brought guests now, for the “local color.” But standing here beside Kellan — tan darkened from camp, hair curling at the edges with sweat and heat, laughing easy at some kid with face paint — it felt different.
He looked like he belonged.
God help me, he looked like he belonged with me.[36]
The noise pressed too close — fiddles sawing, kids shrieking, vendors shouting over each other. I touched Kellan’s elbow, nodded toward the gazebo at the edge of the green. He followed without a word.
Up the steps, under the shade, it was quieter. The boards creaked under our weight, cicadas filling the silence where the crowd’s roar thinned. Kellan leaned on the railing, sipping the last of his lemonade, eyes scanning the town like he was memorizing it.
My mouth opened before I knew what I wanted to say. Three words hovered, sharp and heavy, right there on the back of my tongue. I swallowed them down, throat tight.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I said instead, voice rougher than I meant. “Being here. Like you never left.”
Kellan turned, the sunlight slanting across his face, catching the lines that hadn’t been there twenty years ago. His expression flickered, something caught between nostalgia and something deeper. Then he nodded once, steady. “Yeah. Feels… right.”
The word lodged in my chest, swelling until it ached. Right. God, I wanted to believe that.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets, rocked on my heels like I wasn’t about to unravel, and forced myself to breathe in the hot, green-scented air. I didn’t say what I wanted. Not yet.[37]
A crack split the air, sharp as a slap. I startled before realizing it was the first firework. The crowd cheered, faces tipping skyward as color burst above the rooftops — red, then gold, then green raining down. Kids squealed and clapped, couples leaned into each other, the whole town wrapped in light.
I didn’t look up.
Kellan stood a step away, the glow painting his face in shifting colors, every flash cutting across his cheekbones, glinting in his eyes. He didn’t look like someone who belonged in L.A. He looked like Gomillion itself had been waiting for him to come home.
My heart hammered so loud I swore he could hear it. The words pressed at my lips again, raw and certain:I love you.
I bit them back.
Coward. That’s what I was. Twenty years and I still couldn’t trust myself not to lose him if I said too much too soon.
So I just stood there, shoulder brushing his, watching the fireworks explode over town while my gaze stayed fixed on him. God help me, I loved him. And it burned hotter than any fire in the sky.
The camp ended today. Kids hugging me like I was the one giving them something worth holding onto, parents shaking my hand like I’d changed something in their house. Truth is, I think they changed me more. Their laughter, their trust — it felt solid, real, like I belonged here in a way I never did in LA.
LA already feels like a ghost. The condo, the noise, the empty nights. I thought that was life. Turns out it was just waiting.
What I have here isn’t waiting. It’s Emmett. It’s mornings tangled in his sheets, afternoons in the garden, nights where I don’t have to hide. It’s the sound of him humming under his breath while he washes dishes, the way he looks at me like I’m not a mistake he’s forgiving but a choice he keeps making.
I love him. Simple as that. I’ve wasted twenty years choking on it, but not anymore.
Tonight, I’ll tell him. And if he’ll have me, I want a life here. With him. Always with him.
