Page 53 of Until the Storm Breaks
“Maybe not judge. But it changes things. Makes everything weighted with this... history he doesn’t even know about. This connection I felt before I knew him.”
“Everything’s already weighted,” Lark points out. “You’re falling in love with him. He’s leaving soon. You’re losing your home to his brother’s business deal. You share a kitchen and sexual tension thick enough to cut. What’s one more complication?”
I laugh despite myself. “When you put it like that, the tattoo seems like the least of my problems.”
“Exactly.” She nudges me with her shoulder.
The sun is bright overhead, warming everything. The couple has disappeared around the point. It’s just us and the gulls andthe constant sound of waves. I watch Laila investigate a tangle of kelp, her tail wagging at whatever mystery she’s discovered there.
“God, when did everything get so complicated?” I ask, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Six months ago I had a home, a routine, everything simple and safe.”
“And were you happy?” she asks.
I consider lying, but Lark knows me too well. “I was... settled.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I know.” The admission sits heavy between us. “But settled felt safer than... this. Whatever this is.”
“You know what I think?” Lark says, digging her own toes into the sand. “You’re so sure Calvin’s leaving that you’re not even giving him a chance to surprise you. What if he’s not as set on Seattle as you think? People change their minds, Mare.” She gives me a meaningful look. “Maybe he’s just as confused about what comes next as you are.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you. That’s my point. You’re protecting yourself from an ending you’ve already written in your head.”
I pick at a piece of driftwood, its surface worn smooth by the water. She might have a point. I’ve been so certain he’ll leave that I haven’t even considered he might be reconsidering. The way he looked at me this morning…
“The housing situation is shit,” Lark continues, her voice gentler. “Dominic’s an ass for how he’s handling it, and it’s fair to be furious. But that’s separate from Calvin. Don’t let potentially losing the cabin keep you from exploring whatever this could be with him.”
“It all feels tangled together though. The gift, him fighting Dominic about my lease, these feelings I have. How do I separate what’s real from what’s just... proximity and crisis?”
“You don’t,” she says simply. “Life doesn’t come in neatcompartments. Sometimes everything happens at once and you just have to trust your gut about what matters most.”
I pick up the notebook, run my fingers over the linen cover. All those blank pages waiting. “What if I tell him how I feel and he leaves anyway?”
“Then at least you’ll know. At least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you’d been brave.” She pauses, watching me carefully. “And Mare? You’re going to figure out the housing stuff. Whether that’s finding another place here, or fighting for something better, living with me, or something we haven’t even thought of yet. You’ll land on your feet.”
“With or without Calvin,” I say.
“Exactly. This isn’t about needing him to save you. It’s about deciding if you want to take the chance on something that could be amazing, even if you don’t know how it ends.”
Laila abandons the kelp and comes back to us, carrying a piece of driftwood she looks particularly proud of. She drops it at our feet and flops down in the sand, panting happily. Her contentment is absolute—no worry about tomorrow or next week or where she’ll live. Just this moment, this beach, this satisfaction.
“I wish I could be like her,” I say, gesturing at Laila.
“A dog?”
“Present. Not constantly worried about what comes next.”
“You could try it,” Lark says. “Just for tonight. Just for one conversation with Calvin. Or something…elsewith Calvin. See what happens when you stop overthinking everything.”
We sit in comfortable silence, the afternoon sun warm on our faces. The Sound stretches out before us, endless blue meeting sky. The notebook rests in my lap, and I think about all the stories I haven’t written. All the chances I haven’t taken. Maybe Lark’s right. Maybe it’s time to stop protecting myself from possibilities.
“I’m scared,” I admit quietly. “Of wanting something this much. Of letting myself hope. Look how things ended up with you and Brandon.”
“Calvin is no Brandon. Brandon was a boy in a man’s body. A controlling rotten baby who fooled me temporarily. I’m not saying Calvin is perfect. But that man is aman. Emotionally and, I’d bet, physically.” Lark lets that hang there, then squeezes my shoulder. “Plus, being scared doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”
We sit quietly for a while, watching the water. Laila is now digging an impressive hole near the waterline, sand flying everywhere, completely absorbed in her project.
