Page 90 of Until the Storm Breaks
Her eyes fill with tears. “Calvin...”
“You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know.”
“No, that’s not...” She squeezes my hands tight, a tear escaping down her cheek. “I love you too. God, I’ve been trying not to, trying to be sensible about this, but I love you too. I mean of course I do.” She’s half laughing, half crying and she kisses me then, soft and sweet, tasting of tears and whiskey.
When she pulls back, I keep her close, our foreheads almost touching. The bar continues around us, someone drops a glass in the kitchen, conversations ebb and flow, but we’re in our own bubble here in this corner booth.
“Maren,” I say, decision already made, knowing exactly what I want. “I meant what I said. Being here with you has shown me what I’ve been missing. My life in Seattle is empty. The apartment, the job, none of it means anything compared to this.”
She goes still against me, and I can feel her breathing change.
“I’m not going back,” I continue, voice firm. “Not to that life. I’ll figure out the logistics, but I know what I want.”
She pulls back slightly to look at me properly. There’s so much in her expression: hope and fear and worry. “Calvin, you can’t make decisions like this at your mother’s memorial. Not when everything’s raw and turned upside down.”
“This isn’t grief talking. This is the clearest I’ve been in years.”
“Calvin...” Her voice breaks slightly.
“I know what I want,” I say. “I’m not some kid making rash decisions. I’m thirty-five years old and I know when something’s worth changing everything for.”
“I want you to stay,” she admits, and her voice cracks on the words. “God, Calvin, I want you to stay so badly I can’t breathe when I think about you leaving. But I need you to think about this when you’re not surrounded by all of this. When it’s just you and reality.”
I take her hands more firmly in mine. “Youare my reality. The rest is just details to figure out.”
Before she can respond, Alex appears on the small stage area with his guitar. The conversations quiet as he starts to play one of Mom’s favorites, something slow and sweet from the seventies. People begin swaying, some singing along, and the whole bar becomes one moment of shared remembering.
Maren and I look at each other, her hand still in mine under the table. There’s a whole conversation in that look, promises I’m ready to make but she’s too careful to let us make tonight.
“Tomorrow,” she says softly, barely audible over the music. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow. When it’s just us.”
“Tomorrow,” I agree. Tonight is for Mom, for family, for goodbye. Tomorrow we can figure out the rest. I pull her closer, and for now, that’s enough.
CHAPTER 23
MAREN
The candles still flicker on the bar tables, wax pooling in small lakes of remembrance. Lark kicks the front door closed with her foot and flips the lock with the satisfaction of someone done with the public for a night.
“We survived,” she declares, already reaching for a bottle of red wine from behind the bar, the good stuff we save for emergencies and accidental epiphanies. “That was intense. Really lovely though. I think half the town was here.”
“Felt like more,” I say, sliding into our usual booth by the window. The vinyl is worn smooth from years of sitting here after closing. My feet ache from standing all day, and there’s a red wine stain on my dress I’ll probably never get out, but we made it through.
Calvin slides in beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. He’s loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, and he looks exhausted but peaceful, like he’s finally let go of the tension he’s been carrying.
“I had no idea Susan decked that asshole back in the day...what was his name?” Lark says, pouring three generous glasses with a steady hand. “The one with the boat dealership?”
“Terry Morrison,” Calvin supplies, laughing. “He had it coming. She had a hell of a right hook.”
“Your mom was a badass,” Lark says, raising her glass. “To Susan.”
We clink glasses, and the sound echoes in the empty bar. I take a sip and lean back, watching them both relax into the moment.
“I think my favorite part of the night was when you and Alex started that duet,” I say to Lark, grinning at the memory. “And then Eddie and Marcus joined in using spoons as drums.”
Lark winces, covering her face. “Yeah, I think I’d just done a shot at that point. Things got a little crazy for a bit.”
“You have a really good voice,” Calvin says, turning to look at her. “I was shocked. Professional quality.”
