Page 42 of Love By the Book
We spend the next half hour hamming it up in the photo booth, trying on various Elvis wigs, and striking ridiculous poses with plastic guitars. Eli's laugh is like coffee on a cold morning—rich and warming and somehow essential. I want to bottle that sound and keep it forever, which is exactly the kind of thought I’m trying to drown in kettle corn and festival chaos.
But between the sugar rush, the swirling lights, and the way Eli keeps looking at me like I’m something precious, my heart feels too full, too raw. I need a minute. Just one moment away from the sparkle and noise to catch my breath.
As the sun sets and darkness falls, I tug on his hand. "Come on, I want to show you something."
I lead him away from the rhinestone-filled chaos to a quiet spot near the water, where wooden benches overlook the bay. The moon rises in the distance, painting a silver path across the waves.
We settle onto a weathered bench, our shoulders touching. In this moment, with the festival a distant hum and the water lapping gently against the shore as the moon rises in the sky, everything feels right. Easy. Natural. Like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Like we could do it a hundred times more. His warmth beside me, the rhythm of his breathing matching the waves, the comfortable silence—it all fits like the ending of a story I didn’t know I was writing.
But that makes me think of someone else.
"I used to come here with my grandmother," I say. "She taught me to canoe right over there."
Eli’s breath warms my cheeks. "Something tells me there's a story there."
I laugh. "Oh, there is. Picture this: me, age twelve, convinced I knew everything about everything. Figuring out my magic one disaster after another. Grandma Ida, who never met a challenge she didn't like, decided we should race acrossthe bay. We made it about twenty feet before I got cocky, tried to show off, and flipped us both into the water."
Eli’s gasp echoes across the water. “What did she do?”
"Came up sputtering and laughing so hard she could barely swim. Then she dunked me again for good measure." I smile at the memory. "That was Grandma Ida—she believed life was an adventure, even if that meant getting soaked in your Sunday best. She told me to always live life to the fullest.”
"She sounds amazing."
"She was." I trace patterns in the condensation forming on the bench. "I know it probably sounds odd that my grandmother was one of my best friends… but it’s true.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I grieved hard when she passed. Too hard.”
Maybe it’s better to let him see the bitter truth now. We’re clearly falling into something neither of us has dared to name, and if it’s going to unravel, I’d rather it happen before I start hoping too much. Better he see the mess early than fall for the edited version and feel surprised later.
Eli turns to face me more fully. “Why do you say that?Toohard?”
“Because I sank into this pit I couldn’t claw my way out of. I couldn’t pretend to be okay and it got… ugly. And some people—people I loved—thought I was being ridiculous. That I was overreacting. That I was just being…” My voice falters. “Too much.”
Eli reaches for my hand, his grip warm and steady. “Grief, in my experience, doesn’t have a timeline or logic,” he says gently. “You just told me she was one of your best friends. Ofcourseyou grieved hard.”
A lump rises in my throat, but I manage a nod. “She was... she was the only person who never tried to make me be something I wasn't."
Eli is quiet for a moment, then says, “I would have lovedher, because there’s not a single thing I’d change about you. And she’d be proud because you’re already following her advice.”
“What do you mean?”
He squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. “I came here afraid. I’d just lost someone as well, my coworker, Mark. His death made me realize how easy it is to let your life slip by in routines and caution. I was afraid of looking back and wondering if I’d ever really lived.” He clears his throat. “But being here… meeting you… it’s the most alive I’ve ever felt. You’re teaching me how to live in color instead of grayscale. How to not let fear call the shots.” He looks at me then, his breath warming my cheek. “You’re not just following her advice, you’re showing others how to do it too.”
His hazel eyes, darkened in the low light, make me feel like I see what he sees in me. Like maybe, just maybe, I am someone worth staying for. But the letter in my pocket presses against my side like a secret. A truth I haven’t shared.
And despite these moonlight confessions, despite the way he’s looking at me like he could weather the storm with a smile, it’s not enough to make me brave. Not enough to open my mouth and start talking about timelines and futures.
If anything, it swallows the words. They feel too massive, like they’d echo across the bay and carve themselves into the future in a way I’m just not ready for.
From the festival, music plays—slower now, strings and gentle percussion playing ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’. The announcement comes over the speakers: "Ladies and gentlemen, grab your partners for our moonlight slow dance."
Eli stands and holds out his hand, his smile soft in the gathering dusk. “What do you say? Want to dance with me? I know that if it’s with you, I’ll actually feel this moment, every bit.”
I look at his extended hand, then up at his face—thiswonderful man who somehow makes me feel both grounded and free. Taking his hand feels like stepping off a cliff and coming home all at once.
And maybe that’s why I keep trying not to look too closely at what this is—because if I let myself really feel it, I’ll have to face what it means to walk away.
"With you?" I place my hand in his. “Lead the way, Lancaster.”
Rhianna
