Page 97 of The Words We Lost

And according to Wendy, this is also a promise that“no heartache has ever gone unseen and no darkness has ever been too dark for light to overcome.”

I cup the gift in my hand and breathe through a thousand new emotions. It’s not grief I feel the strongest, but something else that seems to be reshaping my heart the way sand and surf and time have reshaped this tiny treasure in my palm. I hold it up to the moonlight again and marvel at a truth I simply couldn’t see clearly until now.

There was no coincidence or accident when it came to the timingof a letter resurfacing in Marshall’s office, and certainly not about the man who’d hand-delivered it to me. Suddenly the thought of leaving him all over again—without the chance to fight for something more, something different and new—causes me to pull the quilt tighter around my shoulders.

I look down at the promise in my grasp and wrestle with the resoluteness of the future that’s ahead of me: Cece entrusted me with her final manuscript, and it’s my responsibility alone to see that through.

In the same way I know Joel needs to stay where his family is, I know I need to go back.

The revelation causes me to squeeze the sea glass in my palm all the more tightly, to trust there is a plan even in this.

When the tide nips at my bare toes, I shiver and take a step back, hoping that if I stand out here just a little longer, a different revelation might appear before I head back to the cottage to catch a few hours of sleep.

After another spasm of shivers racks my body, I finally turn to face the bluff. But instead of an illuminated cottage, all I can see is the familiar figure lingering near the bottom of the stairs. When my own steps falter in the sand, his continue until we’re standing only inches apart.

“I hoped you’d still be awake,” Joel says.

My pulse ratchets higher, and I yearn to reach for him, to draw him closer. “How did you even find me down here in the dark?”

“When I pulled into the driveway, all the lights were still on in the cottage. I didn’t feel right about going inside uninvited, but when you didn’t answer your phone, I decided to take a walk ... and there you were, bathed in moonlight like some sort of divine sea apparition.”

I stare up into those beautiful green eyes as he steps in close to pinch the quilt tighter around me. Only now that he’s here, I want to shuck the quilt to the sand and replace it with an embrace far better suited for the job.

“I don’t want to say good-bye to you again,” I say plainly, with exactly none of the moxie one of Cece’s characters would have contained.

“Then don’t.” He reaches for my face and skims his fingers over my cheeks and down the line of my jaw. “Don’t say it, Indy.”

I’m so dizzy from his touch, from the way he says my name, that I can almost forget the reasons I have to do exactly that, and soon.

He cradles my face between his palms. “I know you have Cece’s manuscript to manage in California, but ‘see you later’ isn’t the same as good-bye. And I’m willing to say the former for however long it takes us to figure things out.”

I nod in earnest, hoping this is a type of math problem that can actually be solved in real life, in real time. “I’ll be managing all the ins and outs of the publication schedule as soon as the manuscript is officially submitted and accepted, which will be approximately nine months, ten at most, but there will be some breaks in between. I could fly up a couple of weekends a month, stay with Wendy if she’ll have me, or in the cottage if it’s available.”

“It will always be available to you,” Joel says a bit breathlessly. “And I can fly down to see you, too.”

Only it’s a bit more difficult for me to imagine Joel in San Francisco, and if I’m honest, it’s becoming more and more difficult to imagine myself there, too. This is where he fits; where we both fit.

“And maybe onceThe Fate of Kingsis set to release, I can look into what it might take to do some freelance editing work, transition my services to a new location. I’ve been told on good authority that one of my new friends here is actually quite brilliant when it comes to marketing endeavors.”

Joel’s expression is a mix of pain and hope. “Is that really what you want?”

Despite the chill of the night, my lips don’t tremble when I say, “You’re what I want, Joel Campbell.”

And then his lips are on mine, and the quilt is at our feet. The warmth of his body, of his arms wrapped around me, is an intoxicating recharge that spans from my head to my toes. And all I canthink is how much I don’t ever want to let this man go again. The longer we embrace and kiss, the stronger the compass inked on my chest seems to pulse, as if to saythis is where you belong.

Because this is exactly where I’ve always belonged.

When we finally break apart, Joel tips his forehead to mine, as if actively trying to talk himself out of closing the gap between our swollen lips once more. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you, Ingrid.”

Slowly, as our breaths intermingle, I press my palm to the left side of his chest, and say the only thing I can without having to use words. I barely make it to the third tap before Joel gives up his fight, takes me in his arms, and kisses me again.

By the time we’ve reached the top of Cece’s beach stairs, where the path splits left to the driveway or right to the back patio door, we’re already discussing plans for my return trip and how we’ll tell Aunt Wendy and his parents about the many developments over these last ten days. We have much more than the early beginnings of a relationship to discuss with them. And while technically I still have three days left on my mandatory vacation, most of that time will be spent transcribing Cece’s notebooks into a digital file so I can keep the originals locked away in a safe.

But as Joel and I walk hand in hand and veer left toward his car in the driveway, we notice a second vehicle parked beside it. The hotel’s club car is empty, but Allie is sitting on the porch steps, her phone in hand.

“So... are late-night guests fairly routine for you, then?” Joel murmurs under his breath with a hint of humor.

The minute she hears us, Allie shoots up from the step, her energy palpable, as if it were one in the afternoon and not one in the morning. “I know it’s late—I’m sorry, but I figured you’d be up, and I’ve been calling you for nearly an hour and this really can’t wait till morning. There’s something you need to see before you turn anything in to your boss.”

---