Page 11 of The Girl I Once Loved

“I would keep you forever if you let me,” he murmurs sadly, before pushing away from the table. His fingers thrum on the table before he puts his hands in his pocket.

Tears spill down my cheeks, and I wipe them away as I stare up at him. There are some people staring at us now. But like usual, I can’t find it in me to care.

He reaches down to catch a tear, his touch tender and filled with heartbreaking devotion. "Just a break,” he says before he strides out of the shop, pausing at the door to stare back at me longingly.

I pretend not to notice though, and it’s not hard. Because I’m trying to trace all the wrong turns in my life, how I ended up here, in this coffee shop. Alone as my dream man walks out into the rain.

It’s a million little choices, and one big one that led me here. Is it like this for everyone? Are they unable to outrun the past until it’s battering at their defenses, clawing at their insides and ruining their heart for everything else?

Or is that just me?

I sip my coffee, a thousand broken dreams hovering heavily in the air.

When I leave the coffee shop, the rain has stopped, the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. I should be basking in its warmth, but to me, the world still feels gray and heavy.

But I make a little promise to myself, that I’ll at leasttryto escape the demons that wait for me back in Thatcher’s Bay.

And maybe I won’t do it just for Gael.

Maybe I’ll do it for me, too.

Chapter Three

Skylar

Ican't delay anymore, Daisy’s imposed deadline beating over my head. Seven years is a long time, but it’s enough to know I need to take her words seriously. To know that she wouldn't forgive me if I didn't show up. So here I am, white knuckling my seat as the tiny prop plane makes its way over to Falmouth. I stare out the small pane of glass, watching the world pass below.

I don't bother looking at the other passengers.

There would've been a time where I would have. Where, by the end of the flight, I would have come up with a million different stories for all of them. It's a strange thing that I don't do that anymore.

"Do you have family in Falmouth?" a kind, warm voice asks from next to me. I inwardly sigh and glance over, because one of my pet peeves in life is chatty seatmates. My annoyance immediately softens though, when I see the sweet white haired woman who’d smiled at me as she sat down an hour earlier. There's a twinkle in her eye, and golden wrinkles etched on her face, ones I get the feeling she's proud of, because it tells of a life well lived.

"Thatcher's Bay, actually," I answer quietly, and she tips her head to study me in a way that feels far too personal from a stranger.

"Did you grow up there? That's where I met my husband, Johnny. I went there to nanny for the summer, and on a night off, I walked into a dancing hall, and there he was." Her eyes took on a dreamy look, and I’m jealous of her. Because I haven't had a dreamy look likethatfor quite some time.

"I went to high school there," I say, deciding not to comment on the story she's just told. I don’t want to hear about a Thatcher’s Bay love story.

Not when my own ended with tragedy.

"When was the last time you went back?" she asks, and I tense in my seat.

"Seven years," I finally murmur in a choked voice.

Her eyes widen imperceptibly and she keeps studying me. "Thatcher’s Bay has a way of dragging you back, doesn't it? Kind of like there's magic in its sand."

More like misery is what I want to say. But instead, I just give her a polite smile. "Something like that."

She mercifully stops talking to me until the plane is touching down at the tiny airport. The wheels roll on the tarmac, finally coming to a stop. In the distance I can see the gleaming ocean, a siren call that I dread with everything in me.

The plane door opens and I click off my seatbelt, preparing to leave. She pats my hand before I can stand up.

"The trick to Thatcher’s Bay is that you have to let the magic in, dear girl," she says with a gentle smile, before withdrawing her hand and standing up.

I shake my head at her words, knowing very well that you can think some things magic until it bites you in the throat.

* * *

---