Page 64 of We Can Forever

“I’m not sure it’s like that,” I laugh. “But it would be nice.”

Flick glances at the clock. “You should probably get going. Didn’t you tell Maya you would be there at three?”

“Oh. Yeah! That’s right.” Sliding off the stool, I stow my laptop in my messenger bag.

“One second. I have something for you.” Flick goes to where her jacket is hanging behind the counter and pulls out a small box covered in wrapping paper. “To celebrate finishing the application.”

“What?” My jaw drops. “Flick…”

“I know. I know it wasn’t necessary, but this is kind of a big deal.” She hands me the present. “I’m proud of you.”

Tears fill my eyes. Flick gets it; most people wouldn’t, but she knows how momentous this achievement is. There are too many reasons not to finish something like a grant application, from chronic pain to hours filled caring for a business. And yet I did it.

She sees that. Just like she always sees me.

Because I don’t trust myself to talk right now, I unwrap the box instead. Inside is a silver padding yarn ring.

I gasp with delight. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She gives me a big hug. “Tell Maya I say hi.”

“I will,” I promise, putting the gift into my bag and grabbing my jacket.

“The casserole!”

“That’s right.” Spinning around, I grab the casserole I made from our mini fridge and dash out the door.

Despite the cold, it’s a sunny afternoon. Dried leaves roll down the street as I drive through downtown and into Maya’s neighborhood, no fewer than eleven people waving at me along the way. Even though I’m no longer new to the island, it feels like I’ve crossed into townie territory the last week. People know me. I know them.

And, surprisingly, I don’t hate it. Actually, I think I might like it.

At the edge of town, a block from the water’s edge, I park alongside the curb next to Maya’s house. It’s been almost a week since we took her to the hospital, and she’s been at home, taking a break from work—and going a little stir-crazy, according to her group texts.

Casserole in hand, I head up the driveway. Next door, Maya’s neighbor, Pat, turns off his leaf blower.

“Hey, Hannah. Nice afternoon.”

“Sure is.” I wave at him—yet another person I feel like I already know so much about, despite hardly knowing each other.

Thanks to Michael, I’m well-informed on how close Pat was with Michael’s dad, along with how much Pat disapproves of Michael’s firehouse renovations. And that’s just small-town life, isn’t it? We all know far too much about one another.

It’s starting to bother me less, though. If anything, I just shake my head and laugh at it now.

How could I not? The last week, it’s like the world has been in Technicolor. The shop has been busy, Carol and I have been talking even more than usual since she went back to Portland, I’ve felt great after recovering from the flare…and Michael said he loves me.

Butterflies flit through my stomach as I ring Maya’s doorbell. Michael loves me!

And I love him.

Is this what true, complete happiness feels like?

Maya opens the door, beaming at me. “Oooh, I’m so happy to see you.”

“How are you?” I quickly close the door behind me, worried about her getting too cold.

“Doing better, but I’m ready to go back to work.” She leads me into the kitchen.

“I brought you a casserole. Heat it on 350 for about an hour.” I slip it into the fridge next to the other casseroles people have dropped off. Man, this town really is supportive. How did I never see it before?

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