Page 43 of Midnight Lessons

“Thanks.” My voice is steady, but my heart’s doing acrobatics. One by one, they approach, each apology chipping away at the barricade I’ve built around myself since I found out about the bet.

Owen leans against the counter, watching the procession. As the last man exits, he clears his throat, capturing the attention of the few stragglers and Linda, who’s pretending to peruse the day-old bread rack.

“Thanks, Owen,” I whisper, squeezing his hand in gratitude.

“I’ve got to get to work, but I’ll see you thisevening,” Owen says, planting a kiss on my forehead before he leaves.

The bell above the bakery door chimes non-stop throughout the day, a steady stream of women replacing the men from earlier. They come with kind eyes and words that wrap around me like a soft embrace. The support is overwhelming, and I can’t help but feel a little less solitary in this mess.

Finally, the clock signals the end of my shift, and Owen’s there, just as he has been through all of this. We escape out the back door into the crisp evening air. We’re quiet as we walk to my apartment, a silence filled with shared relief and the subtle buzz of a day that’s tilted our world slightly back on its axis.

Once inside, we sink onto my secondhand couch, hands finding each other without a word.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Today was something.”

He squeezes my hand. “Yeah, it was,” he agrees, his blue eyes locking with mine. “But we got through it.”

“Because of you,” I point out.

He shakes his head. “Because of us,” he corrects.

He’s right. This has been a team effort from the start.

“Let’s not let this night end on the couch,” I suggest, eager to keep this newfound momentum. “How about we celebrate atThe Pasta Crypt?I could kill for their mac ‘n cheese.”

“Sounds perfect,” Owen says with a smile that makes my heart do a little flip.

We leave my cluttered apartment behind, our laughter echoing down the stairwell as we head toward our favorite pasta spot.

Dinner is a blur of comfort food and easy conversation. Between bites of cheesy goodness, we talk about everything and nothing until the subject of the future comes up.

“Willow, I’ve been thinking,” Owen starts, his fork pausing mid-air. “Maybe it’s time we took a step forward, you know?”

“Like choreographed dance lessons?” I tease, unable to resist.

“Very funny.” He chuckles. “I mean, moving in together. It’s time I sold Mom and Dad’s place. Fresh start and all that. We can start looking for a place here in Midnight Falls together. What do you think?”

The idea sends a thrill through me. A home with Owen, full of love and yes, lots of Halloween decorations. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had since coming back to Midnight Falls.”

“Then it’s settled,” he says, reaching across the table to lace his fingers with mine. “We’ll make it happen.”

I nod, excitement bubbling up inside me. A month ago, the thought of a future with Owen was unthinkable. But now, with him by my side, everything seems possible. We’re a team in a crisis and in life. And as we finish our meal and step into the night, I’m ready for whatever comes next.

Memories assail me as Owen steers the car toward his parents’ home, but this time, their good ones, full of the promise of our future together.

The familiar scent of pine and old books surrounds us when we step inside. The house is just as Iremember—the worn rug in the living room, the framed family photos lining the walls, and the slight creak in the floorboard by the kitchen door. It’s like stepping into a time capsule of Owen’s life, where time hasn’t moved since his parents’ accident, the warmth of their love still lingering in the air.

Owen stands inside the doorway, scanning the room as if searching for ghosts. I want to reach out, to break through the barrier of grief and loss wrapped around him. But I hold back, giving him the space he needs. This house, this place—it’s more than just four walls and a roof. It’s a part of him. A part he hasn’t fully let go of yet.

“You okay?” I ask softly, squeezing his hand.

He nods, but his gaze is distant, fixed on a photo of his parents on the mantel. “Yeah. I’ve spent more time at yours than here since I came back to town. This place holds a lot of memories.”

The pain in his voice tugs at my heart. “I know.” I squeeze his hand, hoping to convey everything I can’t put into words. “But we’re making new ones now. Good ones.”

His smile is small but real. “Yeah, we are.”

I can’t imagine what it must feel like to be surrounded by so many memories, knowing you have to let go of them piece by piece. “Take your time,” I murmur.

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