Page 12 of Firefly Nights

"I got offered a job. In Burlington."

"Oh." She clutches her notebook tighter. "When would you leave?"

"Soon. The library’s renovation is almost done, and they need—" I stop, because her expression is doing something complicated, something that makes me want to build walls around her heart. "It's a good opportunity."

"Of course it is." Her voice is library-quiet again, all professional polish. "Will you have time to finish the reading corner before you go?"

"Grace—"

"Because the summer reading program starts soon, and the kids are really looking forward to?—"

"I'll make sure everything's finished," I cut in, unable to bear the careful distance in her tone. "You won't even know I was here."

The lie tastes like sawdust in my mouth. Because the truth is, I've left my fingerprints all over this library. In the reading corner's carved stars, the reinforced shelving, the window seats designed to catch morning light at the perfect angle for reading.

In the way Grace's smile feels like coming home.

"Right." She takes a step back, and I force myself not to follow. "Well, congratulations. Burlington sounds great. Perfect for you."

She turns and walks away, spine straight, steps measured. Every inch the collected librarian. But I know her tells now—the way her fingers worry the corner of her notebook, how her shoulders curve slightly inward like she's protecting something fragile.

I watch her disappear into the stacks, and for the first time in my life, I understand why people write stories about hearts breaking.

Grabbing my tools, I head for the door. I've got measurements to review, contracts to read, a life to pack up. Again.

It's what I do. It's who I am.

I'm halfway through installing the last set of brackets for the reading corner when Grace's voice cuts through the quiet.

"Were you even going to say goodbye?"

My hand slips on the drill, nearly missing the mark. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, morning light catching the gold in her hair. But there's nothing soft about her expression.

"Course I was." I turn back to the bracket, needing something solid to focus on. "I don't just disappear."

"No?" Her laugh holds no humor. "Because it seems like you've been practicing your vanishing act all week."

She's not wrong. I've been timing my work around her schedule, showing up early, leaving late, anything to avoid those quiet moments that somehow became the best part of my days.

"I've been busy. The Burlington contract?—"

"Right. The amazing opportunity you can't pass up." She moves closer, and I can feel her eyes on me. "Funny how those opportunities always seem to lead somewhere else."

The drill whirs to a stop. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means." Her voice wavers slightly. "The second something starts to matter, you find a reason to leave."

"That's not—" I set the drill down harder than necessary. "This is my job, Grace. Moving on to bigger projects is how it works."

"Is that what I am? A project?"

"Don't." I face her fully now. "Don't make this about?—"

"About what? About the fact that you've spent months showing me how to trust reality over fiction, but the minute things get real, you run?"

Her words hit like a physical blow. "I'm not running."

"No?" She gestures to the half-finished reading corner. "Then why haven't you looked me in the eye since you got that call?"

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