Page 13 of Firefly Nights

Because looking at her hurts. Because every time I do, I see all the ways I could disappoint her, all the reasons she deserves better than someone who's never learned how to stay.

"Some of us don't get to live in stories, Grace." The words come out sharper than I intend. "Some of us have to deal with the real world."

"You think that's what I'm doing? Hiding in stories?" Her eyes flash. "At least I'm brave enough to believe in something bigger than myself. You're so afraid of letting anyone past those carefully built walls that you don't even try."

"And you're so caught up in fictional happy endings that you can't see why this would never work!"

The silence that follows feels like a physical thing. Grace takes a step back, and I know I've gone too far.

"Grace—"

"You're right." Her voice is library-quiet again. "This would never work. Because you're so convinced everything ends badly that you won't even give it a chance to begin."

She turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway. "You know what the difference is between us, Nathan? I know my books are fiction. But at least they teach me to believe in possibilities.You're so focused on what could go wrong that you can't even see what's right in front of you."

The door clicks shut behind her with devastating softness. I stare at the reading corner, at the half-carved stars that were supposed to catch the morning light just right. At all the pieces of myself I've built into this place without meaning to.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I am running. But isn't it better to leave now, before I prove that happy endings only exist in her precious books?

I pick up my drill again, but the steady rhythm that usually centers me feels hollow. Above me, the unfinished stars mock my attempts at permanence, reminding me that some people are meant to build beautiful things for others to enjoy.

And some people are meant to move on.

Chapter Seven

Grace

"You're alphabetizing my tea collection." Hazel's voice carries a hint of amusement as she watches me rearrange her kitchen cupboard. "I'd say that's a sign."

"I'm helping you organize." I shift the chamomile in front of the chai. "You can never find anything in here."

"Funny how your helping always involves putting things in order when you're upset." She settles into her usual chair at the kitchen table. "Want to tell me what Nathan did?"

The tin of Earl Grey slips from my fingers, clattering against the counter. "What makes you think?—"

"Dear, you've been sorting my tea for twenty minutes while barely holding back tears. And I heard about the job offer in Burlington."

Of course she did. Nothing stays secret in Juniper Falls, especially not from Hazel.

"It's fine." I line up the tea tins with military precision. "He's doing what he always does. Moving on."

"And you're doing what you always do. Hiding in routine and books, instead of facing your feelings."

I turn to protest, but Hazel's knowing look stops me. "That's not—" My voice cracks. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Then why are you here?"

The question hangs in the air, gentle but unavoidable. Like so many things lately.

"Because," I whisper, "my library doesn't feel like home anymore. He's everywhere. In the reading corner he designed, in the window seats that catch the morning light just right, in all the little details I never knew were missing until..." I swallow hard. "Until he filled them."

"Come sit." Hazel pats the chair beside her. "Before you alphabetize my entire kitchen."

I sink into the chair, suddenly exhausted. "He's leaving, Hazel. Just like?—"

"Just like your mother?" Her voice is soft. "Nathan isn't your mother, Grace."

"No, he's worse. Because..." I trail off, unable to say the words.

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