Chapter 2 The Distance Between Us

Kennedy didn't come inside right away.

He stood in the rain as if crossing the threshold would make everything too real. His eyes flicked past her, into the room behind her, and for a second, Joanne saw something she hadn't expected: hesitation. Not fear exactly - but restraint. Like he was holding back something dangerous and tender at the same time.

She stepped aside. "Do you want to come in?"

His gaze returned to hers, scanning her face for a long beat. Then he nodded once and stepped past her into the warmth of the small cottage.

Joanne closed the door quietly behind him. The room felt smaller with him in it - not because of his size, but because of the weight he carried. He didn't say anything for a few moments. Just stood there in his wet coat, glancing around, taking it all in.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he said finally.

"That makes two of us," Joanne replied, her voice firmer than she felt.

He gave a short breath of something that might have been a laugh. "You're... here. In Victoria. Why?"

There it was - the question she hadn't quite prepared for. The truth felt too heavy to say out loud: Because I've loved you for years. Because I saw you again and it undid me. Because I needed something to make sense, and you were the only thing that ever did.

Instead, she said, "I needed a change. The city stopped feeling like home."

Kennedy looked at her with something unreadable in his eyes. "And this place does?"

"It might," she answered. "I don't know yet."

A silence stretched between them, not awkward, but thick. Like they were walking barefoot through a memory neither of them wanted to touch. Kennedy glanced down at his coat, as if just realizing he was dripping onto her floor.

"Sorry," he muttered, shrugging it off and folding it over his arm. "Didn't think I'd be out this long. Wasn't expecting..." He trailed off, eyes meeting hers again. "You."

Joanne crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly cold. "I followed you."

He blinked. "What?"

"At the station. A month ago. I saw you. You were talking to someone, and you said you were going back to Victoria. That it was... safer."

Kennedy's jaw tensed. He didn't deny it, but his shoulders stiffened like a man hearing footsteps in the dark.

"You really came all this way just because of that?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. "No. I came because I needed to know if you were still real. If any of it was."

Kennedy looked like he was about to say something - then stopped. He rubbed a hand over his face, and Joanne noticed the calluses on his fingers, the wear of a man who had worked with his hands, fought with time, or both.

"I didn't want you to find me," he said eventually, not cruelly, but honestly.

Joanne's chest tightened. "Well, I did."

He looked at her then - really looked - and the air between them felt like it was humming.

"You don't understand, Jo," he murmured. "Coming here... it's not just a choice. This place isn't what it seems."

"I figured," she replied. "The landlady warned me about ghosts."

Kennedy's eyes darkened. "They're not ghosts. Not the kind you're thinking of."

Joanne took a step closer to him. "Then tell me what they are. Tell me what you are."

Another silence. And then, almost too softly to hear: "Someone trying to fix things."

"Fix what?"

He didn't answer.

Joanne swallowed hard. "You disappeared, Kennedy. You just left - no calls, no goodbye. And I kept thinking... maybe it was me. Maybe I imagined it all."

"You didn't." His voice was sharp, immediate. "You didn't imagine it."

"Then why did you go?"

He looked away. "Because I had to."

Joanne's throat burned. "That's not good enough."

He nodded slowly, like he agreed. "I know."

They stood in the quiet again, only this time the silence was louder than before. Outside, the rain softened to a mist, tapping gently against the windows like fingers on glass.

"I should go," Kennedy said, stepping back toward the door.

Joanne didn't move to stop him. "Will I see you again?"

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "You already do."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him like a final word.

Joanne stood there for a long time, listening to the absence he left behind. The fire crackled softly. Her tea had gone cold. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her phone, even though she knew there would be no messages. She opened her notes app and typed only one line:

He never said he was sorry.

Then she turned off the phone, crawled into bed fully clothed, and let the rain sing her to sleep.

The next morning arrived in pale streaks of light through the curtains. Joanne woke with a stiffness in her bones, the kind that comes from old grief pretending to be sleep.

She made coffee instead of tea this time and stood at the window as the town stretched awake. Victoria was beautiful in the way some women are - quiet, complicated, hiding storms beneath gentle eyes.

There was a small note stuck to her door.

It was folded once, no envelope, just her name scribbled in dark ink.

Joanne opened it with cautious fingers.

Meet me at the clifftop. Noon. Come alone. - K.

Her heart beat faster. She read it three times, then pressed it to her chest like it might vanish.

Whatever secrets Kennedy was keeping... he was ready to start sharing them.

And she wasn't going to miss it.

Outside, the mist was clearing. A pair of robins chirped on the telephone wire, and far off, the sound of the sea roared faintly in the background like a restless memory. Joanne slipped the note into her coat pocket and began to pack her bag. Not just with her phone or keys - but with questions, hope, and a part of her that still believed in him.