Chapter 3 Some Goodbyes Are Too Heavy to Speak

The next morning, Rosebay was shrouded in mist. Fog rolled off the sea like a thick blanket, cloaking the town in gray and silver.

Olivia stood on the porch of the flower shop, her fingers wrapped around a mug of lukewarm tea, watching as the sleepy world stirred to life. Someone biked past. A car door slammed across the street. But inside her, there was only stillness.

She hadn't slept well. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lucas's face.

You could've said goodbye.

The words echoed like a wound that wouldn't close.

She turned back inside and stared at the chaos in the shop: vases half-cleaned, floral wires scattered, petals drying out in buckets because she hadn't remembered to refrigerate them. It felt symbolic-like she was trying to rebuild something fragile with hands that didn't know how to hold anything anymore.

She tied her apron tight and picked up a broom, determined to distract herself. But the bell over the door rang before she could take a single step.

Lucas Hale walked in without knocking.

And this time, he wasn't holding tools.

He carried a small black notebook in one hand and something unreadable in his eyes.

Olivia straightened. "You're back."

"Don't sound so surprised," he said, shutting the door behind him. "Rosebay's not that big. We were always bound to keep bumping into each other."

She set the broom aside, too tired to match his sarcasm. "What's that?" she asked, nodding toward the notebook.

Lucas held it up. "Your grandmother's floral order book. She kept records in duplicates. I figured it might help you when you start restocking."

He handed it to her, but didn't let go right away.

"I didn't come to talk about flowers, Liv."

Her breath caught.

"Then what?" she asked quietly.

"You owe me a conversation."

She swallowed hard and motioned to the back, toward the tiny workroom behind the shop. They stepped inside-tight quarters, the smell of cedar and old potpourri pressing close around them.

He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.

"Why did you leave?" he asked.

She blinked.

"Because I had to."

"No," he said, voice firm. "Not good enough. I deserve the truth."

"You deserve peace, Lucas."

"I would've had peace if you had told me you were going."

The silence stretched between them like an open chasm.

She pressed her back against the counter and stared at the floor. "Do you remember Daniel?"

Lucas's eyes narrowed. "The guy you dated that last summer?"

She nodded slowly.

"He followed me when I moved to the city. Said he was going to take a job near mine. At first, it was... sweet. He'd bring me lunch. Pick me up after work. Said he couldn't stand being away from me."

Lucas said nothing.

"But then it turned into something else. He didn't like when I wore certain clothes. Didn't like when I made new friends. Said my boss was too nice to me." She exhaled. "It got bad, Lucas. Really bad."

A shadow crossed his face.

"You could've called me."

She laughed bitterly. "To say what? 'Hey, remember me, the girl who ditched you without a goodbye? I need you to fix me now.'"

"You didn't need to be fixed, Olivia. You needed someone to stand next to you."

Tears welled up, hot and fast.

"And then I got pregnant," she whispered. "Daniel didn't even blink. Just said, you better not keep it. Like I wasn't even part of the decision."

Lucas's jaw clenched.

"I didn't tell anyone," she went on. "I was scared. Alone. I had a miscarriage at eight weeks and went back to work the next day like nothing happened."

Lucas stepped forward slowly.

"I'm sorry."

"I disappeared because I didn't know how to be whole again," she said, voice cracking. "I didn't even know how to be myself."

He reached for her then, not to pull her close, but just to touch her wrist, grounding her.

"You didn't have to go through that alone."

"But I did."

A moment passed.

Then he said, "I wish I'd known."

"So do I."

They stood in silence for a long while. The only sound was the distant crash of waves and the hum of a cooler behind the counter.

Finally, Lucas let out a breath.

"You going to stay this time?"

Olivia didn't answer right away. She stared at the worn tile beneath their feet. "I don't know."

"That's fair," he said. "But I'm not going to disappear just because you might."

She looked up.

"I waited once, Olivia. I'm not promising I'll do it again. But I won't walk away, either."

"Even if I'm still figuring things out?"

"Especially then."

For the first time in years, something inside her softened.

Later that day, after Lucas had gone, Olivia sat alone with her grandmother's old notebook.

She opened it to the first page.

Inside, written in curling script, were the words:

If you are reading this, it means you're trying. And that means you're brave.

She pressed the page to her heart and whispered, "Maybe I'll stay."

She wasn't sure if she believed it yet.

But maybe.

Just maybe.

She wanted to.