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Chapter Forty-Eight

Cameron

Four months later…

I lift my scarf to cover more of my face to shield it from the wind. It’s freezing today and smells like it’s going to snow. As I walk along the sidewalk, I dump my now-cold hot chocolate into the trash. There’s an art festival going on just a few blocks away. Not sure why I’m even going, considering I may end up with frostbite, but it’s something to do, I guess. I wouldn’t hate having more art to hang in my apartment. That’s been my new thing lately. Collecting art pieces to hang in my apartment, wanting it to feel more me . More like home. I’d considered moving, but I knew no matter where I went it wouldn’t feel like home unless I worked on it. So, instead of going through all the trouble of moving my things, I figured it’s easier to become a hoarder.

So far it’s working out well, even though my apartment looks like an art gallery threw up in it. Nothing matches, but it’s all pieces I like, that have spoken to me one way or another.

As I get closer, music gets louder, and the smell of fried food lingers in the air, causing my stomach to growl. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast this morning and it’s closer to dinner than lunch at this point.

I reach the corner and stop with the group of people to wait for the walking sign to turn on for us to cross. I get a few seconds of warmth, stuck between all these people. When the light changes, we hurry across the street, some going down the sidewalk while others, including myself, take the trail into the park where the festival is going on.

There are food trucks and a stage with a band, while vendors are set up around the perimeter, selling all sorts of stuff. There are paintings, glass blowings, wreaths, crochet stuffies, clothing… so many things. It’s amazing what you can find to do in New York if you just think outside the box a little.

The line for fried dough is long, but I head that way first, really wanting some. I imagine this place will get much busier and the lines will get longer once the after-work crowd shows up. I doom-scroll while I wait in line, and after twenty minutes, I make it to the window and order.

With a fried dough covered in powdered sugar, I make my way around to check out the vendors. I tend to be drawn to paintings, but nothing I’ve seen so far is speaking to me. I did see a really pretty wind chime, but I find the noise to be a little creepy—thanks to all the horror movies.

I come upon a cart full of stained glass pieces and fall in love with one of a camera. It’s small, and easy enough to carry in the backpack I have for just that reason. I manage to pay for it and get it into my bag, all while not dropping my food, but decide I should finish eating it if I’m going to keep shopping. I don’t want to ruin art with sugar and I don’t want to waste my food. This is so freaking good.

When I’m done eating, I keep walking around and stop at a cart full of black and white photography. There are so many beautiful pieces showcased, all from around New York. Not only the architecture but people too. However, there is one print that sticks out to me and I have to have it.

“How much is this one?” I ask, pointing to the one of the building I told Austen to buy. So weird that this person would have photographed that building, but he caught it in such a way that it’s eye-catching. It looks almost sad.

“Ten.”

I pull a ten from my wallet and hand it over, before putting the photograph in my backpack. I turn to keep browsing, happy I’m finding so many amazing things, when I bump right into someone.

“I’m so sorry—” I put my hand on their shoulder to steady them, and when they turn to look at me, the air is punched from my lungs.

“Cameron?”

Austen stands in front of me, cheeks red from the cold, his blue eyes as bright as ever. They always were so much brighter out in the natural light.

“Holy shit,” I mutter before a smile lights up my face. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he responds.

“Sorry, I uh…” I shake my head, in disbelief over him being here and that I literally bumped into him. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“There are a lot of people here.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty busy today.”

“You come to these often?”

I shrug. “Often enough, I guess. How have you been?”

My chest warms at seeing him, memories flooding me. I try not to be sad over what could have been with us, and just be happy that he’s here and not trying to strangle me. Dare I say he looks happy to see me?

“Pretty good,” he answers. “I’m living here now.”

“In New York?” My brows skyrocket.

He chuckles. “Yeah, have been for about a month or so.”

“Wow, I had no idea.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Is, uh… Are you—” I struggle to ask the question that’s been plaguing me for months. Austen smirks, just before he answers.

“We’re divorced. Officially, as of two weeks ago.”

“Congratulations?” I say with a nervous chuckle.

He laughs back, the sound full and genuine. He ducks his head, his dirty blonde hair getting windswept in the process. “It’s for the best. We weren’t meant to be.”

No, you weren’t… I knew it from the beginning.

“Are you hanging around for a bit?” I ask.

He lifts his wrist to look at his watch— the watch. The one I bought him all those years ago. He still has it, still wears it. It shouldn’t make my heart so happy, but fuck… he still has it .

“I have somewhere to be in about an hour, but I’m free until then.”

“Cool.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “You wanna walk together for a bit?”

His eyes shine with humor, his lips pulling up into a grin. “I’d like that.”

Thank fuck.

I grin in return, and we walk down the path, scoping out the different vendors we pass. We browse but nothing catches our eye enough to purchase, and I definitely don’t mention the shot I had just bought of the building he was looking at buying. I am curious though… if he’s here, living here, where is he working? What did he decide on? I’ve walked by that building so many times over the last few months, sometimes not on purpose but a lot of times on purpose. I needed to know if he went through with it, if he was there, if he decided to come back, or if he was staying with her…

I was tempted to find out, to reach out to someone back at home and see if they could fill me in on the gossip, but I decided I was better off not knowing.

I stopped calling him about two months ago. I couldn’t do it anymore. I needed to move on. Did I? No, not entirely, but I’d accepted the fact that I would never fully move on from Austen Brewer. And somehow… here he is again. I can’t tell if this is fate’s way of giving us another chance or if it enjoys tormenting me. Whatever it is, if I get another shot with Austen, I will not fuck it up. I won’t.

We walk around the festival in mostly silence, only chatting when we see something interesting, and it feels almost comfortable. Like time hasn’t passed at all, but I know it has. I want to ask him a million questions, see how he’s really been doing, see if he’s okay. There’s so many things I want to ask about his life, but I can’t cross a line. I fucked up, and though I’ve apologized through texts a hundred times, I’ve never had the opportunity to really apologize. And now isn’t the time for that.

“I’ve got to get going,” Austen says once we’ve finished our third walk around the park.

“Yeah, okay. It was nice seeing you.”

He gives me a strange smile, not saying anything and not moving. It’s a little awkward and I wonder if I have something on my face.

“Do you think we could… hang out sometime?” he asks carefully.

My brow furrows and I look behind me, then back at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah…”

“Fuck yeah, we can.”

He chuckles. “Do you have the same number?”

“I do.”

He takes a step back, raising his hand in a goodbye. “I’ll text you.”

All I can do is nod. My chest gets so warm I can hardly breathe.

He’s going to text me…

He takes another step back before turning around, and walking away. With his shoulders hunched to keep the cold air out, I watch until he disappears.

Holy shit. He’s going to text me. I can only hope the third time will be a charm and not my undoing.