Page 143 of Ghosts Don't Cry

"Not long." But something in his voice told me it had been longer than he wanted to admit.

We don’t talk about what we are in any definitive terms. We haven’t drawn lines around it. But it’ssomething.

It's in the way he reaches for my hand when he's distracted, like touching me steadies him. It's in the way I linger when it's getting late and I have school the next morning, waiting for him to ask me to stay or offer to come home with me.

In a lot of ways it’s different from before. We’re older, hopefully wiser. There’s no urgency or desperation born from knowing we’re running out of time. There’s just a slow rediscovery of everything we lost, and learning all the new things we’ve become.

I catch myself thinking about him in the quiet moments during class. The way his jaw tightens when he’s lost in thought, how he rubs the back of his neck when he’s avoiding something. How he carries himself like he expects the world to fight him—shoulders squared, chin lifted—but in the quiet moments, I can see the exhaustion he’s trying to hide, the fear that this has an end date.

There’s something else too. Something that’s been bothering me more with each passing day.

I haven’t seen him pick up a book or a notebook once in the two weeks we’ve spent together.

He always used to have something—an old paperback stuffed in a pocket, scribbled notes on scraps of paper. Words were his escape, his way of making sense of the world. But now? Now he seems to avoid them.

I think I noticed it the first time I went to his house, but it didn’t quite register. Those empty bookshelves, which should have been filled. When I asked if he’d started thinking aboutwhat books he wanted to fill them with, he’d changed the subject.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. I could be reading too much into it. But those things were a defining part of him, woven into who he was, and without them, I feel like I’m seeing only fragments.

I don’t know if it’s because he’s changed, or if it’s because he still doesn’t trust that this won’t end.

I wonder what he does with his time when I’m not there, and he’s not working on the house. Does he ever sit still, or does he force himself to keep moving? I wonder if he reaches for me when he wakes up alone, the same way I reach for him.

At lunch, I sit in the break room, picking at my sandwich, half-listening to my coworkers talk about their Thanksgiving plans.

“Are you going to your mom’s?” Claire asks.

I nod, though I haven’t actually decided yet. She’ll expect me there.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you taking a plus one … if you wanted to.”

I glance up. “What?”

“Come on, Lily. The whole school saw him pick you up yesterday.” She grins. “Very tall, very tattooed, very much looking at you like you hung the moon.”

Heat floods my face. “It’s … complicated.”

“Is it?” She tilts her head. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks pretty simple.”

I want to tell her she’s right. That itissimple. I love him, he cares about me, we should spend Thanksgiving together. But the words stick in my throat.

Because what if I ask and he says no? What if bringing him into my family is too much too soon? We haven’t talked about holidays or futures or what happens when his six months are up.In fact, we’ve carefully avoided anything that requires looking past a couple of days.

And maybe that’s my fault too. Maybe I’m just as scared as he is.

I glance at my phone, tempted to text him and ask, but uncertainty stops me. I don’t want to hear him say no. Or perhaps I’m scared of what it might mean if he says yes.

By the time nap time rolls around, my head is aching from the constant stream of noise, and questions and ‘Miss Gladwin, can you help me?’ but I still smile as I tuck blankets around drowsy bodies and dim the lights.

Settling at my desk, I lean back, closing my eyes, and let the quiet wash over me. And then my phone buzzes.

Ronan: Need to go see the lawyer later to hear about the final part of the will. Come with me?

I stare at the words, reading them twice, then three times. Slowly, a smile spreads across my face.

I know Edwards left him the house, a monthly income, and a trust fund he can access after the six months. Beyond that, Ronan says he has no idea what else is involved. But this invitation to find out with him feels big. It feels important.

I already know my answer before I type it.