Page 19 of Second Chance with the Half-Elf

EVIE

T he first rule of surviving a parade float build with a five-year-old? Surrender your pride at the door and accept that glitter glue will find its way into your socks.

The second? Don’t fight the chaos. Embrace it like it’s a lifestyle choice.

“Miss Evie,” Jamie says solemnly, holding out a paper-maché tentacle that’s somehow both too floppy and too sharp, “do you think sea monsters like sparkles or bones?”

“Honestly?” I squint at the monstrosity that is our float centerpiece. “Probably both. Glittery bones. Very fashion-forward.”

Jamie’s whole face lights up. “I knew it!”

He scurries off to the glue station—aka Rowan’s folding table covered in butcher paper and hot glue guns of death—and I take a breath before disaster inevitably strikes.

We’re tucked in the back lot behind The Gilded Page, surrounded by milk crates, boxes of costume scraps, and a suspiciously sagging papier-maché kraken head that might be sentient at this point.

Liara’s supervising the paint station with a cigarette tucked behind one ear and her playlist bumping something jazzy and chaotic.

I brush dried glue off my jeans and grab a towel that’s already seen too much.

It’s a good kind of mess. Loud and sticky and distracting.

Exactly what I need.

“You’re better at this than you let on,” Rowan says, walking over with two iced teas and that look—soft but knowing. The one that’s gotten me into more trouble than tequila ever did.

I take the tea with a grunt. “Don’t get used to it.”

She grins. “Too late. Jamie’s already plotting your full-time float captainship.”

“Nope.” I point at her. “You birthed him. You deal with the tentacles.”

Before she can come back with something smart, Jamie reappears, cheeks flushed and glitter-coated fingers holding a roll of duct tape like it’s a sacred relic.

“Miss Evie,” he asks, “is Aeron your boyfriend?”

My brain flatlines.

Rowan chokes on her tea.

I stare at Jamie. “What?”

He blinks. “You look at him like he’s your favorite jellybean. Mama says that means something.”

“Oh my God,” I mutter.

Rowan turns away, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

I kneel down, grasping for words that aren’t lies or confusing truths. “Aeron and I... we’re complicated.”

Jamie tilts his head. “Like spaghetti?”

“Exactly.” I exhale. “Messy and hard to untangle and sometimes burns your mouth.”

He nods, clearly satisfied with that answer, and darts back to his float.

Rowan leans in, still snorting. “Spaghetti, huh?”

I glare. “Shut up.”

But the warmth in my chest lingers, strange and terrifying.

And maybe just a little... hopeful.

By the time we finish, the sky’s a watercolor of deepening blue, streaked with pink and lavender. The parade float is somehow both horrifying and magnificent—giant googly eyes, scale-patterned fabric, and what might be a flamingo glued to a sea serpent tail.

Jamie’s declared it “The Sea Snuggle Monster,” and I can’t argue with that.

He’s bundled into Rowan’s car with promises of bedtime stories and no more glitter, leaving me behind to clean up.

The air smells like hot glue, sea salt, and dusk.

I’m stuffing paper scraps into a trash bag when I hear footsteps behind me—steady, familiar.

I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.

“Evening,” Aeron says, voice like rough driftwood and something deeper beneath.

I glance over my shoulder. “You lost or just stalking my glitter trail?”

His mouth lifts—just a little. “Came to check on the float. Make sure the monster population isn’t offended.”

“Only slightly,” I say. “The pink flamingo was Jamie’s creative vision.”

He steps closer, hands tucked in his back pockets, posture easy. Too easy. Like he hasn’t haunted every damn inch of my dreams lately.

“You walking home?” he asks.

I nod, hesitating. “Yeah. Figured I’d take the boardwalk. Air’s good tonight.”

He falls into step beside me without asking.

We walk in silence, the kind that isn’t uncomfortable—just full. The kind that holds words not yet spoken.

The boardwalk’s mostly empty, lanterns strung above us glowing soft and golden. Waves slap gently against the pilings below, the scent of saltwater threading through the wood.

I glance sideways. “You always this quiet?”

“Only when I don’t want to say something I can’t take back.”

My chest tightens. “That a warning?”

He shakes his head, eyes on the horizon. “A promise.”

We stop at the railing near the end, right where the planks creak like they remember our weight from years ago.

He leans on it, arms folded, and I match him, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching.

The tension’s there. Buzzing. I could almost swear it’s humming in the air between us.

“I saw you with Jamie,” he says quietly. “He thinks you’re cool.”

“I gave him sugar and validated his monster lore. Of course he does.”

Aeron smiles—real, soft. “He’s not wrong.”

I laugh, too quick, too sharp. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not.” His gaze cuts sideways. “But I could.”

Silence again.

He shifts slightly, bringing us closer. His arm brushes mine. Just a whisper.

And suddenly I’m hyperaware of everything—his warmth, the way he smells like cedar and tide, and the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

I swallow hard. “This... whatever this is... How do I do it without screwing it up?”

His voice is low. Steady. “Don’t do it alone.”

My heart is a riot in my chest.

“I keep waiting for the part where this goes sideways,” I whisper.

“Maybe it won’t.”

“Maybe it will.”

“Then we hold on tighter.”

I turn to face him.

He’s already looking at me.

The air crackles.

For a second, I think—maybe. Maybe I’ll lean in. Maybe he will.

Then his hand brushes mine, just barely, fingers curling slow until our pinkies hook.

And somehow that’s worse.

I don’t move.

Neither does he.

The moment stretches, fragile as sea glass.

Then I exhale.

“You should walk me home,” I say.

His voice rumbles low. “Already am.”

We don’t speak much as we head down the last stretch.

Just the sound of waves. Our footsteps.

Our hands brush once more.

But neither of us reaches.

Not yet.

But damn if it doesn’t feel close.

Close enough to taste.