Page 20

Her smile faltered, just slightly. Enough to make my chest tighten. “That’s not fair,” she said, voice almost too quiet for the crowd around us.

“Neither are you.”

She didn’t answer, but the look she gave me. It could’ve stopped time.

The donuts arrived—steaming, golden, and sugar-dusted. She took one, bit into it, and actually moaned.

“Fucking heaven!” She mumbled through a mouthful, eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

I tried mine. Warm dough. Melted sugar. Ridiculous. “Alright, you win,” I said, licking sugar from my thumb. “They’re actually unreal. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” She reached over, brushing a smudge of sugar from the corner of my mouth with her thumb, slow and deliberate. Her fingers lingered. “You missed a spot.”

My breath caught. “You’re kind of dangerous, you know that?”

“And you’re adorable when you’re messy.”

“Careful, Ells. I might just fall for you.”

Her grin slipped into something softer. She didn’t say it back. But she didn’t let go of my hand, either.

Later, we sat on the grass with our backs to the sunset, shoulders touching, paper boxes empty at our feet. Her head tilted to rest against mine.

“Best week of my life,” she whispered.

I said nothing at first. Just let that truth hang between us. “Mine too,” I said eventually. And in that moment, I could’ve stayed there with her forever.

The memory fades, but the feeling lingers. Soft around the edges, like a dream that doesn’t want to let go.

I blink, the sunlight sharp against the van’s exterior. There’s a line, but it moves fast. When it’s my turn, I step forward and clear my throat. “Two, please.”

The woman behind the window nods, already reaching for the tongs. “Still warm,” she says with a smile.

I nod, as I take the paper box she hands over.

I walk a few steps, tearing a piece off the first one before I even sit down. The noise of the crowd hums around me, the buzz of summer still in the air. But all I can hear is her voice. All I can see is her smile.

I lean back against the bench, wiping my fingers on a napkin I don’t remember grabbing, and watch the breeze dance through the bunting overhead.

I don’t know what that memory means anymore. Whether it was the beginning of something or just a beautiful detour. Whether I was just lucky to have it, or stupid for ever thinking it could last.

But I know one thing.

She mattered.

And no matter what happens now… she still does.

The walk back to the hotel is slow and unhurried. I’ve got my hood up and my hands buried in my pockets. One of those unpredictable summer nights where the heat gives up all at once, and the air turns sharp around the edges.

The noise from the park fades behind me, swallowed by the low sweep of distant traffic and the occasional burst of laughter drifting from an open window.

I pass shuttered cafés, their chairs stacked and signs flipped to closed, corner shops buzzing with neon, and takeaways spilling warm light onto the pavement.

The entire street feels like it’s holding its breath.

Caught in that strange, in-between hour where the day hasn’t ended, but it’s already starting to exhale.

By the time I reach the hotel, the weight of the afternoon catches up with me. Not just the hours on my feet, the rehearsals, and the shoot, but everything else. The memory. That feeling I haven’t quite named, sitting just behind my ribs.

The room is plain and functional. Crisp white sheets, blackout curtains, a desk no one uses. I flick on the bathroom light, peel off my shirt, and step under the shower. The heat loosens the knots in my back, steam curling around me until the glass fogs over.

Ten minutes later, I’m in sweatpants and a loose tee, beer in hand, sprawled across the hotel’s stiff little sofa with the TV playing football highlights.

I’m mid-sip of beer when my phone buzzes, and Ellie’s name lights up the screen.

Ells [21:07]

Hey, you up?

I don't even hesitate.

Always. You okay?

The reply takes a moment. I sit forward, resting my elbows on my knees, phone loose in my hands.

Ells [21:10]

Can I call?

Of course.

The ringtone barely gets through one full cycle before I answer.

“Hey, you,” I say softly, leaning forward, the beer now forgotten on the coffee table.

There’s a pause. Just long enough to make my heart knock a little harder in my chest. Then her voice filters through. Quiet, a bit worn, almost thin around the edges.

“Hey.” She sounds tired.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice instinctively gentler. “You sound…”

“Shit?” she finishes with a soft, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Accurate.”

I sit up straighter, elbows on my knees, phone pressed tight to my ear.

“I’m just… knackered.” She continues. “The hospital was manic, then I did a shift at Brenda’s, I’ve got three uni deadlines breathing down my neck, Mia’s at her dad’s, David’s working away again, and the house is a shit hole.”

She pauses, the silence stretching. “Sorry. Verbal diarrhoea. I should come with a warning label.”

“It’s okay, Ellie.” I chuckle. “I’m glad you called. I’m always here, you know that, right?”

“I know,” she murmurs. “It’s just hard sometimes. I don’t know where the line is between venting and over sharing anymore. I feel like I’m always ‘too much’ or not enough, and I…” She stops herself. Breathes.

“Hey. Don’t do that. You’re never too much.”

There’s a beat. Then she asks, “How was your day?”

I give her the short version. Rehearsals. Photoshoot. The usual chaos. She listens, quiet and steady, on the other end.

“I’m so happy for you all,” she says after a moment. “Really. You’ve worked so hard. And it’s… it’s amazing, what you’ve achieved. I hope you know that.”

I swallow, her words catching in my throat.

“Thank you,” I say, quieter than I meant to.

I go quiet for a second, soaking that in. I don’t know if she realises how much it means hearing that from her. But I don’t push it. Just let it settle between us.

Then I feel her pulling back a little. That shift. The way her voice gets lighter, like she’s building a wall out of casual words.

“Ellie,” I breathe. “Are you okay?”

Another pause. This one longer. Then, softly, cracked at the edges: “I’m just… burnt out, I guess. It’s like I’m spinning plates, and every single one’s about to smash.”

My heart aches at the sound of her unravelling. “And David?” I ask carefully.

“We’re fine,” she says. But something in the way she says it doesn’t ring true. “His job has him working away more often these last few months, so I guess I’m just feeling it more with him being away almost every weekend.”

Fine . That cursed, loaded word.

I want to reach through the phone and tell her she deserves way more than fine. More than exhaustion and silence, and feeling like she’s carrying everything alone. But I hold my tongue.

“You’re never alone, Ellie.” I say instead. “You’ve got people around you. People who care. I’m one of them. Even when I’m at the other side of the country.”

She doesn’t answer right away, but I hear the shift in her breathing. She’s letting something go. Just a little. “Thank you, Kieran,” she says softly.

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Anytime, Ellie.”

I sense the heaviness still clinging to her, so I shift gears. I want to give her something lighter. Something that might make her laugh. “Guess what I thought I saw today.”

“What?”

“Remember that donut van you were obsessed with?”

She gasps, full and delighted. “No! Shut up.”

“It wasn’t the same one, but it got me for a minute.”

“Please tell me you got one.”

“Two. Obviously.”

She laughs dramatically. “You’re the worst.”

That sound. God , I miss that sound. It’s like a window cracking open on a stuffy day. Clean air. Sunshine. The smallest breath of something I don’t want to name too soon.

The night wraps itself around us like a blanket.

Her voice dips lower as she grows sleepier, more languid with each breath.

I don’t rush it. I don’t push. We talk until the city quiets outside the window.

Until the football highlights end. Until the clock blinks past midnight and neither of us wants to hang up.

We talk about the tour, Mia, and her dissertation stress. We circle old memories and tease at new ones. We don’t define it.

It’s just… us. And it’s perfect.

Eventually, she murmurs, “I should go to sleep. Got an early shift in the morning.”

“Alright,” I say, though part of me doesn’t want the call to end.

There’s a pause, and then… “I’m glad I called.”

“Me too.”

“Night, Hayes.”

My lips tug into a smile. “Night, Carter.”

The line goes quiet. I don’t move right away, just sit there in the dim hotel light, the phone still warm in my hand.

My heart does that stupid thing it always does after her. Soft around the edges, a little tangled, a little too hopeful for its own good.

Confused.

But reaching anyway.