Chapter twenty-one
Emma
The rhythmic scrape of sandpaper against wood fills the quiet, the repetitive motion grounding me. I push forward, smoothing out the surface of Grandma’s old coffee table, the one she always wanted to refinish but never got the chance to. The scent of sawdust and salt lingers in the air, mixing with the fresh paint fumes from the bookshelves Bryan finished last night.
The house is almost done. It’s strange. The thing that once felt like a burden, this unfinished place, these renovations now feel like a homecoming. A way to close the past and step into something new. Or maybe, step into something familiar.
I exhale, forcing the thought aside just as Stella strides in, a clipboard in hand and her usual no-nonsense energy crackling around her.
"Okay, so for the clinic…" she begins, scanning her notes. "We need to finalize the shelving and decide if we’re going custom or ordering pre-built. Also, the exam table situation, do we go adjustable or basic?"
I nod, wiping my forehead with the back of my wrist. “Adjustable would be better in the long run. Might as well…”
The words vanish from my lips as Bryan walks through. He barely does anything, just passes through the open archway, toolbelt slung low on his hips, his white T-shirt slightly damp from whatever he’s been working on outside.
He nods in our direction, absently adjusting a strap on his belt as he heads toward the kitchen. I can’t stop staring. The way his jeans fit just right, how his forearms flex as he tugs at the strap, the easy, confident way he moves like he belongs here like he’s always belonged here.
My heart gives an embarrassing little skip. I should look away. I should focus on Stella’s list, the clinic, the renovations. I don’t. I track him until he disappears, my stomach twisting in ways I don’t want to acknowledge.
"Busted."
I blink, snapping out of my daze, and whip my gaze back to Stella, who’s grinning.
"What?" I ask, too quickly.
Her smirk deepens. “Caught you staring.”
I scoff, heat crawling up my neck. “I was zoning out.”
Stella folds her arms, still grinning like she just won something. “Oh sure. Zoning out, directly at Bryan. Who, by the way, is ridiculously good-looking and completely obsessed with you.”
I grip the sandpaper too tight. “He’s not…”
“Oh, he is. And more importantly…” She tilts her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re into him. Again.”
I shake my head, returning my focus to the table, sanding furiously. “I am not.”
“Emma.” Stella’s voice turns knowing, softer. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I see it. And he does too.”
I clench my jaw, my hands tightening around the sander as I work faster, more forceful than necessary. Because she’s right. I feel it.
This past month has been… effortless. Bryan is everywhere, helping with the house, with the clinic, pulling me into stolen moments that make my heart stumble. The boat, the fair, the cliffside, the swing, each memory layers over the past like a patch sewn into something worn and loved.
But love? I don’t know if I can name it that yet. I don’t know if I’m ready. Because in just a few weeks, this ends.
The renovations will be done. The three-month agreement will be over. I’ll have my clinic, my future, my independence. And Bryan? He was never part of the plan.
"Emma." Stella nudges my foot with hers, voice softer now. "What are you so afraid of?"
I stop sanding. My fingers loosen around the paper, my pulse loud. The answer presses against my ribs, a whisper I don’t want to admit. Because if I let myself love him again… and he’s the one who leaves this time… I won’t recover.
I clear my throat, forcing a lightness into my voice that I don’t feel. “I’m just focused on the clinic right now. That’s all.”
Stella sighs, unconvinced but merciful enough to let it drop. “Fine. Stay in denial. But when he kisses you again and you don’t pull away? Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”
She winks, then turns back to the clipboard, talking about shelving options like she didn’t just crack me wide open.
I nod along, but my mind is elsewhere on Bryan’s voice drifting from the kitchen, on the way my heart kicked when he looked at me, on the way Stella’s words cling like salt to my skin.
She’s right. I am falling for him again. And I don’t know what to do about it.
***
The living room glows golden with the fading afternoon sun, stretching long, warm streaks across the wooden floor. Buddy thumps his tail lazily against the couch, completely unbothered by the world, and for a moment, everything is still. Peaceful.
And then Bryan walks in, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. I raise a brow immediately, already suspicious. “What?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he drops a box onto the coffee table with a loose ribbon tied around it.
“Got you something,” he says, nodding toward it.
I blink, glancing at the package, then back at him. Bryan isn’t the random gift-giving type. Sure, he’s been sweet unbelievably so these past few weeks but this? It feels different. Intentional.
I hesitate. “What is this?”
He shrugs, too casual. “Open it and see.”
A part of me wants to refuse. Because accepting gifts from Bryan feels dangerous. Feels like giving in to something I’m still terrified to name. But curiosity gets the better of me, and I carefully pull the ribbon free, lifting the lid. Soft blue fabric spills over my fingers.
My breath catches as I lift the dress from the box, light, elegant, beautiful. A pair of matching heels sit underneath, delicate but practical enough that I won’t break my neck wearing them.
“Bryan… I can’t accept this.” My voice wavers as I shake my head. “This is too much.”
His eyes soften. “It’s not too much. It’s part of the night. Please?”
There’s something about the way he says it, something almost nervous in his tone that has me faltering. This isn’t just a dress. It’s an invitation, into whatever tonight is supposed to be.
And I want to know what that is. I exhale, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Where are we going?”
His smirk returns. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”
Those words undo me. Because for the first time in years, I do. So, I swallow my hesitation, grab the box, and head upstairs.
By the time I emerge, the dress hugs me perfectly. It’s like it was made for me, skimming just above my knees, floating like something out of a dream. I barely recognize myself in the mirror, and for the first time in a long time, I feel beautiful.
When I step back into the living room, Bryan’s eyes widen and I think I see his jaw drop, just a bit.
His gaze sweeps over me, slow, appreciative, and my skin heats under the attention. He doesn’t say anything at first, just takes me in, and when he finally steps forward, offering his arm, my heart stumbles.
“Shall we?”
I almost laugh at his formality, but I slip my hand into the crook of his arm anyway, ignoring the flutter in my stomach when my fingers graze solid muscle.
Bryan, for his part, looks unbelievable. A crisp button-up stretches across broad shoulders, his usual scruff neatly trimmed. His hair is combed back, but still messy enough to be undeniably him. And the scent of cedar and something subtly sweet clings to him, pulling me in before I can stop myself.
As we step out onto the porch, I let the words slip before I can stop them. “You clean up nice.”
He smirks, eyes flicking to me. “I was about to say the same thing.”
When the car finally pulls up to the restaurant, my breath catches.
Maryville Ristorante.
I stare as Bryan parks, the warm glow of twinkling lights spilling out from the rustic, charming place that had once been our dream date spot when we were kids. Back then, it had been just a fantasy, a place we imagined going to someday. And now, we’re here.
I turn to Bryan, stunned. “You remembered this too?” His expression softens. “Of course, I did.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Because it means something. It means a lot. That after all these years, through everything, he still remembers literally everything. It is like I never left.
The restaurant is cozy, intimate. A checkered tablecloth stretches across our candlelit table, soft music drifting through the air. Wine glows in delicate glasses, the flickering candlelight catching in Bryan’s green eyes as he watches me from across the table.
It feels easy. Natural. Dangerously right.
We talk about the renovations, the clinic, Buddy’s latest antics. And then, somewhere between the laughter and the wine, the conversation shifts.
Bryan lifts his glass, eyes warm, steady. “To us.”
The words send a shiver down my spine. I hesitate before lifting mine, my voice barely above a whisper. “To us.” The glasses clink, the sound small, but in this moment, it feels deafening.
Then, before I can think too hard, before I can let the fear creep in, I speak. “I used to wonder, you know. What we would have been. If I had stayed.”
Bryan watches me carefully. He sets his glass down, fingers grazing the stem in thoughtful silence. Then, he nods. “Me too. Every day.”
My heart twists. Every day? “But I’m glad we have this now,” I add. “Glad we’re getting a second chance.”
He only smiles in response. I wonder if it's all in my head that we are starting something again. I exhale, my pulse thudding in my ears. Because this moment, this night it’s feels right and that's all that matters.
Our hands brush on the table. The touch lingers. And for the first time, I let it. There is nothing better than enjoying the moment. Bryan makes sure of that.