Page 58 of Until the Storm Breaks

“I mean we barely talked about it,” Maren corrects quickly, almost apologetically. “And like I said, it’s not... I don’t really write anymore.”

“Everyone needs a reader,” Adrian says, and now he’s looking directly at me. “Someone to help them see what’s working. You remember what that’s like, don’t you, Calvin? Having someone believe in your work?”

I remember. I remember the professor who first encouraged me. The editor who took a chance. The feeling of someone seeing something in your words worth nurturing. And I remember how rare that is, how precious. Adrian’s offering her something real.

“That’s generous of you,” I manage.

“Well, talent should be encouraged.” He finally pushes off from the bar. “Think about Thursday, Maren. And definitely call Jennifer. She’ll want to move quickly on your situation.”

He heads for the door, pausing beside me. Too close. “Calvin. Always a pleasure.”

The words are friendly. The tone is not.

After he’s gone, the bar feels too quiet. Maren’s still wipingdown the same spot, avoiding my eyes. The afternoon sun slants through the windows, catching the dust motes in the air.

“So,” I say. “Poetry readings.”

She shrugs, still not looking at me. “He’s trying to be nice.”

“He’s trying to be more than nice.”

“And that’s a problem because...?” She finally looks at me, challenge in her eyes.

Because I want to be the one helping you. Because I hate that he can offer you things I can’t. Because the thought of you with him makes me want to break things.

“It’s not a problem,” I lie. The words taste bitter.

“Why are you here, Calvin?”

The question catches me off guard. Not accusatory, just tired. Like she’s too worn down for whatever this is.

“I was driving by and wanted to check if you needed anything. For the memorial planning.”

“Everything’s under control.” She moves down the bar, putting distance between us, and pulls out a notepad from beneath the register. The pages flutter as she flips through them, all covered in her neat handwriting. Lists upon lists. “The rental company confirmed the extra chairs. I’ve got all the alcohol ordered. Double-checked with the distributor this morning. Theo and Alex are on track with the food.”

“Good. That’s good.”Say something else. Say what you came to say.

She sets her pen down with a soft click and looks at me directly. “Why’d you really stop by?”

I run a hand through my hair, searching for words that don’t sound insane. “I saw Adrian’s car and I just… I got worried. That he’d cornered you alone or something.”

Her eyebrows rise. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know that,” I say, softer now, trying to make her understand. “You just shouldn’t always have to.”

Something shifts in her expression. More defensive, walls going up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re always handling everything alone,” I say, frustration leaking into my voice despite my efforts to stay calm. My hands grip the edge of the bar. “The bar, the cabin situation, everyone’s problems. You were there for my mom this whole last year, even before she got really sick, helping take care of her when I wasn’t here. You carry this entire town on your shoulders.”

“That’s my job,” she says, fully defensive now.

“No, running the bar is your job. Being everyone’s emotional support system is something you took on because no one else would.”

Her eyes flash. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” I move closer without meaning to. “When’s the last time someone took care of you, Maren? When’s the last time youletthem?”

Her eyes flash, angry now. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”