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Hazel

Love ought to have been straightforward, shouldn’t it? At least, that was what I always imagined. You meet someone. You fall in love. You promise forever, and it all falls into place. But that wasn’t genuine love. At least, not the kind I knew. Genuine love? It was messy. It was terrifying. You decided to choose each other, even when fear and uncertainty arose. Even when the world felt too heavy to carry on your own.

Campbell Atwood had just told me he loved me. Not the perfect, polished version of me I’d kept locked away, but me . The messy, complicated, broken me. I stood before him, breathless, a heavy heart weighing me down. For so long, I’d convinced myself that love like that didn’t exist for people like me. I was unlovable. I was the second choice. A mistake. And now, here he was. Real. Flesh and bone. And he was telling me I was enough. I was it for him. A part of me yearned to trust him, but a cold dread held me back. Because love wasn’t just about words. Love was about action. A cold fear gripped me at the prospect of his waking up and realizing his error.

**

The next day, after hours of tossing and turning, my phone buzzed with a message from Campbell.

Campbell: Meet me outside in 10. Wear something warm.

I stared at the screen, my heart picking up its pace. I could make up an excuse—tell him I was busy, tell him I wasn’t ready—but I didn’t want to. I wanted to feel whatever it was we had, even if my heart was still a jumble of uncertainty.

I pulled on my coat, gloves, and boots. The chill in the air made me shiver as I stepped outside. The world was quiet; snowflakes drifted through the early morning light. My breath hung like little clouds of doubt as I spotted him leaning against his car, looking as handsome as ever. He turned when he saw me, and something in his eyes softened, like I was the only thing that mattered.

“Hey.” He said, his voice low, smooth.

“Hey.” I answered, my voice catching. I stopped in front of him, unsure of everything. “Where are we going?”

His lips twitched, the hint of a smile playing in the corners.

“You’ll see.”

We drove in silence, the hum of the car and the soft music from the radio filling the quiet spaces between us. My mind raced with a hundred different thoughts, but I didn’t ask. I just watched him—the way his fingers tapped against the wheel, how his jaw tightened when he thought I wasn’t looking. There was something about him that felt different that day—like he was carrying something heavy, but didn’t know how to share it.

When he pulled onto a familiar street, I felt a strange flutter in my stomach. I knew this place. The bookstore. The same one where I’d first bumped into him, the one I’d written about in my story. I swallowed hard, my throat dry as I glanced at him.

“Campbell, why are we here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he parked the car and turned to face me. His expression was unreadable, and that only made my nerves spike.

“Come on.” He said, opening his door.

I followed him, my boots crunching against the snow as I walked beside him, my heart racing. Every step felt like walking on the edge of something huge, something I wasn’t sure I was ready for. The bookstore was just as cozy as I remembered—warm lighting, the smell of paper and vanilla hanging in the air—but there was something different. Something alive. When I glanced up at him, he was watching me, and there was a strange intensity in his gaze, like he was holding something back.

“You always said you wanted a place of your own,” he started, his voice quieter than usual. “A place where your stories could live. A place that felt like home.”

My heart started pounding in my chest.

“Campbell-”

He exhaled, like the words he was about to say were the hardest thing he’d ever had to say.

“I bought it.” He said, his voice was thick with meaning.

I blinked, confusion swirling inside me.

“What?”

A hint of pink crept up his neck, his embarrassment evident, and in that moment, I realized just how much this meant to him, too.

“I bought the bookstore,” he repeated, his voice softer. “For you.”

The world tilted beneath me. Paralyzed by fear, I felt my legs weaken, certain that I was about to collapse onto the wooden floor.

“You—” My voice caught. “You bought a whole bookstore?”

“You said you were running out of space in your dorm.”

“So, you bought me a bookstore?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, then exhaled. “I wanted you to have something that was yours. A place where your stories could live. A place where you could live.”

My throat tightened.

“Campbell—”

“You don’t know what you did for me, Hazel,” he interrupted, voice rough. “Before you, hockey was the only thing that kept me from feeling like nothing. And then you came along and I wanted more. More than just being my father’s puppet. More than just a guy who skates and fights and lets no one in.” He took a step closer. “I don’t know if I believe in fate. But I know I believe in you. And if this is how I show you that, then so be it.”

My vision blurred.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Fill these shelves,” he whispered. “With every story you’ve ever dreamed of telling.” He intertwined our fingers. “Hazel,” he said, “I know I’m not perfect. I know I’ve messed up. But I need you to understand something.” He took a deep breath, his voice unwavering now. “I don’t just love you in words. I love you in action. I love you enough to prove it.”

Another tear slipped down my cheek, and this time, I didn’t hide it. I didn’t want to. I wanted him to see me with all my vulnerability. That was it. Right there. He wasn’t just saying it. He was showing me, choosing me in ways I never thought were possible. The storm inside me stilled, and for the first time, I felt something inside me crack open—the walls I’d built so high around me, falling away.

And without thinking, I moved into him. I launched myself into his arms, my face buried in the warmth of his jacket, and I didn’t care that we were standing in public, surrounded by onlookers. Because I loved him. I loved him with everything inside me. And for the first time in my life, I was letting myself believe it. I was letting myself believe in us. And nothing had ever felt more real. Campbell Atwood was my lighthouse, and I was his.