“I don’t know.”
I’d never said those three words with so much weight behind them. I didn’t know how to be the person whodidn’t know.
“You always know,” June said, like she could read that thought from my face.
“I used to,” I said quietly.
We sat in silence. Not heavy. Not tense.
Just honest.
Later,I walked down to the harbor again.
I didn’t mean to find Nate. But of course, he was there—doing something competent with a winch and a coil of rope and making it look annoyingly effortless.
He looked up when he saw me. Didn’t wave. Just smiled like he’d been expecting me.
“Trouble in paradise?” he asked.
“More like paradise just got a job offer from Boston.”
He leaned against the post. “Is that a metaphor?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Are you thinking about going?”
I didn’t answer.
He wiped his hands on a rag, slow and steady. Then said, “You don’t look like someone who wants to leave.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s allowed, you know.”
“Not for me.”
He looked at me for a long time. “You’re allowed to want things that don’t fit in a spreadsheet, Harper.”
“I don’t know how.”
He stepped closer, just enough to make my breath hitch. “Then maybe stop trying to do it perfectly.”
I swallowed. “What if I’m not good at anything else?”
“Then you start learning.”
He didn’t try to touch me.
But something between us cracked open anyway.
Back at the house,Willa was painting on the back porch; some wild, bright canvas that looked like grief and joy and summer all exploded in one place.
“Want to weigh in on color theory?” she asked without looking up.
“I got an offer,” I said.
She set down her brush.
