Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Meadow

I can't believe the gallery opening is this weekend. I'm rushing around, trying to get all the last-minute details in place, feeling like a chicken with its head cut off. The exhaustion seeps into my bones. Between prepping for the opening and helping with the festival, I'm spread so thin I feel like I could snap in two.

At least working on the festival has given me time with Raffa. We've managed to steal moments here and there, and every stolen kiss leaves me wanting more. The truth is, I'm falling for him—hard. And it terrifies me. Where do I stand? I have no idea, maybe nowhere and this is just for fun.

Grandma insists he feels something for me, it's in his eyes. His eyes are always brooding and his jaw clenching ninety percent of the time, but she's wise and shit so I want to believe her.

Though, deep down I know his stay in Kentbury isn't much longer. Rumors are swirling that he's opening a law firm next door to the gallery. I haven't had the courage to ask him, though. I'm scared he'll say it's just that—a rumor. I'm scared he'll leave. Not just for me, but for his health too.

I'm setting myself up for heartbreak, and I know it. But there's something about Raffa I can't resist. It's not just the physical attraction—although those stolen kisses aren't enough anymore. It's everything about him. He listens. He cares. And the more I'm around him, the more I want him.

But what happens when he leaves? What happens when he goes back to Boston, back to the life that nearly killed him? I don't know if I can handle my heart being broken again, especially not after Bryce, and yet, here I am, letting myself fall anyway.

As I place a potted plant in the perfect spot, the bell over the door jingles, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn, and there he is. Raffa. His hands are full—coffee in one, a bag from his grandmother's bakery in the other.

"Well, this is a surprise," I say, my heart doing its usual flip-flop whenever he's around. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I take the coffee and the bag, my eyes lingering on him. He looks . . . off. His eyes are dull, the light usually there seems snuffed out, and the dark circles under them make my stomach twist in concern.

The usual easy charm he carries is nowhere to be seen. Something's wrong. My gut tells me it's more than just a bad day. I place the coffee and the muffin on the counter, suddenly not hungry. I step closer, reaching out to touch his arm in a gesture of comfort, but he pulls away, stepping back.

"Raffa, what's wrong?" My voice is soft, but the worry bleeds through. "Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?"

He clenches his jaw, his eyes avoiding mine. Whatever it is, it's big. I can see it in the way his whole body seems to be holding back, like he's ready to explode but doesn't want to hurt me in the process.

"Please," I say, stepping closer, trying again. "Just tell me what's going on. You're scaring me."

He takes a breath, then finally speaks, his voice low and strained. "I might have to go back to Boston sooner than I thought. I don't think I'll be here for your opening night."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My chest tightens, and I feel a rush of disappointment, quickly followed by anger. After everything, after watching him struggle with his health, he's going back to what nearly killed him?

"After all the time you've spent here, resting and healing, you're just going to jump right back into the same thing that almost—" I stop, my voice catching. I don't want to say it, but we both know what I mean.

"It's not that simple, Meadow," he says, his voice quieter now. "I wasn't expecting this. Something's come up, and I'm needed back there. If there was someone else who could handle it, I'd let them, but there isn't."

"It is that simple," I argue, stepping forward, my frustration bubbling over. "You need to start prioritizing what really matters. What's more important? This so-called emergency or your health?"

He clenches his fists, his eyes flashing with anger. I've struck a nerve, and part of me doesn't care. He needs to hear it. He needs to start taking care of himself.

"I care about my health, Meadow, but I can't just stay here indefinitely. I've got responsibilities, a firm to run. I can't just open a new one here without dealing with the one in Boston. I need to close that chapter before I can start something new."

I stare at him, trying to figure out what he's really saying. Is this about the law firm, or is it about us? "You should go, Raffa. You've got a trip to plan, and I have an opening to get ready for." My voice sounds cold, even to me, but I don't know what else to say.

"Meadow, this isn't what I wanted. I don't want you upset with me," he says, stepping closer, his voice softer now. "I just have to deal with this, but I'll be back."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." My voice cracks, and I hate it. I hate how vulnerable I feel right now. "If I hear you're back in the hospital because you couldn't stop working yourself into the ground or . . ."

"I'll come back," he says, reaching for me again. "I promise, no bacon, cookies or overworking."

I shake my head, stepping back. "Don't say that unless you mean it, Raffa. Don't say it just to make me feel better."

He watches me, his eyes filled with regret, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he takes one last look at me before turning and walking out the door. The bell jingles cheerfully as he leaves, but I feel anything but cheerful.

Once he's gone, I slide down the wall, wrapping my arms around my knees, trying to breathe. I pray he doesn't end up back in the hospital. I pray he learns to stop hurting himself before it's too late. But I can't help him. Not if he doesn't want to help himself.