Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

Rose

A heavy silence fills Levi’s truck as we drive toward the airport, broken only by the soft patter of rain against the windshield and the rhythmic sweep of windshield wipers. His familiar scent surrounds me – salt, cedar, and something wild that reminds me of storm-tossed waves. My throat aches with unshed tears, but I keep my expression bright and determined, like we’re discussing weekend plans instead of goodbye. It’s the same face I’ve perfected over the last two days – the one that says I’m fine, we’re fine, everything will be fine – even as my heart feels like it’s being slowly torn in two.

I force myself to keep smiling, even as I count down the miles with each passing road sign. Forty-three miles left. Forty-two. The gray morning feels appropriate, as if the weather understands what it means to say goodbye to someone you love. I fidget with the sleeve of his flannel shirt that I’m wearing – the one I stole from his closet this morning, trying to capture a piece of him to take with me. The fabric still smells like him, and I wonder how long it will take before that fades.

We can make this work. We have to make this work. I repeat the words like a mantra, trying to believe them even as my heart rebels against the idea of leaving. My fingers trace the small kraken pendant Levi gave me last night – silver and delicate, our secret hidden in plain sight – and I try to draw strength from it, from the promise it represents.

“I can probably get out here again next month,” I say, my voice coming out steadier than I feel. “If I use my credit card miles for the flight, it won’t be too expensive. And maybe I could even do some weekend trips – leave Friday night, come back Sunday evening.”

The words tumble out faster and faster, like if I just keep talking, I can hold reality at bay. Keep pretending that the past two days haven’t slipped through my fingers like water, even though we’d tried to savor every moment. Even though we’d barely left his bed, mapping each other’s bodies with desperate hands and whispered promises, as if we could store up enough touches to last until we could be together again.

Levi reaches across the console and threads his fingers through mine, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry I can’t come visit you,” he says softly, pain etching his features. “Being too far from the ocean… I wouldn’t survive. And Santa Fe—” He shakes his head, the words catching. “It’s about as far from the sea as possible.”

The truth of it sits heavy in my chest. Two thousand miles of land between my home and the nearest coast. A vast desert expanse that might as well be an impassable barrier for Levi.

“I’ll help with plane tickets whenever you can make it out here,” he continues, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my palm. “However often you want to come. There will always be room for you in my home.”

“Plus, we can do calls every day,” I add quickly, trying to focus on solutions instead of the ache in my chest. “Video calls. Morning and night, if we want. And texts throughout the day. Maybe you could even set up your tablet on your deck or at the beach sometimes so that you can shift forms, and I can see your kraken self too.”

“Every hour,” he promises, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “Every minute.”

I laugh, but it comes out watery. “That might make it hard to get any work done.”

“Worth it,” he says, and my heart clenches at the rough emotion in his voice.

The airport appears far too soon, its stark buildings a harsh reminder of our reality. Levi parks in the short-term lot instead of dropping me at the curb, and I’m pathetically grateful for even these few extra minutes.

Dread builds in my body as each step brings us closer to goodbye. He carries my bag until we reach security, his fingers laced through mine. When he pulls me into his arms, I breathe him in deeply, drawing in his scent – a smell that now means home, safety, and love. His arms tighten around me, as if he could keep me here by strength of will alone.

“I love you,” he whispers against my hair. “Both parts of me love you so much.”

The tears I’ve been fighting all morning finally spill over. “I love you too. All of you.”

The kiss starts gentle but grows desperate, and I taste the salt of my tears between us. His hands come up to cradle my face, thumbs sweeping across my damp cheeks in a futile attempt to stem the flow. I close my eyes and try to burn every sensation into my memory – the careful strength in his touch, the slight rasp of his callused fingers against my skin, the soft sound he makes in his throat when I melt against him.

When we finally break apart, his forehead rests against mine, and I open my eyes to find his ocean-blue ones watching me with such tenderness it makes my heart ache. My artist’s mind captures it all like a painting I never want to forget – the warmth of his hands, the shared trembling of our breath, the love written so clearly across his features – I store it all away in the hopes that it will sustain me through the lonely days ahead.

“Go,” he says roughly. “Before I decide to kidnap you and swim us both to some deserted island.”

I manage a wobbly laugh. “Don’t tempt me.”

With one final, desperate kiss, I force myself to turn away. Past the security checkpoint, I turn back one last time. He stands exactly where I left him, hands in his pockets, watching me through the glass partition. I blow him a kiss, and he makes a show of catching it, pressing it to his heart. The gesture is so sweet and silly that it makes me smile even as more tears fall.

I mostly hold it together through security, through the terminal, and through boarding. But as soon as the plane starts to take off, the tears come in earnest. The businessman beside me shifts uncomfortably, offering an awkward tissue that I accept with a mumbled thanks. I press my forehead to the window, watching the coastline shrink until there’s nothing but a blanket of gray clouds.

The desert heat slams into me as I follow the signs for arrivals pickup, so different from the gentle ocean breezes I’ve grown used to. I wheel my carry-on down the crowded sidewalk, past concrete planters filled with dusty cacti that only emphasize how far I am from Maine’s lush coastline. Through the stream of waiting cars and reunion hugs, I spot Heather’s blue Subaru idling at the curb. Purl bounces excitedly in the backseat, her tail a blur against the window. The last of my careful composure crumbles when Heather steps out of the driver’s side, her face full of understanding and concern. She meets me halfway across the pickup lane, pulling me into a tight hug, and suddenly I’m sobbing again, ugly crying right there between luggage carts and car exhaust, the hot desert wind trying to dry my tears.

“Who do I need to kill?” Heather demands, making me laugh wetly against her shoulder.

“No one,” I manage. “He’s perfect. That’s the problem.”

The next few days pass in a blur. I try to work, I really do, but my mind keeps drifting back to Maine. Back to quiet mornings on my deck, watching the fog rise from the harbor like a veil as I drank my coffee. Back to diamond-scattered waves and salt-kissed air. Back to strong arms and tender kisses, and the feeling of being completely, utterly understood and accepted.

The only bright spots in my days are our daily calls. Today, I prop up my tablet in my studio, angling it so Levi can see the easel where I’m working on a painting of the lighthouse.

“The perspective’s amazing,” he says, and I flush with pleasure at the pride in his voice. “You’ve really captured how it looks just before a storm.”

I carefully don’t let him see the other canvas, turned to face the wall, where I’m working on capturing the majesty of his kraken form – all powerful tentacles and fluid grace, his massive form seeming to dance beneath the dark waters.

“Your turn,” I say. “Show me what you found today.”

His face lights up as he holds various objects up to his camera – shells in impossible spirals, bits of sea glass smoothed by time and tide, even a tarnished lantern he found in an old sunken ship.

“I wish you could see it in person,” he says wistfully. “The hull is still mostly intact, but there are these incredible coral formations growing right through the deck, and schools of fish have made homes in the cargo hold. The whole wreck has become this incredible artificial reef. The way the sunlight filters down through the broken masts, casting these ethereal shadows… I wish you could see it in person. My descriptions don’t capture how haunting and beautiful it is down there.”

“I’ve been researching scuba certification,” I admit, watching his expression brighten through my screen. “I know it’s not the same – I’ll never be able to dive as deep as you can or stay under as long, and I’ll always be restricted by equipment and human limitations. But…” I touch my screen where his face is, wishing I could reach through it. “I want to share your world as much as possible, even if I can only experience a fraction of it.”

“You’d really do that?” The hope in his voice makes my heart ache.

“Of course. And maybe next month I can start? I think I can make the trip work if… I can stay with you. I know you mentioned staying with you, but I don’t want to presume… The flight’s doable with miles, but a hotel…”

“Rose.” He cuts me off, his expression soft but serious. “I want you with me. Always. You don’t ever have to ask. And we’ll figure out how to bridge our two worlds, even if we experience them differently.”

After we hang up, I sit in my studio, staring at the lighthouse painting without seeing it. The sharp ring of my doorbell makes me jump.

Heather stands on my doorstep, Purl’s leash in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “It’s Friday,” she says when I blink at her in confusion.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” I step back to let them in. “I completely forgot about our weekly?—”

“Clearly.” She gives me a pointed look as Purl trots over to his favorite spot on my couch. “You okay?”

“Not really.” The admission comes easier than I expected. “I miss him so much it hurts. I can barely focus on anything else.”

“And how does he feel?”

“The same, I think.” I sink onto the couch, and Purl immediately puts her head in my lap. “I never knew I could love someone this much. Never knew it could physically hurt to be away from them. I thought movies were exaggerating.”

As I pout, Heather pours generous glasses of wine for each of us before sitting beside me. “Has he thought about moving here?”

“He can’t.” I scratch behind Purl’s ears, focusing on the rhythmic motion. “He would if he could, but he literally can’t leave the coast. It’s… complicated.”

“Then maybe you should think about moving there.”

I look up sharply. “What?”

“Rose.” Heather’s voice is gentle but firm. “You can do your work from anywhere. Nothing’s keeping you here except?—”

“Except you! And Purl!”

“Our friendship can survive the distance.” She reaches over to squeeze my hand. “What’s killing me is watching you be this unhappy. When was the last time you ate a real meal? Or slept through the night? Or painted something that wasn’t about Maine?”

I open my mouth to argue, then close it again.

“Just think about it,” she continues. She gives me her patented no-bullshit-allowed stare. “Is he worth changing your whole life for?”

“Yes.” The word comes instantly, without hesitation. “God, yes.”

Heather smiles, a little sad but understanding. “Then maybe that’s your answer.”

I look down at Purl, still contentedly resting her head on my lap, and then around my familiar living room, with its desert-inspired color scheme and collection of local art. I think about my sunny studio, with its natural light, and my favorite coffee shop, where they know my order by heart. I think about the comfort of having my best friend just a few minutes away.

Then I think about Levi’s smile in the morning light, how he holds me like I’m precious, and how he shares every part of himself with me – both human and kraken. I think about the harbor fog and the lighthouse and the endless mysteries of the ocean which is as much a part of Levi as his laugh or his touch.

“Yeah,” I whisper, something settling in my chest even as my heart races with possibility. “Maybe it is.”