Chapter 26: Deep Romantic Resolution

Willow asked me what I wanted after graduation. I told her: “You. Warmth. A future where I don’t have to explain myself every five minutes.” She laughed. Then she showed me she was listening.

The cabin belongs to Willow’s aunt, a small A-frame on the coast, about two hours from town. It’s not fancy. The windows are drafty, the furniture is from the 1970s, and the water smells faintly of sulfur. But it has a woodstove, a loft bed, and a view of the ocean that makes you forget, for a moment, that the world is cold and complicated.

Willow’s aunt offered it to us for the weekend. “You two need a break,” she said, handing Willow the keys. “No phones. No drama. Just each other.”

We packed light. Willow brought a duffel bag with sweaters and socks and the thick flannel pajamas she only wears when she’s really cold. I brought nothing. I never bring anything.

The drive was quiet in the best way, not the silence of a fight, but the silence of two people who don’t need to fill every space with words. Willow drove. I watched the landscape change from town to suburb to forest to coast. The rain stopped somewhere around the county line. The clouds broke open, revealing a sky the color of a bruise.

“You’re staring,” Willow said.

“You’re star-worthy.”

She smiled. That smile. The one that makes me forget, for a moment, that I’m cold.

The Cabin

We arrived at dusk. The cabin was dark, but Willow had a key, and the woodstove was already stacked with kindling. She lit a match. The flames caught. The room was filled with orange light.

“It’s small,” she said, looking around.

“It’s perfect.”

We unpacked, she did, I didn’t. She put her clothes in the dresser, her toothbrush in the bathroom, and her book on the nightstand. I stood by the window, watching the waves crash against the rocks.

“Kate.”

I turned around.

“Come here.”

She was standing by the woodstove, her arms open. I walked into them. She wrapped herself around me, her cheek against my bare shoulder.

“You’re cold,” she said.

“I’m always cold.”

“Not here. Not tonight.”

The fire crackled. The wind howled outside. But inside, it was warm.

The Conversation

We sat on the floor in front of the woodstove, a pile of blankets beneath us, a bottle of sparkling cider between us. The cabin didn’t have wine glasses, so we drank from coffee mugs.

“What do you want?” Willow asked.

“Right now?”

“After graduation. Next year. Five years from now.”

I looked into the fire. The flames danced and shifted, never the same twice.

“I want to go to college,” I said. “Not a big one, a small one. Somewhere with a good social work program.”

“Social work?”

“I want to help people. Like the social worker who helped Silas. Someone who sees people at their worst and doesn’t look away.”

Willow nodded. “What else?”

“I want to live somewhere warm. Not hot. I don’t think I could handle it. But warm enough that I’m not cold all the time.”

“You’re always cold.”

“I know. But I’d like to be less cold.”

She laughed. “What else?”

I looked at her. The firelight was in her eyes.

“I want you. Wherever you are. Whatever you’re doing. I want to be there.”