"Then chase dreams. Don't let him reduce you like this."
His eyes soften, and he steps closer, both hands framing my face now. "I will. I want to. I just… I need a little time. I've spent my entire life following my father's lead and… and now I'm trying to find the courage to break free, to stand on my own. But I can't do that overnight."
He releases a shaky breath. "What happened in college—God, Rachel, I was such an asshole back then. Playing games, using people to get what I wanted. I acted exactly like a Pierce. Moving here to Magnolia Cove?" His thumb traces over my cheek. "Falling for you? Those are the first real things I've ever done. The first choices that were entirely mine. If you could understand how precious you are to me. How much I already love you."
The words hit me like a perfect chord struck in just the right key. Love. He loves me. My heart stumbles over its rhythm, and for a moment I forget how to breathe. We've danced around this feeling for weeks—in moonlit kisses and shared laughter, in the way he's slowly moved into my cottage, in how he hums along when I tap out rhythms against his bare skin. But hearing him say it…
"Grant," I whisper, my voice catching. All my earlier anger melts away as I lean into his touch. Because I love him too—the real him, the one who plays jazz without reservation, who throws in extra sprinkles on every kid's ice cream, who keeps dropping obnoxiously large tips into my snow cone cart's jar.
My fingers find his tie, and I use it to draw him closer. His forehead rests against mine, and his breath whispers over my lips. I can taste the word still hanging between us. Love. Such a small word for something that feels bigger than any symphony I've ever heard.
"I can give you time," I say. He's right. He needs some space to untangle himself from his father. I'm expecting too much, jumping to conclusions. "How much do you need?"
He pulls back slightly, just enough that I can see the defeat in his eyes. "I've agreed to park the cart for now. Focus on the store. Maybe travel some, help with other locations as needed." He attempts a weak smile. "Hey, at least your snow cone sales should go up without the competition."
The joke lands like a wrong note in an otherwise perfect melody. "What? But you love your cart. Love creating your own flavors, being out on the beach…" My hands tighten on his tie. "That cart is yours, not your father's. It's the one thing that's completely yours."
"And I'll return to it." He steps away, so my hands fall away from him. "I just need time to placate my father so he can?—"
"Manipulate you into slowly crawling back into his pocket?" The words burst from me. "That's what this is about, isn't it? He's not giving you time, Grant. He's giving you just enough rope to hang your dreams with.”
"You don't understand." His voice hardens. "Not everyone has the luxury of fighting for what they want. Some of us have responsibilities, obligations?—"
"Obligations to what? To be miserable? To let him clip your wings one feather at a time until you forget how to fly?" I'm practically shouting now, the words echoing off the music room walls. "I've watched you come alive this summer. Watched you discover who you really are. And now you're just… giving up?"
"That's easy for you to say, Rachel." He drags a hand back through his already mussed hair. "You're surrounded by people who support you no matter what. Your friends would walk through fire for you. But me? Without my father's connections, without the Pierce name?—"
"Then build something new!" I am definitely shouting now. My throat feels raw as the words tear free from me. "That's what you came here for, isn't it? To find yourself outside your father's shadow?"
"Finding myself won't pay the bills. It won't keep the people who work at my store employed." He turns away and stares out the window at the dark courtyard beyond. "Sometimes we have to sacrifice to achieve more important things. You get that. You've done that all summer."
"Don't." My voice turns to ice. "Don't you dare compare your father's manipulation to what I'm doing for these kids. I'm fightingforsomething, Grant. He's fighting to use you."
Grant whirls back around, his expression haunted, shadows hollowing out his eyes. "Sometimes choices have to be made to do what is right for others. Sacrifices have to be made."
"Not your heart." I press my hand to my chest, where mine feels like it's breaking. "Not your soul."
"The soul doesn't matter when you have nothing to fund it." He clenches his teeth. "Look at the music program. You have more passion than anyone I've ever met, but that hasn't made the money appear, has it? Dreams alone aren't enough."
"You're right." I stalk toward him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "That's why I show up every single day, pushing a heavycart through the sand in the burning sun. Why I organize concerts, fundraisers, and fight for every single dollar. Because I believe in something bigger than myself enough to take risks. What about you?"
"Of course I do," he says in a fierce whisper. "I care about you. If I do what my father says, I'll be able to donate whatever funds you need to keep the program going."
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, freezing me in place. For one fleeting moment, something warm blooms in my chest—he wants to help, wants to save the program I've fought so hard for. But then understanding crashes over me, like a wave, leaving me cold.
"You think that's what this is about?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper. "You think you can just... what? Trade your soul for a generous donation?"
"Rachel—"
"No." I step back, knocking into the piano stool, which screeches as it shifts. "You still don't get it, do you? You're so convinced you're not worth fighting for that you think throwing money at me will make up for watching you destroy yourself. Well, guess what? I don't want your blood money. I don't need a white knight with a trust fund to rescue me."
"I'm trying to help?—"
"Help?" I laugh, bitter and sharp. "The man I fell in love with wouldn't need to 'help.' He'd be right here, fighting with me. But that man's already gone, isn't he? Your father didn't even have to try hard to make him disappear."
"I want to be that man." His voice cracks, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of Grant again—the one who whispers cheesy movie lines in the dark, who dreams of creating something that's purely his own. "God, Rachel, you don't know how much I want to be him. But I can't see a way out. Not without losing everything."
"You're losing everything right now." I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold together the pieces he's breaking. "You just can't see it."
