His stomach dropped.
“But... I could meet you earlier. Maybe late afternoon, if you’re free?”
Relief burst through him. “Of course! Yes. That’s perfect. Should we meet by the clock tower?”
She nodded, smile soft, eyes warm. Then she looked at the road ahead—almost wistful—before turning back to him. Her chest rose in a quick breath.
And then—before he could think, before he could move—she leaned in and pressed the gentlest kiss to his jaw.
Soft. Warm. And his heart stopped beating.
It was over in a blink. She was already jogging ahead, her hair catching the light.
Collin stood frozen.
Had she really kissed him?
So quick—too quick—but yes, it had happened. He was certain of it. The shape of her lips lingered on his skin.
Above him, a bird whistled brightly from a branch. Collin smiled up at it.
And whistled back.
He jumped at the sound of his name—screamed, raw and panicked.
The voice sent a cold jolt down his spine. Every hair on the back of his neck rose.
He spun toward the noise, heart already thudding—and saw a figure galloping toward him, silhouetted in frantic motion.
River was sprinting, his dogs at his heels, all of them wild with motion. He looked spent—like he hadn’t stopped running for miles.
He crashed into Collin, nearly knocking them both off balance.
“Collin! Come quick!” River gasped. “It’s your grandfather... Aries is with him now. Hurry—please, Collin—we have to go!”
The Girls of North Town
Collin thanked her for visiting. He placed a hand on the front gate, but didn’t open it. His gaze drifted—far past the fence, past the sundrenched meadow, toward the dark line of trees. He looked like he might dissolve into that distance. His face—so usually full of light—was drawn tight with sorrow.
It had only been a week since he and Aries lost their grandfather. The news had come suddenly, and neither of them had seemed ready for it. Now the days of mourning were nearly over. In a few more, they'd be expected to return to work, to routines, as if grief obeyed a calendar.
Dragonfly met his eyes, and the bleakness there stole her breath. Like the sky just before a winter storm. Heavy and endless. Her heart ached for him. She wanted to reach for him, to offer warmth or comfort or even just distraction—but what could she give that might matter?
They’d never taken that stroll. She kept waiting for him to ask again. Maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. And maybe it was shameful to wish for romance now, when his heart was clearly elsewhere—still knotted in grief.
