They walked in silence, the wooded road draped in moonlit stillness. Her heartbeat still tapped out its anxious rhythm, but the motion of walking softened it, like rocking a restless child. The lantern swung gently in Collin’s hand, casting rings of light that rippled across the path—like stones dropped into water, each one fading before the next began.
She couldn’t see his face clearly in the dark, but she didn’t mind.
Their hands brushed now and then—barely, just the tips of their fingers—but each touch sent a rush through her, like distant thunder rolling in. Her breath came too quickly, as though she’d been running uphill instead of strolling side by side. If she spoke too much, he might hear it.
When they reached the cobbler shop, they slowed to a stop just short of the step.
“Thank you for the dinner,” she said softly. “It was very kind of you and Aries to let me take up your house.”
“It was nothing.” Collin smiled, but she could see it only in the curve of his voice. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“I did. I’ve never had a birthday celebration before. It meant a lot.”
He shifted then—not away, not toward. Just a restless, awkward movement. His shoulders tensed, and he turned his head one way, then the other, like he was trying to see something in the dark. He swung the lantern in his hand, and their shadows jumped across the cobblestones like startled deer.
He tugged at his collar, cleared his throat.
She waited.
Above them, voices drifted down from the open windows. Familiar, clear. Too close.
He still hadn’t said it.
A thousand seconds seemed to pass in just a few heartbeats. If he was going to ask her, surely he would have done it by now.
Her hand tightened around the soft stems of the white roses. The petals brushed her wrist—cool, drooping, already fading.
She stepped back, out of the lantern’s glow. “I should go up.”
Collin shifted the lantern from one hand to the other, like he was holding a wish too delicate to set down. His mouth opened—then closed again.
She climbed the steps slowly. At the door, her fingers touched the latch. She hesitated. Maybe if she waited—just a moment longer—he would ask her.
She looked back.
He was still standing in the pool of light. Still holding the question, or maybe letting it go.
She opened the door.
Just as she slipped through and the wood clicked shut behind her, she thought she heard his voice, low and tender—
“Sweet dreams, Dragonfly.”
Out of the Past
