“It is pretty,” I say, but I hear how small it sounds next to his certainty.
“I can’t imagine being anywhere else,” he adds.
I let the silence build before I bite my lip and turn to him fully. “Really?”
His brows furrow. “Really. You don’t feel the same?”
A heavy sigh pushes hard from my chest and lands loud between us. “No.”
“Then where do you want to be?” he asks as he shifts slightly away from me.
“I don’t know. Everywhere. Anywhere,” I answer as I push myself up to stand, setting my empty red cup in a clump of soft grass.
“I don’t need to go everywhere and anywhere. I know I’m where I’m meant to be,” he states simply.
I cross my arms, looking at Dusty Hollow as the sky covers the town with a glittering blanket of stars. What Grant sees as destiny, I see as definition—the shape of who I’ve been allowed to be. And there’s a fear pressing in on my heart, like it’s made of clay and this town has already decided its form . . . what it will beat for, what I’m supposed to want.
“I don’t think I’m where I’m meant to be. Or at least, I don’t have the same confidence you do in believing Dusty Hollow is home for me.”
He rises to meet me, and there’s something in his green eyes that anyone could clearly read.Disappointment. His voice is soft but firm when he says, “Well, you should probably figure that out.”
I tilt my head, studying him for a second before I nod. “Yeah. I probably should.”
23
SADIE
It’s a typical Tuesday night—takeoutand Jane Austen. I’m rereadingPersuasionbecause maybe I misunderstood Anne Elliot. Or worse . . . understood her a little too well.
Sometimes we find the best—or worst—parts of ourselves tucked inside a story and call itliterary analysiswhen, really, it’s just a polite way of avoiding our own character development.
At least . . . that’s my working theory. It sounds better than admitting I’m the problem.
On the couch cushion next to me, my Bible is open to Proverbs. I’d like to say that was intentional—that I was seeking wisdom—but really, it’s been sitting there all evening, quietly waiting its turn while I’ve been busy rereading other people’s lives.
Wisdom on one side. Regret, very well-mannered and quietly suffering, on the other.
Between Jesus and Jane Austen, I’m feeling very confident that my life is not what I want it to be right now.
I twist my fork through a container of teriyaki noodles, which probably shouldn’t be served by Ruthie’s Café (known for the kind of food that sticks to your ribs and your childhood), and shove a giant helping into my mouth just as my phone buzzes on the other cushion beside me. I slurp and chew, tasting a hint ofburger grease alongside the garlic, before setting the noodles on the floor. Then I pick up my phone.
Milo
Hey. I’m coming over. Make popcorn. We’re checking off another item tonight.
My eyes widen and I sit up a smidge straighter.
Sadie
R-rated movie?!
Milo
R enough to make Q and S jealous.
I roll my eyes but laugh to myself.
Sadie
