Page 89 of Piece By Piece

“You hurt me. Not because of the deal. I understand deals. I know about hard choices. What hurt was you hiding it and the silence, the way that you decided for both of us without even giving me a vote in the matter. You took the one thing that I asked for, honesty, and you withheld it because you were scared.”

She could see his jaw tightening, but he didn’t look away.

“But here’s the thing. I came to this island because I was hiding, too. I lied to my mom for three months. I told Dixie I was in between things instead of just saying the truth, which was that I fell apart and didn’t know how to put myself back together. So I understand what fear looks like, and when it’s wearing a disguise, because I’ve been wearing one too.” She picked up the letter and held it against her chest. “This letter is the most honest thing anyone has ever given me. The words were extraordinary, Grant. But what matters more is that you chose to write them. You chose honesty when it would have been easier to disappear. You chose to stay.” She put the letter back down and then reached across the counter and took his hand. “So here’s my answer. I’m not going anywhere either. And not because you asked me to stay, but because I want to stay. Because this island and the bookstore and that ridiculous owl cookie jar and the porch step at ten o’clock…” Her voice cracked slightly. “Well, this is where I belong. I didn’t know that when I got here, but I know it now.”

His hand tightened around hers. His eyes were full. His lips pressed together, holding himself against the tide of something too big to contain.

He came around the counter and didn’t say anything, just pulled her into his arms and held her.

His face in her hair.

His hands spread across her back.

She held him back.

The shop was quiet, and the owl watched with its enormous knowing eyes.

Somewhere through the wall in the bookstore, the old clock that Dixie had never bothered to fix ticked on, counting the minutes of a morning that felt like the beginning of something big.

When they finally stepped apart, his hand stayed on her arm.

His eyes were red but clear.

“I’m going to mess up again,” he said. “I mean, not like this. But I’ll get scared, and I’ll go quiet, and you’ll have to remind me that being quiet doesn’t mean I’m safe.”

“I know.”

“And you’re going to get overwhelmed and take on too much and then forget to tell me that you’re not okay.”

She let out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“So we’ll remind each other.”

She looked up at him. Grant Whitmore with his red eyes and messy hair and no wall left between them. And it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“You have a deal,” she said.

Later, after coffee, of course, he told her every detail of the Meridian call.

She told him about the journalist, and they agreed that neither one of them was allowed to make a decision without consulting the other again.

Then he pulled a second crossword from under the counter.

“I made this last night,” he said. “After I wrote the letter. Of course, I couldn’t sleep and needed to do something.”

He set it on the counter between them.

It was smaller than the STAY puzzle, a simple little grid, maybe seven by seven.

Liza picked up a pencil and started solving.

The fill-in came quickly.

Books.

Puzzles.