The Time Between Us

The Reunion

Chapter 3: "The Reunion"

Present Day - Lighthouse Keeper's Inn

The silence stretched between them like a chasm, broken only by the soft clink of silverware as their server set down menus. Maya kept her eyes fixed on the wine list. However, the words blurred together as she tried to process the impossibility of sitting across from Ethan Rodriguez after five years of carefully constructed distance.

He looked good. Too good. The years had added character to his face—fine lines around his eyes that spoke of laughter and sun, a maturity in his bearing that made the boy she'd fallen in love with seem like a distant memory. But his hands were the same, long-fingered and graceful, now drumming a nervous rhythm against the white tablecloth.

"So," Sophie said brightly, clearly sensing the undercurrent of tension but determinedly plowing forward, "Maya, you absolutely have to try the seafood risotto here. It's incredible. And Ethan, didn't you say you had some ideas about the ceremony layout?"

Ethan cleared his throat and opened his leather portfolio with a practiced professionalism. "Actually, yes. I've been thinking about sight lines and natural lighting." He pulled out a hand-drawn sketch of the ceremony site at Millbrook Point. "If we position the altar here, with the couple facing southeast, the late afternoon sun will create this beautiful backlighting effect for photographs."

Despite herself, Maya found herself leaning forward to study his drawing. Even sketched quickly in pen, she could see the vision—the way the light would filter through the cypress trees, creating natural frames around the couple. It was exactly the kind of detail the old Ethan would have thought of, the way he'd always seen beauty in the interaction between built and natural environments.

"That's..." she started, then caught herself. "That's very thoughtful."

"I know you prefer working with natural light when possible," Ethan said, his voice carefully neutral. "I researched your recent work."

Maya's eyes snapped up to meet his. *He'd researched her work?* The thought sent an unwelcome flutter through her chest. "You didn't need to do that."

"Professional courtesy," he said smoothly, but there was something in his expression that suggested it had been more than that. "Your Vanishing Cultures series was featured in National Geographic last year. Stunning work."

"You saw that?" The words slipped out before Maya could stop them, carrying more vulnerability than she'd intended.

"I saw it." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "The photographs from the fishing village in Portugal—they reminded me of your old work with the fishermen here in Millbrook. The same eye for capturing dignity in hard work."

Sophie was looking between them with increasing curiosity, but James, bless him, seemed to sense the need for a distraction. "Speaking of fishing villages, Maya, you have to tell Sophie about that crazy storm you got caught in. The one you wrote about in your blog."

Maya shot him a grateful look. "Oh, that. It was nothing dramatic, really. Just a typical afternoon squall that turned into something more serious."

"Nothing dramatic?" Sophie laughed. "James showed me the article. You were stranded in a fishing boat for eight hours in thirty-foot swells!"

"The fishermen knew what they were doing," Maya said, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. "I was never in real danger."

"Still," Ethan said quietly, "that must have been terrifying."

Maya looked at him, startled by the genuine concern in his voice. For a moment, she saw past the careful professional mask to something that looked almost like the boy who used to worry when she went on solo photography expeditions around Santa Barbara.

"I've seen worse," she said, which was true but not really the point. The truth was, she'd been terrified—not of the storm, but of the possibility that she might die having never made things right with the people she'd left behind.

Their server appeared at the perfect moment to take drink orders, breaking the mounting tension. Maya ordered wine—more wine than was probably wise for a business dinner, but she needed something to steady her nerves. Ethan asked for sparkling water, and she remembered with a pang that he'd never been much of a drinker.

"So, Ethan," Sophie said as their server disappeared, "how long have you been doing wedding planning? I had no idea you'd added that to your architectural practice."

"About three years," Ethan replied. "It started when my cousin asked me to help design her wedding reception layout. Turns out there's a lot of overlap between spatial design and event planning. Plus, Millbrook doesn't have many options for full-service wedding coordination."

"And you're good at it," James added. "The attention to detail, the way you think about how people will move through the space and experience the day—it's exactly what you want in a wedding planner."

Maya watched Ethan's face as he accepted the compliment, noting the slight flush of pride. He'd always been modest about his talents, never quite believing he was as good as everyone else could see he was.

"What about you, Maya?" Ethan asked, and she realized he was making an effort to keep the conversation balanced. "How long will you be staying in Millbrook?"

The question hung in the air with more weight than it should have carried. Maya felt all three of them watching her, waiting for her answer.

"Just through the wedding," she said. "I fly out the morning after."

Something flickered across Ethan's face—disappointment? Relief? It was gone too quickly for her to interpret.

"That's too bad," Sophie said. "I was hoping you might stay longer, spend some time really reconnecting with home."

*Home.* Maya's chest tightened at the word. Had Millbrook ever really been home, or had home been the person sitting across from her, now carefully maintaining professional distance?

"I have a commitment in Morocco," Maya said, which was true. She'd booked the assignment specifically to have an excuse to leave quickly after the wedding. "A three-month project documenting traditional textile artisans."

"Morocco," Ethan repeated, and Maya caught something wistful in his tone. "That was always on your list."

The comment hung between them, heavy with shared memory. They'd made so many lists together—places they wanted to travel, buildings he wanted to design, dreams they'd wanted to chase together. Morocco had been number three on her list, right after documenting the fishing communities of Portugal and the highland cultures of Peru.

"Yes," Maya said quietly. "It was."

The server returned with their drinks and took their dinner orders, providing another blessed interruption. Maya noticed that Ethan ordered the same thing he'd always loved—grilled salmon with roasted vegetables—and felt an unexpected stab of grief for all the small intimacies they'd once shared.

"Maya," Sophie said as their server left, "I have to ask—do you ever get lonely? All that traveling, always moving from place to place?"

The question caught Maya off guard. It was something she'd carefully avoided thinking about during her years of constant movement.

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But the work is fulfilling. I meet incredible people and document important stories. There's a purpose to it."

"But don't you ever want to... settle down? Build something lasting?" Sophie's question was innocent enough, but Maya felt it like a blade between her ribs.

"Sophie," James said gently, clearly sensing dangerous territory.

"It's okay," Maya said, though it wasn't really. She could feel Ethan watching her, waiting for her answer. "I think some people are meant to be wanderers. My work requires it."

"But surely you could base yourself somewhere and still travel for projects," Sophie pressed. "Create a home to come back to."

Maya's eyes met Ethan's across the table, and for a moment, the careful walls they'd both erected threatened to crumble. She could see the question in his expression, the same one that had haunted her for five years: *Why wasn't what we had worth staying for?*

"It's complicated," Maya said finally, looking away.

"Most worthwhile things are," Ethan said quietly, and Maya wasn't sure if he was talking about her career choices or something else entirely.

The arrival of their appetizers provided another welcome distraction. Maya had ordered the seafood chowder—a specialty of the inn that she'd loved since childhood—but found she could barely taste it. Every bite reminded her of family dinners here, of special occasions when her parents would bring her to the inn as a treat. At the time, Ethan had surprised her for her birthday by reserving the same table where they were sitting now.

"The risotto is incredible," Sophie was saying. "Maya, you have to try some."

Maya accepted a forkful and made appreciative noises, though her appetite had completely disappeared. Across the table, Ethan was methodically working through his salad, but she noticed he'd barely touched it either.

"So, about the photography timeline," Ethan said, clearly eager to steer the conversation back to safer, professional ground. "I was thinking we should coordinate the family portrait sessions. If you need certain lighting conditions..."

"Golden hour," Maya said automatically. "About an hour before sunset. The light will be softer, more flattering."

"That's what I figured. So if the ceremony starts at four, we'll have the perfect light for formal photos around six-thirty."

"Assuming it doesn't fog in," Maya added. "This time of year, the marine layer can roll in without warning."

"I've got a backup plan for that," Ethan said. "The inn has a beautiful conservatory that gets great indirect light even on overcast days."

Maya nodded, impressed despite herself. He'd clearly thought through every contingency, anticipated problems she might not have considered. It was exactly the kind of thorough preparation she'd always admired about his work.

"You two are so professional," Sophie laughed. "I love how you're thinking through all these details. This is going to be the most beautifully documented wedding in Millbrook history."

"It's your day," Maya said, grateful to focus on her friend instead of the man across from her. "It should be perfect."

"It will be," Ethan said. "We'll make sure of it."

We. The pronoun hung in the air between them, loaded with implications neither of them was ready to address. Maya found herself studying Ethan's face, looking for traces of the boy she'd once known so well she could read his thoughts. But the man sitting across from her was carefully guarded, professionally polite, giving away nothing of what he might be feeling.

"Actually," James said, "I hate to cut this short, but I have an early meeting tomorrow. Sophie, are you ready to head out?"

Sophie looked disappointed but nodded. "Of course. Maya, we're still on for coffee tomorrow morning, right? I want to hear everything about your travels. And I mean everything."

"Absolutely," Maya said, standing as the group prepared to leave. She was simultaneously relieved the evening was ending and terrified of being left alone with her thoughts.

"Ethan," Sophie continued, "can you make sure Maya gets the vendor information packet? Contact details for the florist, the caterer, that sort of thing?"

"Of course," Ethan said. "I have everything in the car."

Maya's heart sank. She'd been hoping for a clean escape, a chance to retreat to her room and process the emotional upheaval of the evening. But apparently, she and Ethan weren't done yet.

After Sophie and James left with hugs and promises to see each other tomorrow, Maya found herself alone with Ethan in the inn's lobby. The space felt smaller somehow, too intimate for the careful distance they were trying to maintain.

"I'll just grab that packet from my car," Ethan said. "It'll only take a minute."

Maya nodded and waited by the fireplace, studying the collection of vintage photographs that covered the mantel. Pictures of the inn throughout the decades, of guests and celebrations and quiet moments. She was studying a particularly beautiful shot of a 1950s wedding reception when Ethan returned.

"Here you go," he said, handing her a manila envelope. "Contact information, timeline, location details. Everything you should need."

"Thank you." Maya accepted the envelope, careful not to let their fingers touch it. "This is very thorough."

"I try to be prepared." Ethan paused, then seemed to make a decision. "Maya, I want you to know—I'll do everything I can to make this comfortable for you. I know this situation isn't... ideal."

Maya looked up at him, startled by the gentleness in his voice. For a moment, his professional mask slipped, and she caught a glimpse of something raw and vulnerable in his expression.

"It's fine," she said, though they both knew it wasn't. "We're both adults. We can handle working together for Sophie's sake."

"Right," Ethan said. "For Sophie's sake."

They stood there for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down between them. Maya was acutely aware of how close he was standing, close enough that she could smell his cologne—different from what he'd worn in college, more sophisticated but still warm and subtly masculine.

"I should go," Maya said finally. "Long day tomorrow."

"Of course." Ethan stepped back, giving her space. "Good night, Maya."

"Good night."

Maya made it halfway to the stairs before his voice stopped her.

"Maya?"

She turned back, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"Welcome home," he said quietly.

The words hit her like a physical blow. Welcome home. As if she belonged here as if she'd never left. As if the past five years of careful distance and constructed independence could be erased with two simple words.

"Thank you," she whispered, then fled up the stairs before she could say something she'd regret.

In her room, Maya leaned against the closed door and tried to catch her breath. Through the window, she could see Ethan's car in the parking lot—a practical SUV that was exactly the kind of vehicle he'd always said he'd want, reliable and environmentally conscious. She watched him sit in the driver's seat for a long moment before starting the engine and wondered if he was struggling with the same emotional whiplash that had left her feeling unsteady.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Luis: How was dinner? Did you survive?

Maya stared at the message for a long time before typing back: *Barely. He looks good, Luis. Too good. And he's still... him. Kind and thoughtful and impossible to forget.

The response came quickly: And how does this make you feel?

Maya set the phone down without answering because the truth was too complicated and too painful to put into words. She felt like she was drowning in regret, in questions about the choice she'd made five years ago. She felt like a coward for running away from love instead of fighting for it. And most of all, she felt like she was about to spend the next three weeks discovering whether some mistakes were too big to ever make right.

Outside her window, Ethan's taillights disappeared into the Millbrook night, leaving Maya alone with the sound of waves against the rocks below and the echo of two words that had shattered her careful composure: Welcome home.