LOVING A GHOST.

CHAPTER 11.

The morning stretched out before me, quiet and heavy, the kind of silence that pressed against my ribs. For the second day in a row, Alan hadn’t appeared.

I waited anyway, lingering by the window longer than I should have, until the ache of it made me restless.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to show, then I wasn’t going to waste the day pining for him.

I tied my hair back, slipped on my shoes, and headed into town. The cobbled streets were busier than usual, a light breeze carrying the chatter of neighbors catching up and the smell of fresh bread. It felt almost comforting, to be swept into the rhythm of people who weren’t waiting for someone who might never come.

Mira’s market was alive with color — baskets of plums, peaches, and tomatoes lined up in neat rows, their skins glowing under the late-morning sun. Mira herself was behind the counter, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair tucked under a scarf. She looked up as soon as she saw me and waved me over with the enthusiasm of someone who decided long ago that strangers didn’t exist.

“Well, look who it is,” she said, her voice rich with warmth. “I was starting to wonder if you’d been hiding out on that little stretch of beach.”

I smiled sheepishly. “Maybe I was.”

She leaned on the counter, eyes twinkling. “And? Are you enjoying yourself here, or is it too quiet for a city girl?”

“It’s… different,” I admitted. “But in a good way. I didn’t realize how much I needed quiet until I had it.”

Mira hummed knowingly, handing me a peach to sample without asking. I bit into it, juice slipping down my chin, and she chuckled at my attempt to wipe it away with the back of my hand.

“Don’t worry about the mess. That’s how you know it’s ripe,” she said. “So tell me, have you made any friends here yet?”

The question was casual, but it caught me. Friends. My mind leapt to Alan before I could stop it, and my hesitation must have said more than words.

Mira tilted her head, watching me with a small smile. “Some people here are harder to get to know. But once you do, they’re worth it.”

I swallowed, unsure how to respond, and let the moment pass.

Instead, I asked about the town, about the people, and Mira lit up like I’d flipped a switch. She told me about summer festivals, about fishermen who swore by the sea’s moods, about old stories locals still whispered on stormy nights. Her hands moved as much as her mouth, painting pictures in the air with every word.

At one point, she leaned closer. “If you’ve only been walking the same streets and sitting by the beach, you’re not seeing half of what’s here. Take the cliff path sometime. The view will steal your breath. Or the old bookshop — second street over from here. Smells like dust and dreams, that one.”

I laughed softly. “Smells like dreams?”

“You’ll see,” she said with a grin.

We talked until a line of customers began forming, and Mira shooed me off with a bag of peaches and strict instructions to eat them all before they bruised.

I spent the rest of the day wandering. I found the bookshop she’d mentioned — shelves stacked unevenly, paperbacks sagging into one another like they’d lived a thousand lives already. I found the cliff path, too, where the sea stretched endless and silver, my breath catching exactly as Mira had promised.

Everywhere I went, though, there was a thread of something missing. I caught myself turning, expecting him to be there, ready with a dry comment or that half-laugh he tried to hide. But the spaces beside me stayed empty.

By the time I walked back to the cottage, the sun had dipped low, the air cool with the hint of evening. I dropped the peaches on the counter, sat at the table, and let the stillness wrap around me.

One week had felt like forever when I first arrived. Now, time was slipping faster, each day gone before I could hold onto it.

Four left.

Just four.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to think of the bookshop, the cliffs, Mira’s laughter — anything but the absence that felt larger than all of it.