LOVING A GHOST.

CHAPTER 12.

The morning broke pale and restless, with a sheet of gray clouds sliding over the sea. I woke to the sound of gulls calling overhead and the distant rush of the tide, my chest tight with something I didn’t want to name.

Another day without Alan.

I lingered at the window longer than I should have, as if staring out could will him into being, but the path outside remained empty. My eyes burned from watching too long, so I turned away, grabbed my bag, and forced myself out into town.

The air was cool and damp, clinging to my skin as I walked through the narrow streets. The shopkeepers were opening their doors, sweeping steps, laying out baskets of fruit. Normal, everyday rhythms that made me feel, at once, part of something and entirely separate from it.

I ended up at Mira’s market again, more out of habit than plan. She spotted me before I reached the counter, her face breaking into that warm smile she carried like armor.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite wanderer,” she teased. “You look like you’ve been chewing on secrets. Trouble?”

“Nothing like that,” I said, though the words came too quickly. “Just… couldn’t stay cooped up today.”

Mira gave me one of those looks — the kind that slipped straight through excuses. “Mm-hm.” She slid a basket of strawberries across the counter. “Take these. They’ll cheer you up better than sulking will.”

I laughed despite myself, the sound feeling lighter than I expected. “Is this how you run a business? Giving away your best fruit?”

She shrugged, unbothered. “Consider it an investment. You’ll come back tomorrow for more, and that’ll make us even.”

Her kindness wrapped around me like a blanket I didn’t know I needed. For a while, I stayed, listening as she chatted with customers, slipping in bits of gossip about the town. It was soothing, the rhythm of it, the way her voice softened the edges of everything.

By midday, I decided to explore further, strawberries in hand. The cliff path called to me again, and I followed it until the air grew sharp with salt and the view opened wide. The sea stretched endless, shifting colors beneath the moody sky. I sat on a smooth rock and ate one strawberry after another, juice staining my fingertips.

It was almost enough to feel whole. Almost.

But the silence where he should have been was louder than the crashing waves.

I thought of our walks along the beach, the ease of his company, the way he could make me laugh without even trying. I thought of his anger too, sharp and sudden, leaving me raw in its wake. And yet, even with that, I found myself missing him with a fierceness that made no sense.

We had known each other for what — days? Barely a week? And still, his absence carved into me like I’d lost something I’d held for years.

I lay back against the rock, staring up at the shifting gray sky, and let the memories tumble through me. His voice, low and steady. His smile, quick and fleeting. The way he always seemed to hold something back, like he was standing on the edge of telling me everything, but couldn’t take the leap.

What was I even doing? Counting days, measuring moments, letting someone I barely knew seep into the marrow of my life.

By the time I walked back into town, the streets were quieter, the afternoon stretching toward evening. My feet carried me without thinking, turning corners until I reached his street. His cottage sat there, shutters closed, no sign of life.

I hesitated at the gate, pulse drumming in my throat.

I could knock. I could call his name. But what if he ignored me? Or worse...

The thought made my chest ache.

So I turned away.

Instead, I found myself wandering into the little bakery Mira had once mentioned. The bell chimed overhead as I pushed open the door, and warmth spilled around me — cinnamon, sugar, the yeasty comfort of fresh bread.

The woman behind the counter, flour dusting her apron, greeted me with a nod. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’m just visiting,” I said, smiling faintly. “Thought I’d try something new.”

She wrapped a loaf for me, sliding it across the counter with hands roughened by years of work. “Well, new is good. Especially if it tastes sweet.”

I thanked her and stepped back into the fading light, carrying the bread like an anchor.

By the time I returned to the cottage, the sun was sinking, painting streaks of fire across the horizon. I set the bread down, opened the window, and let the cool evening air in.

The cottage felt larger without him. Emptier.

I curled up by the window with a book I’d picked up at the shop the day before, but the words blurred, my mind slipping elsewhere. I kept thinking about how many days I had left — three now, slipping away faster than I wanted to admit.

And how much of that time I was wasting, waiting for someone who might not come again.

The thought twisted in me, sharp and bitter. I wanted to tell myself I didn’t care, that I could enjoy this town without him. But then I’d catch myself remembering the way his voice softened when he said my name, and the lie unraveled.

Night settled in slow, stars pushing their way through the clouds, and I sat there long after the book had fallen closed in my lap. The silence pressed heavier, wrapping itself around the walls of the cottage until it was hard to breathe.

I missed him.

Even when I didn’t want to.

Especially then.