I woke up before my alarm, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers.
Outside, the early morning light slipped through the thin curtains, casting long, soft shadows across the floor. For a second, I didn't know where I was.
Then I smelled the faint trace of cheap hotel soap and saw my half-packed suitcase on the chair. Right.
Still here.
I reached for my phone out of habit. No texts. No missed calls. Just the same tired silence I'd gotten used to over the last few weeks. Maybe that should've hurt more than it did.
I sat up, pressing my palm to my forehead.
What now?
I could leave. I'd said I would. That was the plan, wasn't it? Move. Escape. Keep going until it felt like something new.
But last night…
Last night had cracked something open in me I wasn't ready to name.
I slid off the bed and walked to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to see the street. It was mostly empty. A few locals starting their day. A woman walking a dog. The same red truck from the day before parked across the lot.
I stared at it for a full minute.
Then I exhaled hard and turned away. "Get it together," I muttered to myself.
I packed slower than necessary, folding clothes I hadn't even worn and zipping up toiletries I might not need. Every movement felt like a small stall tactic. Like if I delayed just five more minutes, I'd suddenly know what I was supposed to do.
Eventually, I pulled my duffel closed and sat on the edge of the bed. The room was still and weirdly quiet now that everything was packed.
I looked at the key card on the nightstand.
Then, without really thinking, I grabbed it and headed for the front desk.
---
"Checking out?" the clerk asked, barely glancing up.
I hesitated.
Then slid the key across the counter.
"Room 213."
She tapped a few things on the screen, chewing gum like her life depended on it. "Got it. You're all set."
That was it.
I walked out into the sun, squinting against the sudden brightness. My car felt too hot when I opened the door. The interior baked from the heat. I tossed my bag into the back seat and sat down, letting the air blast my face.
Hands on the wheel. Engine running.
Still… not moving.
My eyes found the side mirror.
There was a café down the block—small, weathered, the paint on the sign chipping at the edges. I remembered passing it the first day. Liam had mentioned it casually, saying the cinnamon rolls were worth ruining your diet for. I hadn't gone.
I turned off the engine.
---
The café smelled like sugar and roasted beans. It wasn't fancy—just a few mismatched tables, a chalkboard menu, and someone humming softly behind the counter.
I ordered a coffee, because I didn't know what else to do.
"First time here?" the girl behind the counter asked. She had short, copper hair and a tattoo of a fern on her wrist.
"Yeah," I said. "Passing through."
"Mm," she said with a knowing look, like maybe she'd heard that before. "You want that cinnamon roll heated?"
I paused. "Sure."
I took a seat near the window and watched the town slowly come alive—more cars, kids on bikes, a guy with a guitar case crossing the street like he had nowhere particular to be.
There was something comforting about it. Quiet. Real.
I pulled out the photo Liam had given back to me last night.
It was crinkled at the corners from being in my pocket, the light flare making our faces look hazy and soft. I didn't even remember smiling when I took it, but somehow, I was.
It was the kind of picture that didn't look like a beginning or an end.
Just a moment.
When the bell above the door chimed, I didn't look up.
Not right away.
Not until I heard the familiar voice.
"Didn't peg you for a cinnamon roll kind of girl."
I turned my head slowly.
Liam stood just inside the café, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, his hair still a little damp from a shower.
I blinked. "Are you stalking me?"
"I live here," he said. "Remember?"
I pointed at the ceiling. "So do cinnamon rolls, apparently."
He chuckled and slid into the seat across from me without asking. "I figured you'd be gone by now."
"I was." I nudged the coffee cup toward him. "Then this happened."
"Coffee?"
"No. Sitting still. Thinking. Changing my mind. Again."
Liam didn't say anything right away. Just leaned back, studying me in a way that made me feel half-exposed and half-seen.
"I'm not good at this," I admitted.
"This?"
"Slowing down. Letting people in. Taking up space somewhere that isn't temporary."
He nodded. "Yeah, well, neither was I."
Something about that felt heavier than it should have.
I narrowed my eyes. "You talk like you've been through a whole lifetime of heartbreak."
"Maybe I have," he said, and smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
I wanted to ask more. To pry. But I also knew the rules. You don't get to demand someone else's story until you're willing to tell your own.
Instead, I said, "I told myself I'd keep moving until I figured out what I wanted."
"And?" he asked.
"I'm starting to think maybe that's not the point."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe the point is figuring out who I am when I'm not running."
Liam's face softened.
And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, I felt like I wasn't lying to myself.
He gestured to the cinnamon roll. "You gonna eat that?"
I pushed the plate toward him.
"Be my guest."
Liam tore off a piece of the cinnamon roll and popped it in his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days.
"This is insane," he said, chewing, his eyes briefly closing in appreciation. "I wasn't lying. Best in town."
I sipped my coffee, still watching him. "So… was this a coincidence? You just happened to show up at this café?"
He shrugged, wiping sugar from the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I saw your car parked outside. Maybe I came to say goodbye."
My stomach twisted. "Goodbye?"
"Well, you were leaving, weren't you?"
I hated how final that word sounded. I looked away, focusing on the condensation on my cup.
"I don't know anymore."
Liam leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice lower now. "What happened last night—was that just a moment for you? Or did it mean something?"
I looked at him then. Really looked.
His eyes weren't pushing. They were asking.
Honest. Open. Maybe even scared.
I couldn't remember the last time someone looked at me like that and waited.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Then sighed.
"It meant something."
Liam's shoulders eased slightly. His fingers brushed the edge of the napkin, folding it unconsciously.
"Okay. Good. Because it meant something to me too. I just… I didn't want to be the only one carrying it."
We sat in the quiet again, the morning hum of the café dull in the background.
I finally asked, "Why'd you leave last night?"
His jaw tightened.
He looked down at the table like maybe the answer was scribbled somewhere in the grain.
"Because I'm not used to getting what I want," he said. "And I panicked."
"That makes two of us."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "We're a mess."
I snorted. "Disaster."
Then we both laughed. Really laughed. Not just polite chuckles but the kind that makes your shoulders shake and your cheeks ache.
It felt… like something shifted. Like we'd cracked open the door just wide enough to let some light in.
After the moment passed, Liam tapped his fingers against the table.
"So… what happens now?"
I swallowed. That was the question, wasn't it?
What did happen now?
"I have no clue," I admitted.
Liam nodded slowly. "You don't have to figure it all out today."
I looked out the window. The sky had turned that pale morning blue, soft and safe. The town looked less foreign now. Less like a layover and more like a question I hadn't fully answered.
"You still want to leave?" he asked.
I paused.
The thing was—I had wanted to. So badly. To outrun the weight in my chest, the voice in my head telling me I wasn't built for roots or connections or sticking around.
But right now, sitting here, it didn't feel so heavy.
"I don't know what I want yet," I said, turning back to him. "But I don't think I want to be alone while I figure it out."
Liam nodded. "Fair enough."
He picked up the last bite of the cinnamon roll, holding it up like a peace offering. "Then maybe… stay for the weekend? See what happens?"
I hesitated.
Just a weekend?
It felt like a small ask. But something in me buzzed with warning. Like once I said yes, it would be harder to leave.
But then again… wasn't that kind of the point?
"Okay," I said. "The weekend."
His smile was slow, and genuine.
And I didn't feel like running anymore.
---
We left the café and walked down the street. The sun had warmed the pavement, and a breeze tugged gently at my sleeves. Liam didn't offer to hold my hand, but he walked close enough that our arms brushed now and then.
The town felt different in daylight.
Not just the buildings or the people, but the air itself—less like a memory and more like something unfolding in real time.
"Can I show you something?" he asked.
I glanced over. "Is this a 'murder in the woods' situation?"
"I was thinking more… scenic overlook?"
I narrowed my eyes, mock suspicious. "Do I need hiking boots?"
"You'll survive. It's not far."
We took his truck. I expected country music, but his playlist was soft rock—older stuff, actually good. I leaned back in the passenger seat, letting it wash over me.
Fifteen minutes later, we were parked near a trailhead. The trees parted into a narrow path, dappled with sunlight. I followed him up a mild incline until we came out onto a small ledge that looked over the lake.
The view stole my breath.
It wasn't grand or dramatic. Just… quiet. Beautiful in a way that felt personal. The kind of beauty that didn't need to shout to be known.
"Wow," I said.
Liam sat on a rock and motioned for me to do the same.
"My dad used to bring me here," he said. "Whenever life got too loud."
I looked over, surprised. He'd never mentioned his dad before.
"You close?" I asked.
"Not really. He left when I was fourteen. This place just kind of… stuck."
There it was again—that open window. A peek into something deeper.
"You ever think about leaving?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away.
Then: "All the time. But something always pulled me back."
I let that sit.
Because maybe that was the whole point of this place—not escape, but return. Not knowing where you were going, but knowing who you were when you stood still long enough to hear it.
I looked at him. "Thanks for showing me this."
"Thanks for staying."
We sat in the stillness a little longer. And for the first time in forever, I didn't feel the itch to move. To fix. To run.
I just… was.