Chapter Two: Still Here
The ocean wind was stronger than she remembered.
Eva sat on a weather-worn bench overlooking the bluffs just past Briar Hollow, a spot she hadn’t visited since she was nineteen and convinced the world would open up for her just because she asked. The sea stretched endlessly before her, silver and restless, waves crashing against the cliffs in a rhythm that felt like a pulse beneath her skin.
She sipped the coffee she’d brought from The Hollow Bean, Edgewater’s only café that didn’t smell like regret and old newspapers. It was strong and bitter—comforting, in a way. The kind of taste that made her feel awake, even if she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be.
Three days. She’d been back in town for three days, and she still hadn’t gone inside the bookstore.
She told herself it was about timing. That she needed to ease into this place again. Feel it out. But the truth was simpler and far less graceful: she was scared.
She didn’t know what terrified her more—seeing him again, or the possibility that he’d moved on. That someone else had filled the space she had once claimed as her own. That he wasn’t waiting, after all. That the letter had been a cruel, late echo of something already buried.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the bench. The salt air stung her nose, and for a moment, she let herself feel it—the ache of everything she’d lost and the fear that she had no right to want it back.
Her phone buzzed beside her. She ignored it.
It was probably Marissa, her roommate back in Chicago, still confused about this sudden “vacation.” Eva hadn’t told her much—just that she needed space, that she was going to visit her hometown. She hadn’t said Noah’s name. She hadn’t said any names at all.
Some things still felt too sharp to speak aloud.
A gull cried overhead, loud and insistent, and Eva opened her eyes just as a familiar voice echoed in her head—young, warm, and a little teasing.
"You always look like you’re about to cry when you stare at the ocean that long."
She remembered that day. Seventeen, sitting beside Noah on this very bench, the wind tugging her curls loose while he leaned back with his arms behind his head like he owned the whole sky. She had shrugged him off, tried to laugh, but he’d seen through it. He always had.
"You feel too much," he’d said softly. "That’s not a bad thing. But you gotta learn how to carry it, Eva Jean."
Eva wiped at her cheek, annoyed to find it damp. Not tears. Just the wind, she told herself. Just the wind.
She stood abruptly, tossing the last of her coffee into the grass and brushing imaginary lint from her coat. Enough nostalgia. Enough memory. If she stayed still too long, she’d start rewriting the past, and she didn’t have the luxury of lies right now.
As she turned back toward town, her phone buzzed again. She finally glanced at the screen.
Unknown number.
One new message:
“Are you really here, or am I just seeing ghosts again?”
She stared at the words, her heart stilling in her chest
He knew?
She froze.
Her heart clenched in her chest as the words sank in. She read them again, then a third time, her mind running ahead of her like a runaway train.
Noah.
It had to be.
Who else would say something like that? Who else knew she was back? Who else had a reason to think of her as a ghost?
Her breath caught, sharp in her throat. She swiped the message open, thumbs trembling over the keyboard, but her mind went blank. What was she supposed to say?
Yes, I’m here.
I never stopped thinking about you.
I’m sorry.
Nothing felt right.
She looked around the empty cliff walk, half-expecting him to step out from behind the old cypress tree, or be leaning against the rail like in some quiet dream. But the only things around her were wind, silence, and seagulls.
A second buzz lit up the screen.
“It’s me—Rachel. I thought that was you walking past Hollow Bean this morning. I almost called out. You okay?”
Eva blinked. The air rushed out of her lungs.
Not Noah.
It wasn’t Noah.
She didn’t know if she felt relief or disappointment.
Maybe both.
Rachel Mason. The closest thing Eva had to a childhood friend—before things with Noah had taken over everything. They hadn’t spoken since high school graduation. And yet here she was, reaching out as if the years between them hadn’t turned brittle and sharp.
Eva read the message again. It was kind. Familiar.
And somehow, it hurt more than she expected.
Because if Rachel had seen her, that meant others could too.
She was no longer a ghost drifting back into town unseen. She was visible. Tangible. Here.
And that meant Noah could see her too. At any moment.
Eva tapped out a response slowly, her fingers heavy.
“Yeah. I’m here. Just for a little while.”
She hesitated, then added:
“Thanks for texting.”
She didn’t ask how Rachel got her number. That didn’t matter. What mattered was the growing truth curling around her: she was no longer safe in anonymity.
Edgewater had already begun noticing.
And whether she liked it or not, so would