Chapter 9: The Last Summer
Willow Creek smelled like rain that summer.
The storms rolled through in heavy, unexpected bursts—washing the streets clean, making the river rise and swell. The whole town felt suspended in a constant breath, like it was waiting for something.
Mae stayed longer than she meant to.
Originally, she had planned just a weekend. Visit her mom. Breathe the old air for a few days. Move on.
But something about being home—or at least the closest thing to home she had left—made her linger.
Maybe because she knew, deep down, that this was the last summer she and Leo would ever share in the same zip code.
Maybe because she wasn’t ready to leave it behind just yet.
They fell into an easy rhythm again—not like before, not quite—but something close.
Coffee at the corner diner.
Long walks along the riverbank.
Conversations that looped and drifted like the water beside them.
They didn’t talk about the future.
They didn’t talk about the what-ifs or the could-have-beens.
They just… were.
Two people trying to carve a little more time out of a world that kept demanding they move on.
One afternoon, Leo dragged Mae out of bed at dawn.
“Come on,” he said, grinning in the early mist. “You’ll regret it if you miss it.”
She groaned, pulling her sweatshirt over her head. “This better be good, Sullivan.”
“You’ll see.”
They drove out to the edge of town, where the river widened into a sprawling marsh.
Leo parked by the broken fence and led her down a worn path, boots squelching in the wet earth.
Mae grumbled the whole way, until they crested a small hill—and she gasped.
Before them, the world was waking up.
The marsh stretched in every direction, silvered by morning mist, dotted with the gold of first sunlight. Birds wheeled overhead, calling out across the still water. The entire world looked like it was holding its breath.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Leo smiled, that rare, quiet smile she hadn’t seen since they were kids.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
Mae turned, heart twisting painfully.
They stood there, side by side, until the sun rose higher, burning the mist away.
Until the world returned to itself.
Later, they sat on the hood of Leo’s truck, sharing a warm thermos of coffee, watching the river drift past.
Mae swung her legs absently. “Do you ever think about leaving for good?”
Leo shrugged. “All the time.”
“But you don’t.”
“Not yet.”
She nodded, understanding.
Sometimes staying wasn’t about loving a place.
Sometimes it was just about not knowing where else to go.
In July, they rebuilt the Paper Kingdom.
Not the old hideout, not really.
It was more symbolic than anything—an afternoon spent dragging driftwood and abandoned boards to the riverbank, hammering them together into a lopsided frame.
They hung an old bedsheet as a roof.
They wrote new wishes.
Leo’s handwriting was bigger now, messier.
Mae’s was neater, more deliberate.
They hung the wishes on a string between two trees, like prayer flags.
Some of the wishes were silly: Eat three whole pies in one day.
Some were serious: Learn how to let go without hating yourself for it.
Mae’s favorite was simple.
Find something worth staying for.
She didn’t know if it meant a person, a place, or a dream.
Maybe it didn’t matter.
Maybe it was enough just to look.
August slipped in quietly.
The end of things always does.
Leo got a job offer in another state—something better, steadier.
Mae had her own plans: grad school applications, internships, bigger cities than Willow Creek could ever offer.
They didn’t talk about it.
They didn’t need to.
Some endings don’t come with explosions.
Some just happen, soft and inevitable as a tide rolling out.
Their last night together was quiet.
They sat on the bridge, as they always had.
The stars were blurry, half-obscured by the heat haze.
The river whispered beneath them.
Leo handed her a paper heart.
The last one.
Mae unfolded it slowly.
Inside, it said:
Some bridges are worth crossing, even if you know they’ll break.
She smiled, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
Leo cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing the wetness away.
He kissed her.
It wasn’t desperate this time.
It wasn’t hurried.
It was slow.
Gentle.
Final.
When they pulled apart, Leo rested his forehead against hers.
“I’ll always be cheering for you,” he said.
Mae closed her eyes.
“I’ll always be looking for you,” she whispered back.
They didn’t say goodbye.
Not really.
They just stood on the bridge until the stars faded, until the river blurred into mist, until the world felt too wide to hold them both.
Then they turned and walked away.
Mae toward her car.
Leo toward his truck.
No promises.
No looking back.
Just two people who had once built a kingdom out of paper and dreams—and who now knew how to leave without tearing it all apart.
Mae drove out of Willow Creek at sunrise.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t clutch at the memories, desperate to save them.
She just let them flow through her, like the river they had grown up beside.
Because some love stories don’t end with marriage or forever.
Some end with two people carrying a piece of each other quietly, endlessly, into the lives they build apart.
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