The call came on a Thursday morning, just as the first slivers of dawn began to slice through the fog.
Emery was behind the counter, pulling croissants from the oven, their golden, flaky edges catching the early light. The café had a quiet hum to it, the kind that made the world feel a little slower, a little softer. She could hear Cal's footsteps upstairs—he was probably sorting through his old camera gear, a ritual he'd adopted since returning. It was like he needed to reacquaint himself with the tools he'd once wielded so confidently, as if he were a stranger to them now.
The phone rang in the corner, a sharp noise in the otherwise peaceful air. Emery wiped her hands on her apron and answered it, not looking at the caller ID.
"Hello, Lighthouse Café."
There was a pause on the other end, a familiar, authoritative voice.
"Emery," said Jonathan Hale, the editor of Lens & Light, the international photography magazine Cal had once been featured in. "I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."
She smiled at the sound of his voice, though she wasn't sure why. Jonathan was one of those people who always seemed like he was calling from somewhere very far away—even when he was standing in front of you.
"No, no, it's fine. What's up?"
"Well, I'm calling with an opportunity," Jonathan continued, sounding a little too professional for a Thursday morning. "Cal's work has been getting a lot of attention recently. The shots he took in Greece—remember those? They're being picked up for an international exhibit. We're looking to bring him on for a full project. Some big names are involved, and we think it could be a game-changer for him."
Emery's heart skipped, a familiar pang of fear mixed with something else—something sharp, protective.
"That's great," she said, though her voice was softer than she intended. "I didn't know he was still working with you."
"Well, we've kept in touch," Jonathan said. "And we think this project could be just what he needs to get back into the spotlight."
She could hear the unspoken part of his words—the part where he needed it. Cal had always been good at running toward the next thing, the next opportunity, the next destination.
And now, the next one had arrived.
She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. "I'll pass the message along."
There was a slight hesitation on the other end. "Of course. I hope to hear from him soon."
"Yeah, me too."
And with that, the line went silent.
Emery set the phone down, taking a deep breath. She glanced out the window, but the view of the harbor was blurry, fogged by the sudden rush of thoughts colliding in her mind. She hadn't expected this. Not yet. She thought they had more time.
But maybe time wasn't something they could afford.
Later that morning, when the café had quieted down, Cal came downstairs, a camera bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was still damp from a shower, and there was a look in his eyes that told Emery he'd been lost in his thoughts all morning. It was the same look he had when he'd been thinking about his next move—always on the edge of something.
"Hey," he said, sitting down at the counter. "Anything interesting happen today?"
Emery could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't want to talk about this. Didn't want to admit how much the thought of losing him again hurt—how deeply it made her question everything she thought she understood.
But she couldn't keep the words inside anymore.
"There's something I need to tell you," she said, her voice steady but fragile. "Jonathan called. He's got a project for you. A big one. An exhibit. They want you to come back to Lens & Light full-time."
Cal's face froze for a moment, his eyes scanning hers like he was trying to read something he wasn't sure he understood. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, and Emery held her breath, waiting for him to say something.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "I didn't know if I'd be ready to take something like that on again."
"You were always ready," Emery said softly. "You just… left it behind when you walked away."
The words hung in the air like an unspoken accusation. She hadn't meant it to sound like that. She hadn't meant to make him feel guilty for what he'd chosen, what he'd left behind for her—for the quiet, steady life they'd built. But the truth was there, clear as day.
Cal looked down at the counter, running his fingers over the edge of the table. "I didn't mean to leave you behind, Em."
She could feel the weight of the years pressing on them, on their words. He had always been running, chasing something. And she had always been waiting. Waiting for him to find his way back—or to find the courage to stay.
"Maybe that's the problem," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You've always been the leaving kind, Cal. And I don't know if I can be the one who stays behind again."
He looked up at her then, his eyes raw, a silent apology in them. But the pain in his gaze only deepened her own.
"I don't want to leave you again," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I swear to you, I don't. But I also don't know how to turn this down, Em. I don't know if I can."
And just like that, the distance between them felt impossibly wide again. The part of her that had built this life, this safe space, felt like it was crumbling under the weight of his dream—of the thing that had always pulled him away from her.
She stood up, walking to the window, pressing her palm to the cold glass as she looked out at the harbor. The fog had lifted, but she felt more lost than ever.
"I need time, Cal," she said, her back to him. "I need time to figure out what I want. What we want."
He didn't answer at first. She could hear him shift behind her, but the silence stretched long and heavy.
"I can wait," he finally said. "For as long as you need."
She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her like a quiet promise. And for the first time since he'd returned, she didn't know if waiting was enough.
But then again, maybe it never had been.