THE NIGHT ETHAN COLE FINALLY FELT AT HOME
Chapter 12
The following morning, Ethan woke up later than usual.
His clothes smelled faintly of smoke.
There was ash on his boots.
His jacket smelled like barbecue.
His phone contained seventeen photographs Lily had taken during the night.
Most were blurry.
One was just Walter’s face.
Another showed June laughing.
Another captured the fire.
Another showed the harbor.
Ethan stopped at the last photograph.
It was a picture of him.
He was standing near the fire.
He wasn’t looking at the camera.
He was looking at the town.
At the people.
At the lights.
At the place that had slowly become his home.
Ethan smiled.
Then he saved the photograph.
He didn’t delete it.
That afternoon, he went to the diner.
June put coffee in front of him.
“Sleep well?”
“Not really.”
“Good festival?”
Ethan nodded.
“Yeah.”
She smiled.
“See you next year.”
Ethan looked at her.
“Definitely.”
The answer came naturally.
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Definitely.
And that single word told him how much had changed.
The old Ethan would have said:
“If I’m still here.”
Or:
“Maybe.”
Or:
“We’ll see.”
But this time, he knew.
Next year, he’d be here.
Maybe he’d help build the bonfire.
Maybe he’d enter the barbecue competition again.
Maybe he’d complain about the music.
Maybe Lily would drag him into another ridiculous game.
Maybe Walter would lose another guitar pick.
Maybe June would pretend she hadn’t saved him a seat.
Maybe there would be new people.
Maybe some old ones would be gone.
That was life.
People came.
People left.
Seasons changed.
The harbor remained.
But Ethan finally understood that belonging didn’t mean nothing would ever change.
It meant having something worth returning to when it did.
