As The Seasons Change

Chapter Four 

The warmth of Grace’s home was the first thing that struck Eli as he stepped in from the chilled Vermont evening. It wasn’t just the literal warmth from the stove still humming in the kitchen—it was the lived-in softness of it. A place that had been cared for. A place that had nothing to prove.

He closed the door behind him and slipped off his boots, letting the smell of roasted garlic and rosemary envelope him. Comfort. That’s what it was. Not grand, not dramatic. Just... safe.

Grace appeared from the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up, a wooden spoon in one hand and her long dark braid falling over one shoulder.

“You’re late,” she teased lightly, her eyes flicking to the clock. “By seven entire minutes.”

“Would’ve been nine,” Eli said, “but I ran the last block.”

She smirked. “Mm. Liar.”

He handed her the wine he’d brought—nothing special, just something red and warming—and she took it with a raised eyebrow. “Look at you being civilized.”

“You said there would be soup,” he said. “I thought I’d dress up for the evening.”

Grace tilted her head. “You mean by wearing your less-wrinkled flannel?”

“Exactly.”

She laughed, and something small and easy settled in his chest.

They ate at the little kitchen table, bowls of soup between them, crusty bread on a shared plate in the middle. The wine sat open but mostly untouched.

Eli hadn’t realized how hungry he was until halfway through the second bowl.

Grace sipped from her glass and watched him as she leaned her chin on one hand. “You’ve been quieter than usual.”

“That’s a high bar,” he said, dipping a piece of bread into the broth.

“Something’s on your mind.”

He didn’t answer at first. He didn’t want to lie—but he also didn’t want to talk about Clara, not here. Not with Grace. Not when the air was warm and the food was good and everything felt briefly like it could just be... easy.

Instead, he set his spoon down. “Do you ever feel like your life is... smaller than it should be?”

Grace blinked. “Smaller how?”

“Like you missed a turn somewhere. And now, even though everything’s fine—really fine—there’s still this question in the back of your mind. What if I’d done something different?”

Grace leaned back, the candlelight catching in the amber flecks of her eyes. “Yeah. I feel that sometimes.”

He met her gaze. “Really?”

“I run a flower shop in a town of twelve thousand people,” she said. “I see the same faces every week. Some of them I’ve known since middle school. Some of them still call me Gracie.”

Eli smiled a little.

“I love what I do,” she continued. “And I love this town. But yeah—sometimes I wonder what the version of me in another life might be doing right now. I wonder if she took the job offer in Oregon. Or if she stayed with Nate even though she knew she didn’t love him. Or if she moved to New York like she said she would.”

“And do you think she’s happier than you?”

Grace shook her head. “No. Just different.”

They sat with that thought for a while.

Later, they moved to the couch. Grace had put on some old jazz, quiet enough to blend into the hush of the apartment. Eli nursed his wine slowly, watching the raindrops gather along the glass of the window.

“So,” Grace said eventually. “What’s really going on, Eli?”

He sighed. “You don’t let things go, do you?”

“Not when it comes to people I care about.”

He stared at her, that quiet weight in her voice anchoring something inside him.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, he told the truth.

“I feel stuck,” he said. “Like I’m waiting for something I’m not supposed to want.”

Grace’s eyes didn’t flinch.

“And it’s not that I’m not grateful. For this life. For the bookstore. For the quiet. It’s just...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You want something more.”

“I don’t even know what that means anymore.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Eli,” she said gently, “is this about Clara?”

His throat tightened. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Grace exhaled slowly, as if she’d been holding the truth in her chest longer than he had. “You’ve never said it out loud. But I’ve seen it.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, voice low. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I know.”

“She’s with James. She’s his.” He swallowed. “And he’s... he’s my brother.”

“I know,” she said again, and this time it was quieter.

The room felt like it had narrowed to just the space between them. Not uncomfortable—just exposed. Honest.

“I keep telling myself it’s nothing,” Eli said. “That it’ll pass. That it has to.”

“Do you want it to?”

The question was a whisper, but it crashed against him like thunder.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Grace stood after a moment and cleared their bowls, not in anger or hurt, but in gentle understanding. When she came back, she sat beside him—not across from him, not at a distance—but beside him. Close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

“I’m not going to give you advice,” she said softly. “I’m not going to tell you what’s right or wrong. But I will say this—sitting in the waiting room of your own life won’t make anything hurt less.”

He turned his head toward her.

“You either walk in,” she said, “or you leave the building.”

And she didn’t mean Clara.

He realized that.

She meant life. His. Hers. The one they’d both been brushing past for years without daring to grab hold of.

Later, walking home in the dark, the rain finally cleared.

Eli kept thinking about her words. About how much space he’d given to a future he wasn’t allowed to want—and how little attention he’d given to the moments that might actually belong to him.

Grace had always been steady. But she wasn’t waiting. And he didn’t want to keep treating her like a background fixture in a life he barely noticed himself living.

Clara still filled his thoughts. That wouldn’t disappear overnight.

But something was shifting. Something he hadn’t expected.

And maybe it was time to stop pretending he was powerless to choose.