Chapter 3
By 6:50 in the morning, Grace was already downstairs waiting.
Right at 7:00, a white car pulled up in front of her. The window rolled down, and George gave her a warm smile.
"Get in," he said.
She opened the door and climbed in. On the passenger seat sat a cup of warm coffee.
"Drink some first," he told her. "The pasta will take a few minutes."
She picked up the coffee and took a sip.
Then, out of nowhere, she asked, "George, why are you so nice to me?"
He paused, keeping his eyes on the road, and didn't answer.
They drove on and turned into the old part of town.
As they got closer to the pasta shop, he finally spoke, "Grace, do you remember senior year when you were drawing in the library?"
She paused for a moment.
"You were painting the ocean. I was sitting right across from you, watching you for the longest time. When you finished and looked up, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw me," he added.
She couldn't remember.
"That was the first time I'd ever talked to a girl," he said. "I told you I liked writing, too, and that your writing was really good. You said thanks and walked away."
He smiled. "After that, I went to the library every day, hoping I'd run into you again, but you hardly ever showed up. Then came the SAT. You left for Belleridge, and after that..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
She looked at him, not sure what to say.
The car stopped in front of the pasta shop. He turned off the engine and looked over at her.
"It's been eleven years, Grace. I still remember that day, and I still remember the ocean you painted."
His eyes were bright. "You asked why I'm so nice to you. I don't really know myself. Maybe it's that... when you were painting the ocean, your eyes lit up."
She froze, caught off guard.
Right then, her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen and saw Edward's name.
She didn't pick up.
The call ended, and her phone started ringing again. She ignored it again. It rang once more.
George glanced at the screen but didn't say anything.
The phone rang seven times, and she didn't answer a single one.
When it rang an eighth time, she turned it off.
George looked at her.
"Should we go grab some pasta?" he asked.
She nodded.
They got out of the car and walked into the shop.
They sat at her old table by the window. She stared at the steaming hot pasta in front of her. It looked exactly the same as ten years ago. Next to it was a small bowl of warm broth, sprinkled with fresh parsley.
She picked up her fork and took a bite of the pasta, and tears fell straight onto the plate.
Across the table, George didn't ask any questions. He quietly reached over, fished the parsley out of her broth, and set the sprigs aside.
"You never liked parsley in your soup," he said softly. "I remember."
She kept her head down, crying without being able to stop.
Outside the window, a black car slowly rolled by and parked across the street.
Inside the car, someone stared at the two people sitting by the window, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
It was Edward.
He'd left Belleridge at four in the morning and driven six hours straight to Sunstone.
He went to Grace's place, but she wasn't home.
So he checked her phone's location and tracked her to this old street.
He watched her walk into the shop with another man, saw her sitting with her head down, eating pasta and ignoring the broth, and watched as that man picked the parsley out of her cup.
She didn't refuse him.
Edward sat in the car, staring at the scene, his chest feeling like a boulder was pressing down on it.
He'd never seen her eat like this. With him, she was always elegant, always careful, always trying to read his mood.
But now, she was wearing an old hoodie with her hair loosely tied back, head down over a plate of pasta, letting her tears fall without even wiping them away.
She had never acted like this in front of him before. Not once.
He pulled out his phone and tried calling her, but her phone was turned off.
Frustrated, he tossed his phone onto the passenger seat, started the engine, and sped off.
The car shot forward and disappeared around the corner.
Inside the pasta shop, Grace looked up and glanced out the window.
That black car looked kind of familiar.
"What's wrong?" George asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing."
She went back to her food, eating quietly.
Outside, the black car had vanished.