~Chapter 8~
For six years, I watched the sky from Spain, searching for a sign that he was still waiting. Last night, I saw a shooting star. I didn't know then that I was wishing on the very moment he was looking out at the Atlantic, thinking of me.
"Six years," Allison mumbled.
The humidity of South Carolina hit her the moment she stepped out of the terminal-thick and heavy, like a damp wool blanket. She gripped the handle of her black suitcase until her knuckles turned white.
"...and now I'm breathing the same air as him."
Anna stood beside her, stretching her arms with a dramatic sigh that drew glances from passing travelers.
"Whoa," Anna breathed, her eyes darting from the towering glass ceilings to the massive flags hanging from the rafters. "So this is what an American airport smells like."
Allison managed a small, shaky smile. "Well, welcome to my hometown!"
For her parents, this was a homecoming. But for Allison—and Anna—this was something else.
A quiet, careful plan to surprise Devin.
Across town, the heat pressed down heavily—but for Devin, the air felt heavy for a different reason.
When the doorbell rang, he lunged for the gate, his heart skipping in a way he would never admit.
He swung it open—
And halted.
A delivery man stood there, bored and sweating, balancing a large cardboard box.
"Delivery for Mr. Ben Austin."
Devin's shoulders dropped.
"Yeah." He scrawled his name across the electronic pad before dragging the gate shut.
The metallic clank echoed his disappointment.
Not the letter he was hoping for.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang again.
This time, he didn't rush.
Another package.
Another sigh.
He collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above him. "I hate this day."
Ben appeared from the hallway, noticing his nephew's mood. He sat across from Devin on the living room couch.
"What's the matter? You seem down."
"Uncle," Devin asked suddenly, "why are you still single?"
Ben chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, that's a long story. But to make it short... just call me the man who couldn't move forward."
Devin nodded, as if he understood the weight of those words. "So you've been in love with someone before? But—"
"Yes." Ben's expression grew distant. "We didn't end up together. Her parents didn't think I was good enough. I was young, still dependent on my own family, not capable of providing for her. But love doesn't care about age or circumstances." He paused, his voice growing quieter. "No matter how hard we fought for it, one day she just... disappeared from my life."
Devin waited, sensing there was more.
"Years later, I found out she had a daughter," Ben continued, his eyes fixed on something far away. "I found out she was happy. That she had moved on."
"That's..." Devin struggled for words. "That sounds tragic. No wonder you haven't moved on yet."
"What choice do I have?" Ben replied softly.
"Right," Devin said quietly.
Ben looked at his nephew with sudden intensity. "I know this reminds you of Allison, Devin. But listen to me—if you really love her, you have to fight for her. Promise me you won't make my mistake. I don't want to see you in twenty years, grieving for someone who's alive and living without you."
Devin went speechless. His gaze fixed on nothing, but his mind couldn't stop thinking about Allison—about the promise they'd made, about the six years that still stretched ahead of them.
The three-car convoy pulled up to the Ainsley mansion as the afternoon sun began its descent. The mansion rose from the manicured lawns like something from a Gothic novel—all white columns and sprawling verandas, the kind of place that whispered old money and older secrets.
Allison stepped out last, her black suitcase in hand, feeling the weight of six years settle onto her shoulders as she looked at the house that had both sheltered and imprisoned her.
"Home," Lauren sighed, removing her sunglasses as she climbed out of the sedan. "Finally home."
Alex was already issuing instructions to the drivers handling the luggage. "Everything goes to the master suite first. I want the study refreshed by tomorrow. We have business calls starting at eight."
The house felt different. Quieter. Allison realized immediately that Maria wasn't there—no familiar figure on the porch, no warm embrace waiting. The older woman had retired, returned to her own life in Spain. The house was just a structure now, empty of the woman who had held their secrets.
Anna stepped out beside Allison, her eyes taking in the grand mansion with a mix of awe and wariness. "Welcome home," Allison murmured.
"Gosh, I feel dizzy." Anna said quietly.
Lauren squeezed Allison's shoulder. "Come, girls. Let's get you settled. You must be exhausted."
Twenty minutes later, after Lauren had fussed over unpacked bags and made vague promises about dinner plans, Allison excused herself with the ease of someone who'd been granted freedom long ago. Her parents trusted her now. Six years of letters, good grades, and no scandals had earned her that much.
She found Anna in the hallway.
"So," Anna whispered, eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. "When?"
Allison grabbed her wrist. "Come on. I want to show you something first."
---
The garage was cool and dimly lit. Three cars lined the space—a sleek Mercedes (Alex's), a practical Lexus (Lauren's), and tucked in the corner like a forgotten memory, an old sky-blue Volkswagen Beetle with mismatched hubcaps.
Allison's breath caught.
"Oh my God," Anna breathed. "Is that—"
"My grandmother's." Allison ran her hand along the dusty hood. The paint was faded, the interior probably smelled of old upholstery and regret, but the keys still hung on the pegboard above the workbench—exactly where they'd always been. "Dad said it was worthless. That it should've been scrapped years ago. So he just... left it here. Forgot about it."
"This is perfect," Anna said immediately, understanding the strategy. "It's not the Lexus. It's not a family car. It's invisible."
"Exactly." Allison pulled down the keys, the metal warm in her palm. "No one pays attention to old cars."
"So this is the plan?" Anna slid into the passenger seat. "We take this thing to find him? You want to see if he recognizes you?"
"I want to see how he reacts when he doesn't know it's me," Allison admitted, settling behind the steering wheel. The car smelled exactly as she remembered—like salt air and old dreams. "I spent six years writing to him. Six years of everything I couldn't say in person. And he's been waiting."
"So you want to test him first?" Anna was already pulling her hair into a messy bun. "See if he's worthy?"
"No." Allison gripped the wheel. "I want to see him the way he really is. Not from memory. Not from photographs. Just... Devin."
Anna was quiet for a moment. Then: "That's actually genius. Also kind of psychotic. I love it."
"Is it crazy?" Allison asked, suddenly uncertain. "We just got home. My mother—"
"Your mother thinks you're unpacking and jet-lagged," Anna cut in. "She won't check on you for hours. And you're eighteen, Ali. You don't need permission to take a drive."
Allison turned the key. The Beetle sputtered, coughed, and then—miraculously—the engine caught.
"Besides," Anna continued, voice dropping into their conspiratorial tone, "this is just for fun, right? A little reunion prank. We see him. We realize you're being ridiculous. We laugh about it."
"Right." Allison pulled the car out of the garage, into the South Carolina afternoon. The humidity rolled through the open windows, thick with magnolias and ocean. "Just for fun."
But her hands were shaking on the steering wheel.
Because six years of letters had been leading to this moment.