Saturday morning was their last session in the library. Izzy pushed that out of her mind the whole time they worked so she wouldn’t cry. At the end, Beau took his laptop back from her and slid his notebook across the table to her like he always did.
She took a deep breath and slid it back to him.
“I, um, should leave this with you,” she said. “I think it’s safe now, don’t you?”
He looked down at the notebook for a long time. Finally, he looked up at her. “Right,” he said. “I forgot. And yeah, I think so.” He closed his laptop. “I can’t believe I’ve managed to write some of this book. You’re a miracle worker, Izzy.”
She shook her head. “You’ve written most of the book, actually. And thank you, but I can’t take all the credit here. You’ve worked really hard.”
She was so proud of him, of how much he’d accomplished, of how hard he’d worked to break through everything that had been holding him back.
He smiled at her. “I did work hard, but so did you. With me, and your own work. I can’t wait to read all your books someday. Someday soon.”
She had worked hard. She was proud of herself, too—of all the work she’d done with him, for the skills as an editor she’d gained, for all the writing she’d done on her own work. She hadn’t written most of a book while she’d been here, but she’d started one. And she had a newfound belief in the one she’d already written.
“I can’t wait for that, too,” she said.
She wondered, though: On that imaginary future day when he would read her book, would it be because she gave it to him and he read it sitting next to her? Would they still be together? Or would he see it in a bookstore, years from now, and remember her?
She knew she should ask him. But the words died on her lips.
Beau stood up and tucked his notebook under his arm.
“I told Michaela not to make us dinner tonight,” he said. “I thought we could go out.”
Dinner tonight. Their last night.
“That sounds great,” she said.
She was glad—and touched—that Beau had made plans for dinner tonight. The past day and a half had been so rushed that she’d barely thought about anything not on her to-do list.
Of course, she’d thought constantly about Beau, but her thoughts were all jumbled, with no clear shape. She wanted to stay here with him, she wanted to get the job at Maurice, she would miss him, she knew he would miss her. But would he just miss her because he would miss the company, and not her specifically? Was this just one of those summer camp kinds of romances, hot and intense and so real in the moment, but quickly fading away as soon as they were apart?
The night before, when they’d watched their show together on the couch in the TV room with his arm around her, and then later, when he’d kissed her so tenderly in his room, everything had felt so perfect, so right between them. But now she wondered if it was all in her head. After all, they’d always known she’d be leaving soon, but he’d never made any reference to the future. To their future, after she left.
No, she couldn’t think about any of this today. Not on their last day.
As soon as they walked out of the library, he pulled her to him and kissed her, so hard it made her breathless. When the kiss ended, she clung to him. Why did she suddenly feel like crying?
“I’m going to miss you, Isabelle Marlowe,” he said in her ear.
Damn it. Now she knew she was going to cry.
“I’m going to miss you, too, Beauregard Towers,” she said. And instead of crying, they both started laughing.
Saturday night, her last night in California, Izzy got dressed for dinner with Beau. She was flying out of LAX the next morning at nine, which meant she had to leave Santa Barbara by five. Her suitcase was totally packed—when she realized earlier that day how much extra stuff she’d acquired while she’d been here, she’d run out and bought an overnight bag for the overflow. She’d finish packing it when they got back tonight.
She put on the long bright yellow sundress she’d bought on that shopping expedition with Michaela. This was the first time she’d worn it.
She walked down the staircase to meet him, the long dress trailing behind her. He stood at the foot of the staircase and watched her the whole way, a soft smile on his face.
“Hi.” He reached out a hand to her when she got to the bottom step. “You look beautiful.”
She took his hand and held on tight. “Thank you.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.
They were quiet as they drove down the hill for dinner. She hadn’t even asked him where they were going, she realized as he parked not far from the beach. He took her hand and steered her down the street.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He pointed up ahead. “That Mexican place, it’s right near the water. I thought it would be nice, since you’re going back to cold weather.”
She smiled up at him. “I actually missed the bulk of the cold weather this year—according to Instagram, it’s spring in New York now. The snow is all gone, flowers are out, I might not even need my coat when I get off the plane.”
He grinned. “Is it going to be warm enough for you to be able to wear that dress?”
She laughed. “Not for a month at least.”
They sat down, ate chips and salsa, and chatted about nothing important as they looked at the menu. How Michaela’s salsa was better than the salsa here, how Beau was going to try making croissants again from a different recipe he’d found, how Beau was going to get someone to restore some of the chairs in the library.
“Oh,” Beau said when the waiter brought their margaritas. “My mom is coming next weekend.”
“Wow, that’s great,” Izzy said. Had he planned on purpose for his mom to come after she left? No, she wasn’t going to spoil their last night with thoughts like that. “I’m sure it’ll be really good to see her again. And for her to see the house.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. And to get to see Michaela, meet the baby.”
Beau looked so happy at the thought of seeing his mom again. Now Izzy felt guilty for her momentary resentful thoughts. She reached for her drink.
“What time do we have to leave tomorrow morning to get you to LAX on time?” he asked.
Izzy looked up from her drink. “You don’t have to drive me,” she said. “I can—”
Beau shook his head. “You can just stop talking now, because I’m driving you.”
Izzy opened her mouth to say something else and then closed it. For once, she would obey a stop-talking-now directive. She lifted her glass and smiled.
After dinner, they walked down to the beach. Izzy slipped her sandals off and tucked them in her bag. There were other people on the beach, a few small groups, other couples walking hand in hand like them, but it felt quiet, peaceful. The only sounds were the waves crashing in to shore, and the faint music coming from somewhere farther down.
Beau held her hand firmly. She wondered what he was thinking. He’d said that he would miss her, and she knew it was true. She would miss him, too, so much. She thought, again, about asking him what would happen between them when she left. Would they keep this up? Would they keep in touch? Was this the end of everything?
But she hesitated. Everything between them had been wonderful for the past few weeks, better than any relationship she’d ever had before. But was it real? Was this one of those limited-time, fairy-tale romances, one of the ones that happened because of a castle and a curse and lots of magic, but that would vanish when real life started again? She hoped not. But she didn’t know.
But God, she didn’t want to leave the next morning. She knew that for sure.
The music got louder as they walked down the beach and she saw a string quartet playing outside at a restaurant.
Beau stopped and turned to her. “Dance with me,” he said.
She looked up at him. She could barely see his face in the darkness, but she knew he was smiling. She dropped her purse and put her arm around his neck.
They danced together on the sand, moving in a slow circle, the wind blowing the full skirt of her dress, his hand on the small of her back, as the music and sound of the waves soared around them. Finally, the music stopped, and she rested her head against his chest. They stood there together for a long time. Finally, Beau leaned down and kissed her, slowly, gently. She cupped his face in her hands.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
He kissed her once more. “Yes, let’s go home,” he said.
The next morning, they woke up to her alarm. It took everything in her not to cry when she realized this would be the last time she woke up with him like this. Instead, she cleared her throat and sat up.