Chapter Eighteen — The Last Night
The final night in Crestview crept in quietly.
Boxes were stacked by the door, ready to go. The furniture was staying behind — the flat came fully furnished, and she had decided that the sturdy wooden desk, the kitchen table, and the hook by the door where Daniel's jacket had hung for months belonged to the apartment, not to her. Whoever moved in next would get to enjoy them, and surprisingly, she felt okay about that. What truly mattered was already with her: the ceramics, the books, Gerald, the lino cut print, and the map Layla had drawn that Daniel had framed.
She held onto three things in particular.
Gerald. The blue ceramic jug. And the little bird Francesca had gifted her at the market.
Daniel arrived at seven, bringing food from their favorite Italian spot — the one they had stumbled upon in those early weeks, with its cozy tables, great wine, and that relaxed vibe that made you feel like time was on your side. He laid everything out on the kitchen table, and as she looked at it, memories flooded back of all the meals they had shared there. The soup on the night he opened up about Claire. The pasta on the night of Natalie. The bread they enjoyed on Friday evenings when he returned from wherever he had been.
She was really going to miss that table.
But she knew she wouldn't miss it more than she was looking forward to what came next.
They ended up eating on the floor since the chairs were all packed away, but neither of them seemed to mind.
As they ate, she took in her apartment. The bare walls. The view of the brick wall. The hooks that were now empty. The windowsill where Gerald had managed to sprout eleven leaves during her time there.
"Are you sad?" Daniel asked.
She paused to think about it.
"A little," she replied. "But in a good way. The kind that shows something was truly worth having."
They lingered on the floor long after the last bite was taken. His back pressed against the wall, her body leaning into him, both of them gazing at the empty apartment bathed in lamplight. She found herself reflecting on how they ended up here. The bare mattress, the leftover noodles in the pot, the radiator clanging, and the overwhelming question of what she was really doing with her life. The brick wall visible through the kitchen window. The wifi that had failed her, forcing her to Groundwork on just her fourth day. Everything that had happened between that moment and now. Bette with her strategic seating, the notebook left behind on purpose, Daniel across the room, his gaze unwavering. The canal, Owen, the rainy market, and the realization that she might be falling in love with him right there in that kitchen. Natalie, Carver Street, Claire, Boston, and all the rest of it.
"Daniel," she said, breaking the silence.
"Yes?"
"Thanks for not looking away."
He paused for a moment, considering his words.
"Thank you for coming back for the notebook," he replied.
"I got a new one," she said, a hint of mischief in her voice.
"I know." There was a brief silence. "You came back the next morning, earlier than usual, with your expression all carefully arranged."
She chuckled, a helpless laugh. "You noticed."
"I noticed everything about you from that very first morning," he said, his tone sincere. "And I haven't stopped."
She turned to face him in the warm glow of the lamp in her nearly empty apartment.
He met her gaze, completely unguarded, fully present.
She leaned in and kissed him.
It was slow, deliberate, carrying the weight of everything they were both holding as they moved toward whatever came next together.
When she pulled away, she stayed close.
"Boston tomorrow," she whispered.
"Boston tomorrow," he echoed back.
The radiator clanked one last time.
Gerald had eleven leaves.
Everything was set.