Under the Grit

White Mustang

The air was warm and salty, the faint breeze carrying the scent of the ocean as the group gathered around the fire pit. The flames flickered and popped, casting golden light over their faces as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. Laughter and the occasional clink of glasses punctuated the evening, a backdrop to the faint strumming of guitars. Arthur and John sat off to the side, their fingers dancing across the strings as they played a soft, easy melody that mingled with the sound of the waves.

Evangeline sat in one of the chairs, her gaze fixed on the fire as her thoughts swirled in an endless loop. She'd been like this all day, distracted and tense, her mind consumed by the image on her phone-the one she couldn't stop thinking about, no matter how hard she tried.

Mary, laughing and leaning into a stranger, her hand brushing against his chest in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. The memory of it made Evangeline's stomach churn, her chest tightening with a mix of anger and unease. She had spent hours debating with herself, going back and forth over whether she should tell Arthur or keep it to herself.

Her eyes flicked to him now, sitting across the fire with his head bowed slightly as he focused on his guitar. The flames illuminated his face, highlighting the faint lines around his eyes and the curve of his mouth as he played. The sight of him, so calm and steady, made her chest ache.

You deserve to know, she thought for the hundredth time, her fingers tightening around the glass of wine in her hand. But what if it's not my place? What if it only makes things worse?

The melody shifted, John picking up the rhythm as Arthur transitioned into a different tune. The sound was soothing, almost hypnotic, and yet it did little to quiet the storm inside her. She glanced around the group, noting how relaxed everyone else seemed-Karen and Sean arguing playfully over something at the grill, Tilly and Mary-Beth laughing together as they shared a bottle of wine, Javier telling a story to Abigail and Charles that had them shaking their heads with amused smiles.

It all felt so normal, so ordinary, and yet Evangeline couldn't shake the weight of the decision looming over her. She had tried to distract herself throughout the day, going for a long walk on the beach, helping Tilly prepare a side dish for dinner, even reading one of the books she'd brought along. But nothing worked. The picture was a constant presence in her mind, a reminder of the choice she knew she had to make.

Her gaze drifted back to Arthur, and for a moment, their eyes met. It was brief, a flicker of connection that made her heart skip before he looked back at his guitar, his expression unreadable.

Evangeline swallowed hard, her chest tightening as she took a sip of her wine. Tomorrow they'd be packing up and heading home, and the thought of leaving without saying anything felt unbearable. But the idea of telling him, of shattering whatever fragile peace they had managed to find, was equally daunting.

The sound of John's laughter brought her back to the present, and she forced herself to smile faintly, nodding along as Karen said something she didn't quite catch. The warmth of the fire brushed against her skin, and the low hum of conversation surrounded her, but none of it managed to ground her fully. Her thoughts still swirled with uncertainty, the image on her phone burned into her mind like an unwelcome brand.

She glanced at Arthur again, catching him mid-strum, his fingers deftly plucking at the strings of his guitar. His brow furrowed slightly in concentration, his jaw tightening as he leaned into the melody. Evangeline watched him for a beat too long, her heart tightening at the sight of his steady presence, the calm strength he exuded without even trying. She hated that she knew this would hurt him. Even worse, she hated the weight of knowing she was the one who would have to deliver the blow.