A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 32: CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

KYLE

Minutes later, we stepped out into the cool evening air. The streets were alive with the soft hum of the city—distant laughter, the occasional clang of dishes from a nearby café, the rhythmic tap of footsteps against stone.

I glanced at her. “What’s your favorite place here?”

Ashley hesitated, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer. Then, finally, she sighed. “It closed an hour ago.”

“I want to see it anyway.”

She cast me a strange look, her lips pressing together like she was deciding whether or not to argue. But in the end, she just shrugged. “If you insist.”

Golden hour had melted into twilight, the city lights flickering on one by one, casting an amber glow against the cobblestone streets. Long shadows stretched across the sidewalks as we walked downtown, our footsteps the only sound between us.

Ten minutes later, we arrived at an ancient-looking bookstore wedged between a thrift shop and a Chinese takeout joint. The windows were dark, the neon "Closed" sign flickering weakly, but even in the dim light, I could make out the peeling red letters scrawled across the glass:

Sayern Books.

Ashley stopped just in front of the door, staring at it like she could see straight through the wood and into whatever memories lay inside.

“You used to come here a lot?” I asked.

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as if warding off a chill.

"Yeah. It was quiet. No one ever really came here except for the owner and a handful of regulars. It smelled like old paper and cinnamon tea." Her voice softened, a wistful note threading through the words. "I come here to sit in the corner with a book for hours. It was the one place I could just… exist."

Something tightened in my chest.

"After I moved here, I came so often I memorized all the books on the shelves, but I still browsed every weekend anyway. It was comforting." A wry smile touched her lips, as if embarrassed by the sentimentality of it.

Ashley hadn’t been a big reader in high school. She only ever read Violet’s books, claiming to be her number one supporter. But somewhere along the way, that turned into an addiction.

"Do you have a favorite book now? Your last favorite was Violet’s first novel," I asked, unable to stop myself.

I wanted to know everything that had changed about her—what she liked now, what she hated, what books she read, what music she listened to. Every crumb of information I could get, I wanted to hoard, to fill the insatiable hunger I had for her.

"After Violet’s book, I really can’t pick just one." She shook her head. "That’s like asking someone to choose a favorite ice cream flavor."

"Easy. Strawberry for me. And it’s always been vanilla for you."Your favorite flavor for everything is vanilla.". “

“Right” she muttered. “ Well if I had to choose a book—just based on how many times I’ve reread it..." A faint blush crept up her cheeks. "Don’t laugh, because I know it’s cliché and technically a children’s book, but... The Velveteen Rabbit.”

Ashley exhaled, looking half embarrassed, half amused, but there was a certain fondness in her eyes, like she was reliving the memory in real time.

"My mom’s friend gave me a copy when I was little, and I loved it. For months, I was convinced that if I loved one of my stuffed animals enough, it would come to life. I carried around this ugly, matted rabbit everywhere—like, everywhere. To school, to the grocery store, even to church. I refused to let anyone wash it because I was convinced the dirt and wear were part of the process. My mom kept trying to sneak it into the laundry, and I’d throw a fit every time."

She ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head with a laugh.

"I think the worst moment was when I actually buried it in the backyard because I thought maybe love alone wasn’t enough—it had to be tested. Like how the Velveteen Rabbit had to go through suffering before becoming real. I dug this tiny grave, wrapped my rabbit in a napkin like a burial shroud, and left it there for three whole days."

I blinked, barely holding in a laugh. "Three days?"

"Yeah." She groaned, covering her face with her hands for a second. "I thought it was enough time for magic to do its thing. When I finally dug it back up, I was devastated that it didn’t come back to life. I was sobbing, like full-on mourning mode. My mom had to tell me that maybe I hadn’t loved it enough yet, and I—” she broke off with a laugh, shaking her head. "I spent the next week hugging that disgusting, half-rotted thing even harder, like I could reverse the damage with sheer willpower."

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I let out a sharp bark of laughter, running a hand over my face. "Jesus, Ashley. That’s—wow.So what finally happened to it?"

Ashley sighed, a hint of melancholy in her smile.

"My mom threw it away when I was at school. I was devastated. Thought she’d basically murdered my best friend. Didn’t talk to her for a week." She shook her head, a chuckle escaping. "Honestly, she probably saved me from getting some kind of disease from that thing, but at the time? I swore she was the villain in my life story."

I was still laughing, but beneath the humor, something ached in my chest. This was a side of Ashley I hadn’t seen in so long—unguarded, open, real.

And damn, I missed it.

That’s fucking adorable,” I said, my voice quieter than before.

Ashley groaned, covering her face with her hands for a second before peeking at me through her fingers. “I was young.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic,” I murmured, shaking my head.

A small smile tugged at her lips, barely there but real. She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t have to.

For the first time in a long time, we weren’t exes, weren’t two people tangled in old wounds and bad decisions. We were just us. No grudges. No regrets hanging between us like a noose. Just a quiet night, an empty bookstore, and the remnants of something that had once meant everything.

I wanted to hold onto this moment. Stretch it out. Keep her here, next to me, before reality caught up and reminded us of everything we weren’t anymore.

Ashley exhaled, glancing around like she, too, felt the weight of the moment slipping away. I wasn’t ready for the night to end—not yet. Not when, for the first time in years, she was looking at me without resentment shadowing her eyes.

“Come on,” I said, nudging her lightly. “One more stop before we head back.”

She arched a brow. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

She hesitated for a second but then shrugged. “Fine. But if you get us lost, I’m making you ask for directions in German.”

I laughed, shoving my hands in my pockets as we started walking. “I think we both know that would be a disaster.”

Ashley didn’t argue. She knew I barely spoke a word of German beyond ordering a coffee or awkwardly thanking waiters.

We wandered through the quiet streets, the cool night air crisp against my skin. Neon signs flickered above cobblestone sidewalks, and the scent of warm pastries drifted from a late-night bakery. I had no real destination in mind—I just wanted more time. More of this.

After a few minutes, we stumbled upon a small plaza, nearly empty except for a few couples walking hand in hand. In the center stood a massive stone fountain, its surface reflecting the glow of the streetlights.

Ashley let out a soft laugh. “You really are lost, aren’t you?”

I grinned. “Completely. But this looks nice, doesn’t it?”

She shook her head but walked toward the fountain anyway. I followed, watching as she trailed her fingers through the water.

“When I was a kid, my mom used to take me to a fountain just like this,” she murmured. “She’d always give me a coin and tell me to make a wish.”

“Did they ever come true?”

She shrugged. “Not all of them.”

I reached into my pocket, pulling out a euro. “Well, maybe tonight’s your lucky night.”

Ashley hesitated before taking the coin, turning it over in her palm. For a long moment, she just stared at the water, lost in thought. Then, closing her eyes, she tossed the coin in. It hit the surface with a soft plop, disappearing beneath the ripples.

I wanted to ask what she wished for, but I didn’t. Some things were meant to stay unspoken.

Ashley turned to me with a small smile. “Okay. Now we can go back.”

But I just stood there, watching her.

Even now, with purple shadows smudged beneath her eyes and lines of tension bracketing her mouth, she was so fucking beautiful I couldn’t stop looking at her.

Her looks hadn’t changed drastically over the years, but something about her had.

Before, Ashley had been beautiful in the way the sun rose each morning and waves met the shore—a quiet, inevitable kind of beauty, something so natural you didn’t even think to question it. It was a fact of life, like breathing, like gravity.

But now?

Now she was beautiful in a way that made me want to drown in her, to let her fill every inch of my soul until she fucking consumed me. It didn’t matter if it killed me—because in a world where I was surrounded by death, she was the only thing that made me feel alive.

And that scared the absolute shit out of me.