Pacey cracked the eggs, one-handed, into a pot of boiling water. With a slotted spoon, he agitated the liquid, cracked another egg. Thick slabs of sourdough were pressed down in the toaster, the coffee pot on and hot.

Joey watched him work with fastidious dedication to eggs on toast. After searching her cramped kitchen for the required pots and silverware, he showed only a mild concern for her lack of suitable cooking materials.

After three minutes, the toast propelled itself into the air and he scooped the eggs from their bath. Simple, rounded spheres nesting upon lavishly buttered toast were presented to Joey in bed, a cup of coffee on the lamp table.

"Breakfast is served," he singsonged, a kiss finding her cheek.

Joey tugged the sheets higher, covering her breasts, and sat up to witness the breakfast-based perfection before her.

"I will lament the departure of my private chef with great sadness," she said while piercing the yolk with the tines of the fork and watching the golden liquid ooze onto toast.

"You and me both."

Their last night in Hawaii vanished in a breath. Tender touches were swallowed by darkness and a 9 am flight meant a crazed early morning departure from the hotel. Clothes were thrown into bags interspersed with kisses and the same question repeated on a loop, "Why did we wait until the last day?"

Back in Boston, Pacey didn't drive back to Capeside. He went to Joey's apartment, and together they collected an indignant Cat Stevens from Margie with a fond farewell and outlandish claims of a well-behaved feline.

Pacey organized senior staff to take on his shifts for a few days.

"This is nice," he regarded her apartment while Joey rolled her eyes and unbuttoned his shirt.

The apartment was nice, but only now that he was in it.

Her attachment to the apartment grew the longer he inhabited the space. In only a few days it warmed with the smell of his cooking as he utilized the tiny stove to prepare fluffy omelets, pasta Al a vodka, and brownies so rich you could only handle the smallest square.

Joey returned to work, but disappeared for long lunches with him at a new restaurant each day.

Pacey brought light to her shitty apartment, and for the first time, she didn't think about the holes in the linoleum or the lack of storage. When she was in the room, and out of it, she only thought of him.

"I have to go back," he said, tone mournful on the fourth day as he sketched a line below her breasts down to her navel.

Body light from a morning orgasm, Joey shook her head. "Sorry, you're mine now. I shall plant a flag, mark you as my territory. You are staying here. Forever."

Pacey groaned, pressing fists into his eye sockets. "I've run out of favors to grant for shift covering and the orders for the week will be delivered tomorrow."

Joey threw herself onto him, pinning his naked body beneath him. She manacled his wrists with her fingers.

"Nope."

"I like that you assume I'm going to remove myself from this position," he chuckled as her hair spilled over her shoulders and tickled his nose.

"Please don't leave me," she moped, eyes wide and pleading.

He shrugged, still in her hold. "Then come."

"And do what? Work where? I have no money, Pace. I'm hardly a trophy girlfriend. I can't cook and I hate to clean."

"Work for me?"

Joey shook her head. "You may be handsome, alluring, sexy, edible even, but your good looks are not enough to lure me back to a life in hospitality."

He dipped his brow. "Then what's the plan?"

"I guess I'll come down on weekends until I figure something out."

"The dreaded long distance." He made an ominous growl in the back of his throat.

"We already did the phone thing," she shrugged. "We can do it again, this time with phone sex added in."

Pacey's eyes lit up. "Well, now it doesn't sound too bad, does it?"


It may not have sounded bad, but it was. With Pacey's departure, it was only Joey and Cat Stevens, brooding together between four walls and seemingly endless nights alone.

Pacey's nightly calls continued and as promised, their platonic edge had disappeared and been replaced by sweet nothings, lamented yearnings, and the occasional explicit murmurings beneath sheets. For a few exquisite hours, the tenor of his voice would seep into her lonely spaces and drag a smile to sullen cheeks.

Then, when daylight broke, she would dress, brush her teeth and haul herself into the office.

Two weeks after arriving back from Hawaii, the contract waited on her desk. Crisp white paper, Beacon Press etched on the front. She flicked through the pages of terms, the remuneration. This contract was permanent, open-dated, blank dotted lines awaiting her signature.

Gabrielle stuck her head in the door, her bob freshly blunt from a weekend trim.

"You do not know how rare those are now. Permanent contracts. The impact you've made here has been big, Joey."

Joey forced a smile.

"How long have I got?" she asked.

"Legal said by the end of the week."

Joey nodded, summoning a look of excitement. Gabrielle didn't buy it.

"You're going to sign, right?"

"Yes," she hesitated, "No. I don't know."

"I really hope you'll stay, Joey."

Gabrielle left as quickly as she came and Joey picked up the contract, feeling its weight, seeing her name in print, flicking to the generous salary package.

She didn't know what to do, so she called Jen.

"What is more important, your career, or your happiness?" Joey launched into conversation the moment she heard the ringing stop.

"Well hello to you, too. Jen said before answering. "Is this the existential-questions-of-which-you-know-the-answer-but-want-me-to-validate phone call?"

"Yes."

"Consider your answer validated, then," Jen said.

"What is my answer?"

"Happiness surely?"

Joey sighed. "But what of my career? What of this thing that I've cultivated for years, this knowledge, years of study, for what? To throw it all away to chase a man in a small town and become what I've always run from?"

"Small towns are not the evil you make them out to be, Joey. You love Capeside, you've said that yourself."

"So? I've got a written contract in front of me. Dream job, excellent money, years of working hard, finally paying off."

"So sign it," said Jen, a challenge in her tone.

"What?"

"Sign the document. If it is as perfect as you say it is, you would be stupid to refuse, right?"

Joey didn't answer.

"Pick up a pen, Joey, and sign the paper."

She glanced across her desk at a pen like a mortal enemy. Her fingers didn't grip it.

"Did you sign it?" Jen asked after she hadn't received a response.

"No."

"Does the idea of signing it make you terrified?"

"Yes."

"Is the idea of following a man to a small town less terrifying?"

"Yes."

"Existential crisis over Joey. Choose happiness. That is always the answer."

"Say I choose happiness, then what?"

"You go to Capeside and live on a sailboat, be the well-fed, stay-at-home girlfriend of the handsome local bar owner, and invite your best friend around for summers on a yacht and bottomless free drinks."

"Jen!" Joey scolded.

"What then?"

"That's the million-dollar question."

Joey flopped the contract on top of her growing stack of files, unsigned. It stayed that way, idle and ignored.


Cat Stevens was pining. She didn't know what for, or whom, but each evening he took to the windowsill and meowed at the moon, pacing the cavity and licking the glass.

Joey was pining too. To have Pacey, and then have him taken away again, left her skin aching for his touch. Each night, she buried her head into the very pillow that he slept on and inhaled the remnants of his scent.

Late, after another phone call cut short by the lack of dependable bar staff, Joey lay in bed, on his pillow, scrolling unread emails. She paid outstanding bills, declined an invitation to her yearly Worthington alumni dinner, and saw Jack had sent another of his weekly job listings.

The subject line was, This is made for you, Joey

She clicked on it, expecting the standard list of service jobs, but this wasn't the Capeside Roundup. Instead, the email had an attachment of a photo he'd taken from a noticeboard.

Joey,

I know the owner. She is amazing. I told her all about you. She's awaiting your call.

Jack xox.

Joey scanned with more interest than before and opened the attachment with a double click.

Seeking: Authors, Editors, Literary Experience.

Our well-established writers' retreat is seeking a candidate to facilitate our 7 day programs as a workshop leader. Workshops operate on a 7 day on, 7 day off rotation. The right candidate will deliver the curriculum as well as work with guest authors and assist clients in a mentorship capacity.

The role is in-house with accommodations provided. Cape Creatives has been operating for fifteen years and is an institution that has hosted many awarded authors.

Joey read the listing in full, twice, three times.

She emailed Jack back immediately.

Jack,

You are the best!

Joey. xox.


The next morning, she called the number listed in the advertisement. A woman answered, Delia, excited that Joey had made contact. After a brief phone interview, which seemed more like a casual chat, Joey had a 9.30 am meeting to meet her on Saturday.

The rest of the week passed in a lethargic amble. With her contract unsigned, Joey was officially on her last days in the office, finalizing files for handover. Her co-workers were polite, but there were no more friendly invitations to cocktail hour. Joey wasn't out the door yet, but she might as well have been.

On a Saturday Joey drove straight to the Cape Creatives and met with Delia, who greeted her with familiarity and a kiss on each cheek. She wore vivid geometric prints and tiny round spectacles. Her hands were drawn into a fist from rheumatoid arthritis, and she lamented the ailment had rendered her unable to write with a pen.

"I either have to rely on voice recognition on my computer to write, where every time I say fucking, it autocorrects to ducking, or, I have to one finger type, which means each sentence takes a century."

"Can you use someone for dictation?" Joey asked.

"No one wants to hear the ramblings of a post-menopausal failed writer in person, dear, let alone in print."

Joey handed over a hard copy of her resume, which Delia swatted away.

"You told me enough on the phone, Joey, or I wouldn't have asked you to come today. Jack also told me all about you. Lovely man, handsome too, shame he's only interested in men, otherwise, I would pronounce myself a cougar and give him a run for his money."

Joey stifled a chuckle. "Jack is great."

"I don't believe in resumes. You, of all people know, words can entice and deceive in equal measures. I believe in meeting people, in conversation. It's much harder to hide a raging character flaw in person."

They wandered the grounds slowly while Delia chattered. The retreat comprised a beachfront main house to the left, and a series of white guest cabins rising in a semicircle like an amphitheater. In the center, a building nestled in the saltbush was the main writers' room, where the day-to-day program was conducted.

Joey nodded, oohing and aahing in the right places, peering around in wonder. Delia led her inside the writers' room. Leather chairs and antique desks were arranged haphazardly, taking in the abundant natural light.

Then, they made their way to the house.

Delia struggled up the stairs. "This is the main house. It comes as part of the salary. There are cabins for our guests, but they come with a cleaner and maintenance man. Your job is just running the workshop, keeping to the curriculum, and offering any help with editing in a mentorship capacity."

Floorboards creaked under their weight like a serenade and they entered the main lounge, which was clad in grandmother-chic complete with lace tablecloths. On the walls, or where walls should be, were books. Spines facing outward, the colorful bound treasures saturate the rooms with a jumble of color and life. Titles embossed in gold dazzle from afar.

Windows break up the book walls, a porthole to the ocean, seagulls yielding in the wind. The beach was littered with broken, hardened anemones, spikes pointing to the sky. This part of Cape Cod was wild and untamed. It wasn't a beach brimming with sunbathers in summer; it was a beach for locals; dogs running off lead, waves battering the shore.

Joey inhaled, calming herself, masking her excitement.

Delia wasn't fooled. "Joey, you are by far our most qualified applicant. The best I've received so far are a few wannabe writers, but I'm afraid that does not make a mentor. You have passion for the written word and the qualifications to back it up. Someone with your experience in publishing, and even screenwriting, will be highly revered by our patrons here."

Joey gazed around the room again.

"I would love the opportunity," she said.

"Then it's yours, love. The next retreat begins in May. Over summer, we work week on, week off. Our last mentor has moved out, so you're welcome to move into the house anytime before then. We're not complicated here, Joey. There is no HR department, no lengthy contracts to sign. Just you, and I, and an agreement to do our best."

Delia held her hand out, and Joey took it in a handshake.


She found Pacey outside, unloading kegs of beer from a waiting truck surrounding him like a Miller Lite Stonehenge. For a moment, she watched him in a daydream. His biceps flexed as he tossed the silver barrels around as though they weighed no more than a loaf of bread. Once everything was unloaded, he signed a slip, handing it to the lingering driver. Joey approached as the truck pulled away.

Pacey glanced up to see her. He blinked once, twice. Blue eyes, slate outer rings. Joey held her breath.

"You?"

She nodded. "Me."

Pacey dropped the paperwork and arms wrapped her waist, his hands ice cold on her back from the kegs, her feet floating midair.

"Jo," he repeated her name like a mantra in her ear, unbelieving. Her chest swelled and tightened at the way his voice held her name.

"To what do I owe this surprise visit?" he asked, getting a proper look at her, still confused.

"Reconnaissance," Joey replied.

Pacey cocked his head to the side.

"What if I got a job in Capeside?"

"Is that a hypothetical, Jo?" he asked, as a flirtatious breeze caused her skirt to billow. Pacey laid his palms across her buttocks to steady it.

"Not so much. As of around an hour ago, it's a reality."

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure I follow."

Joey told him about Delia, the program, the floorboards, the books, the house that would be hers.

"Is this really what you want?" He held her gaze, searching for a hesitation that didn't come. "You uprooted your life to follow Dawson to LA once upon a time and look how that turned out. I don't want to take away your career, Jo."

"You wouldn't take anything away. This opportunity is better than what I had in Boston. More space for creativity rather than pandering to the constant worry of will-it-be-the-next-bestseller? I'll have time to write myself, time to learn. A chance to make a difference to budding authors, and to be here, in Capeside, with you."

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Positive."

Joey drove back to Boston, lips flushed and that very night she began folding clothes, stuffing them into suitcases, wrapping chipped dinner plates, and stacking them into boxes. Cat Stevens padded around her warily, sensing imminent change before disappearing to spend the night hidden in a basket of laundry.


She moved the still unpacked boxes that had littered her apartment back into her car with Tetris-like organization. Each seat was full to the brim, allowing only enough space for her folded body.

In the front seat, mad as hell, Cat Stevens sat in his rage cage. He yelped and meowed a constant stream of expletives for the entire journey, especially bitter when the car dared to stop at a red light.

Joey didn't glance behind her at the Boston skyline disappearing in her rearview.

Capeside welcomed her back with blue skies and calm seas. The switchgrass that lined the sandy entrance to the beach house lay in wait for her, still.

Delia had left the keys in the door, unperturbed by the possibility of burglary in May. Joey entered, opening every window to release the dust motes that hung suspended between rays of sunlight. Her sandals filled with fine grains and pieces of shell after each trip back to her car. She sat on the bumper, tipping them out in a white trail, and continued.

After a peanut butter sandwich and iced tea for lunch, Joey gave up the sandals and stepped barefoot to collect another box when a taxi lumbered up the sandy drive.

Joey shielded her eyes from the sun, watching with curiosity to see who would exit. A cream sundress dazzled, and Jen's pale skin made her way toward Joey, an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

"You've got to be kidding!" Joey called out as the taxi pulled away and her friend took her in her arms.

"'Tis no joke! Jennifer Lindley at your service." She pulled back and twirled.

"What are you doing here?"

"This time I'm taking some legitimate vacation leave to come and see my friend at her new beach house. Help unpack, etcetera."

"You didn't have to use your vacation time for this!"

"I did, Joey. It's been too long." Jen took her friend in another hug.

Joey invited her in, letting Jen nose through the walls of books while she located a kettle in a box marked KITCHEN and put it on the gas. She made tea, because she couldn't find the coffee, and served it with crackers and cheese on paper towels.

"I won't stay the night. Jack and Doug have offered their place, and I don't want to rain on your reconciliation with Pacey."

"Don't be ridiculous," Joey said. "Of course you can stay here."

But Jen waved Joey off, "It's your first night in your new home, Joey. Enjoy it."

She put her hands on her hips, observing the view, eyes squinting at the sun's reflection off the sand.

"Look at this place! Joey, it's incredible." Jen turned to her friend, "and look at you. Positively glowing. Capeside looks good on you."

Joey grinned.

And Joey lugged boxes to corresponding rooms while Jen followed her, occasionally unwrapping an item or two from newspaper and filling her in on the latest gossip from LA. Cat Stevens appeared from beneath the bathroom sink where he had been sulking since they arrived and curled himself onto Jen's lap, purring her a lullaby.

Joey wiped the cupboards that the previous occupant neglected. On the clean surface, she rested coffee mugs, glasses, an array of trinkets from her travels, photographs of her childhood. Jen's mouth was in constant movement, a familiar voice warming an unfamiliar room.

Eventually, sunset greeted the leadlight windows, their beveled glass panes wandering apricot tones across the floorboards.

Joey glanced at her watch. "I'm supposed to be meeting Pacey, Jack, and Doug at the Icehouse for dinner. A little welcome party."

Jen stood, smoothing her sundress against her thighs. "Excellent. I was hoping to catch up with the whole crew."


The Icehouse was alive with movement. Servers tracked across the room, balancing trays brimming with glasses.

Pacey saw them enter from across the bar.

He was midway through mixing a Sidecar in a cocktail shaker, the silver container agitating as his eyes made contact with Joey's. Pacey's limbs moved as though he was fighting against them, as though he wanted, more than anything, to jump the bar and make his way to her, but he stayed in place.

It had been a week since they last touched. Her skin itched, yearning for him.

"That man looks at you like you're desert. A tiramisu, a New York cheesecake, something delicious and calorie-laden."

Joey laughed, blushing crimson. They shuffled into a booth and Jen picked up the menu, flicking through to the drink selection.

"Is your reconciliation going to be gratuitous? Will he run across the room and swing you around Dirty Dancing style? Will there be tongue?"

Joey swatted at Jen but didn't take her eyes off Pacey.

He wore a Hawaiian shirt again. The weather lost its bite as spring sent the buds into bloom, rendering sweaters redundant. This shirt was one he bought in Hawaii with her. Joey had selected it for its cobalt design, the way it reminded her of the Pacific during their dive.

He tipped the contents of the shaker into a coupe glass with a sugared rim, sliding the drink towards a waiting patron. He accepted the money, gave change, all while his eyes remained on Joey.

The moment the transaction was complete Pacey approached the ladies, sliding beside Joey in the booth. He kissed her, chaste, but with the promise of more, folded his hand around Joey's beneath the table, and turned to her friend.

"Lindley. To what do we owe the pleasure?" He inclined his head.

"I'm here for my supreme lifting skills, Witter. Word of my unpacking prowess has spread far and wide."

Joey looked confused, raising an eyebrow at Jen. "But you haven't lifted or unpacked anything?"

"Fine. Fine. Then I'm here for moral support," she buried her face into the menu.

Pacey was skeptical. "Hmm. Jennifer arrives the day Joey moves to Capeside. I smell a rat."

"Are you insinuating that I would meddle?"

"Yes."

"Blasphemy!"

Pacey raised his eyebrows. Joey followed suit.

"Okay, okay, if you must know, I came because I had concerns. You see, the last time I was here, I swore an oath to smash the two of you together like Barbie and Ken. And that worked for a while, but when I left, you both chose commonsense over chemistry."

"Is that such a terrible thing?" Joey asked.

"For gossip's sake, yes."

"But for the longevity of your best friend's relationship?" said Pacey.

Jen grunted, "I will relent that, in this instance, it was probably the mature thing to do. "

"Probably?" Pacey asked.

Jen ignored his comment and continued.

"I am here to secure the happiness of my most precious friend," Jen said. "It's not that I don't trust that you two will inevitably end up together, but let's not forget that it was your joined forces that concocted the entire fake-rebound debacle."

"And how, pray tell, might you secure my happiness?" Joey asked.

"Look, I'm just here to make sure the smashing occurs and there is no more of this will-they won't-they fake-relationship ridiculousness anymore. Honestly, I can no longer handle the suspense. I was hoping we'd come to the end of the tale. No miscommunications, no last-minute separations, or exes returning to declare love. Just decent sex scenes and happily ever after from here on out." Jen's hands came together in prayer.

Pacey looked at Joey. Joey looked at Pacey.

"Consider us sufficiently smashed," he said, matter of fact.

"Really?" Jen asked.

"Really," confirmed Pacey.

"Joey?"

She nodded, agreeing. "There is no need to interfere, Jennifer. The smashing is complete."

Jen wiped her brow dramatically. "Well, that's a relief. Now, onto my next order of business, now that Joey's a Capesidean, are you just going to keep living on the sailboat like some kind of weird gypsy pirate?"

Pacey chuckled.

Joey whispered, "It's admiral," under her breath.

"Whatever rank you so choose, just know that my friend deserves a man with a dwelling on land."

"Shore-based accommodations are imminent," Pacey assured her. "I've applied for some rentals."

"Excellent"

"Any further concerns I can alleviate?" Pacey asked.

Jen tapped her chin.

"There's absolutely nothing I can do about the Hawaiian shirts?" She pointed to his chest.

Joey held up a palm, silencing her. "Hands off the shirts, Jennifer."

Pacey grinned.

Jack and Doug walked through the door, Jen rising to meet them.

Pacey and Joey didn't move, secured to the booth. He laced his fingers with hers, raised their intertwined hands and kissed her thumb.

The trio joined the table in a wash of greetings.

"So. Is this officially back on again?" Doug inclined to their joined hands, scooting into the booth, Jack following.

"Yes, for real this time." Jen added, "Don't worry, I checked."

"For real?" Jack asked.

The table fell silent. Pacey's head fell into his hands.

"You know that it was fake the first time, right?" said Jen, eyes wandering the group for recognition.

But Jack and Doug were left looking confused, and Pacey stumbled to explain. "Okay, well, our relationship was fake, originally. When we first had dinner with you here, actually."

"So you weren't together before?" Doug asked, taken aback.

"Well, no, yes- "Joey began.

"You didn't sleep together?" Jack interrupted.

"We did," Joey nodded, cheeks flaming.

"You didn't fall for each other?" Doug asked.

It was Pacey's turn to form an answer. "We did."

"I'm not sure how any of that classifies as fake?" Jack asked, screwing up his nose, dismissing their claim and hiding behind the menu with Jen.

Joey laughed. "Don't worry, neither are we."

"That makes no sense," said Doug, confused.

"Tell me about it," said Pacey.

It was time for Jen to interject, "Let's not dwell on the past. I have been assured by both relevant parties that no future nonsense will occur and that they do not require an intervention of common sense." She pulled the menu from Jack's grasp. "Now, I need a drink."

"I hear the bartender here makes a pretty good pina colada," Joey says, her eyes drifting to Pacey's with a smirk.

"I'm surprised you remembered that at all."

"Oh, I remember."

Pacey looked at Joey with wonder, like he couldn't imagine her sitting right back there with them, at a table at the Icehouse. He slid his hand onto her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. Jen watched them.

"There is no need for you to stay," Jen said. "We're big kids, and can fend for ourselves. Go home, 'reconcile' in every room of your new place. Then, maybe tomorrow, once it's out of your system, we can go out for a proper meal and I don't need to watch you two play handsies and gaze longingly while I eat my mozzarella sticks."

Joey laughed and pointed an accusatory finger at her friend, "YOU single-handedly encouraged these handsies."

Jen smiled, satisfied. "I am fully aware that this is the direct consequence of my actions." She waved them away.

Pacey was already out of the booth, pulling Joey behind him.

"Love you," Joey blew Jen a kiss. "I'll call you in the morning."

"Love you too," Jen blew a kiss right back at her.

Pacey gripped Joey's hand, said goodbye to Jack and Doug, and together they left.


Pacey drove. Joey sat in silence on the drive, watching Capeside pass in a blur of lights.

Inside the beach house, boxes that remained unopened for the entirety of Joey's time in Boston now towered beside the front door. The words KITCHEN and BEDROOM were scratched out and rewritten as DONATE.

Joey threw her coat onto the counter, kicked off her shoes. Cat Stevens raised his head from the divot on the brocade sofa, considered their arrival, and tucked his head back beneath his cushions.

Pacey walked over to him, leaving a dusting of sand from his shoes on the floorboards. "Mr. Stevens," he said, petting the fur on his back while Cat's face swiveled around only to regard him with a flicked whisker and derision. "Good to see he's settled into the place with his sunny disposition."

"He has shredded the lace curtains in the spare room, so he's already made himself at home."

"I would expect nothing less."

Joey smiled, watching Pacey attempt to summon a cuddle from a furry demon. Cat Stevens rejected his attentions and scurried down the hallway.

Pacey glanced around the lounge. Observing the surroundings, briefly.

"The new Potter residence is lovely," he stalked toward Joey, watching only her.

"It's the tabletop doilies that really sold it for me," Joey said, drawing her lip between teeth, waiting for him to make his way to her, body tingling in anticipation.

"They add a touch of class."

"Sophistication," she added.

"For me, its biggest selling point is the location."

"Only fifty feet from the beach?"

He shook his head, colliding with her, arms wrapping around her waist.

"An eleven-minute drive from the Icehouse," he added.

"Did you time our drive?"

"I might have done a test run or two before you moved in."

Joey giggled, "Well, considering your house is a boat, anytime you want to spend a night on dry land, feel free to come on over."

He leaned down, kissed her neck. The tickle trace of lips fluttered against her pulse point. "So you're telling me that as of tonight, anytime I want, I can just come right on over?"

Joey swallowed. His lips stayed on her neck.

"Yes," her voice was shaky, but sure.

"I can come over just so I can see your face?" He kissed her earlobe.

"Yes."

His fingers etched a line up her stomach, beneath her shirt. "Touch you?"

Lips fell on her temple.

"Please."

His mouth hovered near hers, his cheek against her own. "Kiss you?"

"Yes."

Pacey paused for a beat, pulling back and settling into her eyes. "Love you?" he asked.

Joey drew in her lip and smiled. She couldn't answer that one, so she just nodded emphatically.

"I don't have to pretend?" He asked, slowly walking them backward, past the coffee table, past Cat's warm spot on the vacant couch.

"No."

"Or hide my feelings?"

They kept moving, Joey in reverse, Pacey leading her, bodies flush.

"No."

"We can just be Joey and Pacey, in Capeside, together?"

Her back hit the wall. A pastel sketch of a teapot shifted above their heads with the flex of the drywall, their bodies pressed against it, hard.

"Yes," Joey finally answered.

Pacey's eyes glanced at her lips, then licked his own. His body was a rock, a wall, the battlements around a castle, built for protection.

But for all his hardness, he kissed with the softest lips, palms cupping her face.

They pulled back, breaths strained, Pacey's eyes drinking hers in gulps.

"You know, it was you all along," she said.

"Me?"

"You, Pacey Witter. I've been restless, untrusting of myself, unhappy with the direction of my life. And you changed all of it."

He shook his head.

"I did nothing but fall in love with you, which was easy to do. Everything you did, Joey, everything that changed in your life, you did yourself. Take credit for it, because it's yours."

She screwed up her nose, ever skeptical of her own abilities, and kissed him again, surrounded by boxes, brocade, and mess.

Today was supposed to be a nothing day. A day of hauling boxes and unwrapping crockery. Instead, with Pacey, it was everything.

Body drawn against his, Joey wasn't Dawson's Joey or divorced Joey. She wasn't any version of herself she recognized.

She was happy.

She was excited about the future.

She was loved.

It turned out that all it took was a fake rebound, to find the real Joey Potter.

Thank you to each and every person who has read, commented and followed - this fic is for you! 😘

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