“I know you just got into town,” he says, hand on the wheel and sunlight in his eyes (blue like the sea, like the sky, like hers), “and you probably want to spend time with your family tonight-“ And leaving it had really defined that concept for her in a way it never had been before. Sure, Horseshoe Bay can be small and scary and dark at times - but then, so can she.
#NANCY DREW SHADOW AT THE WATERS EDGE SELFIE FULL#
Nancy runs her palms over the sides of Florence’s plaid passenger’s seat, the heater on full blast, feeling snuggly and happy and lighter than she has in months. Why would his physical presence matter when she’s had all that? The group text, their private chat, all the times one of them couldn’t sleep and called the other in the middle of the night just to hear their sleepy voice, find comfort through the darkness. They’ve talked every day since she left for New York.
Why would she? It’s not like it’s all that different. Or how he’s squeezing her so tightly she can feel his heartbeat against her chest, sure and solid through his cable-knit sweater. Nancy does not think about how good it feels to have Ace in her arms. “Welcome home, Nancy Drew,” he whispers into her ear. He’s warm and smells like shampoo and Rebecca’s sugar cookies and she can’t seem to let go of his neck. Nancy, laughing, drops her suitcase in the middle of the sidewalk and flings herself at him hard enough that he makes a tiny oof sound before folding her in his arms. He’s holding up a piece of cardboard with her last name scrawled on it in black sharpie. The old station wagon is parked at the curb, Ace leaning against her hood it’s a mostly sunny Thursday afternoon with a few swirling flurries catching on his hair and shoulders, as white and glittering as his smile. No, the only thing that brings her that warm, comforting sense of belonging, of home, is when she strides through the station’s exit and sees Florence there to greet her. And it doesn’t happen when she steps onto the platform and the first snowflakes kiss her cheeks and lips and eyelashes, nor when she smells the familiar, faint brine-and-fish smell drifting in from the coast. The sign at the tiny train station reads Horseshoe Bay in worn white paint, but Nancy doesn’t feel like she’s home just yet.
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