Episode 4:The crossroads of ink

The late October dusk settled over Crestwood like a soft bruise, the sky streaked with violet and amber as Anne locked the door of The Dandelion Pour. The bar had been quiet tonight, a rare lull that let her close early, and she welcomed the chance to breathe. She turned, her boots crunching on the gravel lot, and spotted Deon waiting by the curb—his green jacket catching the streetlamp's glow, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression a tangle of excitement and unease."Hey," she said, crossing to him. "Thought you'd be home by now—deadline day, right?""Finished early," he replied, his voice quieter than usual. He pulled a folded letter from his pocket, its edges worn from handling, and handed it to her. "Got this instead."Anne unfolded it, the paper crisp and embossed with a seal—an ink quill crossed with a globe. The letterhead read International Journalists' Guild, and the words below hit her like a wave: Dear Mr. Travers, It is with great pleasure that I, Maxwell Hargrove, invite you to join the 2025 World Tour for Emerging Journalists… Her eyes skimmed the details—a six-month journey across continents, shadowing Hargrove, the world's most celebrated investigative journalist, through war zones, capitals, and hidden corners of the globe. A mentorship, a showcase, a chance to cement Deon's rising star."Holy shit," she breathed, looking up at him. "Deon, this is huge.""Yeah," he said, his grin flickering but not settling. "Hargrove's a legend—broke the Panama Papers, exposed corruption in half a dozen countries. Kim nearly lost it when I showed her. Said it's the kind of break most writers only dream of."Anne handed the letter back, her chest swelling with pride. "She's right. You've earned this—your pieces, your voice. It's incredible."He took it, folding it carefully, but his eyes stayed on the ground. "Leaves in two weeks. Six months—London, Beirut, Tokyo, all over. Full ride, expenses paid. Just me and a dozen other up-and-comers."She nodded, the logistics sinking in. "Two weeks—that's fast. But you've got this, Deon. You're ready."He finally met her gaze, and the excitement she'd expected was overshadowed by something heavier—conflict, raw and unguarded. "Anne, I don't know if I can go."Her brow furrowed. "What? Why not?""You," he said simply, the word landing like a stone between them. "I'd be gone six months—half a year without you. I don't know if I can do that."She blinked, caught off guard, then stepped closer, the chill of the night pressing against her. "Deon, this is your shot. You can't turn it down because of me.""It's not just that," he said, his voice tightening. "It's us—everything we've built. The bar, the apartment, the way we fit. I leave, and what happens? I don't want to lose this."Anne reached for his hand, her fingers threading through his, cold against his warmth. "You won't lose me. I'm not going anywhere—The Dandelion Pour keeps me rooted here. But you… this is your dream, bigger than the Chronicle. You've got to take it."He squeezed her hand, his jaw working. "I know it's big—huge, even. Hargrove's the real deal, and I'd be an idiot to say no. But every time I think about packing, I see you behind that bar, pouring drinks, laughing with Nina, and I… I can't picture it without me here."Her heart ached at his words, a mirror to her own quiet fear. She'd grown used to him—his presence at the bar's edge, his scribbled notes scattered across her desk, his steady warmth beside her. Six months without that felt like a hole ripped in her days, but she couldn't let him stay for her sake."Come on," she said, tugging him toward the apartment. "Let's talk this out inside—I'm freezing."They settled on the couch, the room lit by a single lamp, its glow casting soft shadows across Deon's notebook-strewn coffee table. Anne kicked off her boots, curling her legs under her, while Deon sat hunched forward, the letter open between them like a third presence."Tell me what you're feeling," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "All of it."He rubbed his face, exhaling sharply. "It's everything at once. This tour—it's a chance to see the world, to write stories that matter, to learn from the best. I'd come back with a name, a real shot at something lasting. But then I think about you—how you'd be here, running the bar, dealing with creeps like Gary or that Elias guy alone. I'd miss it all, Anne. The late nights, the beach trips, you. Six months is a lifetime when you're not with me."She listened, her throat tightening. "I'd miss you too—more than you know. But I'd be okay. The bar's steady, Nina's around, Kim's a call away. And you'd be out there, doing what you're meant to do. I can't be the reason you don't."He looked at her, his sky-blue eyes searching. "You're not the reason I'd stay—you're the reason I've got anything worth leaving for. You made me real, gave me this life. What if I go and it changes us?""It won't," she said, leaning closer. "Not if we don't let it. Phones exist, Deon—video calls, letters, whatever it takes. I'll send you bar updates, you send me stories. We'll make it work."He managed a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You sound so sure.""I am," she lied, her own doubts a quiet hum she pushed down. "This isn't goodbye—it's a detour. You come back, and we pick up right here."He nodded slowly, tracing the letter's seal with his thumb. "Kim thinks I'm crazy for hesitating. Said Hargrove doesn't pick just anyone—called it a 'golden ticket.'""She's right," Anne said. "You've got a gift—people see it, feel it in your words. Don't let me hold you back.""You're not," he said quickly, his hand finding hers again. "You're the one pushing me forward—always have been. I just… I don't want to leave you with the mess we've got brewing."She frowned. "Elias? Gary?""Yeah," he said, his voice hardening. "Elias knows something about us—about how I got here. And Gary—he's too smooth, too interested in you. I don't trust either of them, and I won't be here to watch your back.""I can handle them," she said, her tone firm despite the flicker of unease. "Elias hasn't shown up again, and Gary's just talk—pushy, maybe, but harmless so far. I've got this, Deon. You focus on the tour."He studied her, conflict etched in the lines of his face. "You're tougher than me, you know that?"She smirked, squeezing his hand. "Learned from the best."They sat in silence, the weight of his choice pressing down, until he pulled her into a hug, his arms tight around her. She melted into it, breathing him in—pine, ink, the steady beat of his heart. "I'll think about it," he murmured into her hair. "Really think.""Good," she whispered back. "But don't think too long—two weeks isn't much."The next morning, Deon headed to the Chronicle office, the letter burning a hole in his jacket pocket. Anne opened the bar, her mind split between pouring drinks and replaying their talk. She wanted him to go—knew he needed it—but the thought of six months without him carved a hollow in her chest. She masked it with work, mixing a Star Catcher for a regular, her hands steady even as her thoughts churned.At the office, Deon found Kim at her desk, surrounded by coffee cups and crumpled drafts. She glanced up as he dropped into a chair, his expression a storm."Still brooding over Hargrove?" she asked, tossing him a pen."Yeah," he said, spinning it between his fingers. "Can't shake it—feels like I'm choosing between the world and home."Kim leaned back, her sharp eyes softening. "Anne's your home, huh?""Always," he said, the word a quiet anchor. "She says go, but I don't know if I can leave her.""She's right to push you," Kim said. "This tour's rarified air—Hargrove's a titan, and he picked you. You'll regret passing it up. But I get it—six months is a haul."He nodded, staring at the pen. "What if I lose her?""You won't," Kim said, blunt as ever. "She's tough—runs that bar like a pro. And she's nuts about you—anyone can see it. You'll figure out the distance."He managed a grin. "You're too smart for this place.""Damn right," she shot back. "Now decide, Travers—clock's ticking."That night, Deon returned to the apartment, finding Anne on the couch with a glass of wine, the TV flickering with a muted sitcom. She looked up, reading his face before he spoke."Talked to Kim," he said, sitting beside her. "She's all in—says I'd be a fool to skip it.""She's not wrong," Anne replied, setting her glass down. "What's your gut say?"He took her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "Gut says go—see the world, write the big stuff. But my heart's here, with you. I'm torn, Anne."She shifted closer, her voice steady. "Then let me help. Go—take the tour, chase the dream. I'll be waiting when you get back. We'll survive it."He searched her eyes, finding strength there—hers, and maybe his own reflected back. "You sure?""Positive," she said, though her chest ached. "You've got to do this—for you, for us."He pulled her into another hug, longer this time, his breath warm against her neck. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll go. But I'm coming back to you—no matter what."She clung to him, the promise sealing something between them. "You better," she murmured, her smile bittersweet.The decision hung in the air, a crossroads marked. Deon would leave in two weeks, stepping into a world Anne couldn't follow—not yet. She'd hold the fort at The Dandelion Pour, face Elias and Gary alone, and trust their bond to bridge the gap. As the TV droned on, they stayed tangled together, the future looming bright and uncertain, a new chapter unfolding with every heartbeat.