𐂂

.𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢.
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒉

Calawah River Park &
The Wallow's Cottage.
Forks, WA.
April 2010

           𝓔vangeline was sitting on her bed, legs crossed beneath her, the familiar floral quilt bunched under her palms. She swore it was the only surface in the room not buried beneath a layer of dust. The rest of the house felt like a time capsule sealed shut—suspended in the kind of stillness that came after grief. She exhaled, long and slow, trying to process everything that had unraveled over the past week. It was Friday, but it didn't feel like it. Honestly, it didn't feel like any day in particular anymore.

It felt like Monday. The dreadful kind. The kind that drags its heels and pulls everything down with it.

Was that weird? Maybe. But it made sense to Evee. Lately, every day felt like one she just had to survive.

From the corner of her doorway, a quiet voice broke her thoughts.

"Evee, why don't you take that book of yours and walk down to the park?" Thackeray's voice was gentle, like it always was. "Some fresh air might do you good."

Thackeray Wallows was a soft-spoken man—the kind who could sneak up on a mouse and still make it feel unbothered. He didn't speak often, not unless your name was Evangeline Wallows. Then, he had plenty to say. For some reason, Evee and her aunt Millicent were the only ones who ever heard much from him. Or maybe, she thought, they were simply the only ones quiet long enough to listen.

"Okay, Gramps," Evee replied, her voice barely above a breath but filled with agreement. For once, it wasn't raining in overcast Forks, and she figured she should take advantage of the rarity. She slipped off the bed, grabbing her weathered copy of The Waves and sliding on a pair of shoes.

Thackeray nodded, smiling softly before disappearing down the hall. He passed Logan on the way.

"Where are you headed?" Logan asked, leaning casually against her doorframe with his arms crossed, eyebrows raised. He always found a way to be wherever she was, and though it drove her a bit mad, she understood it. He was her older brother, and she was all he had left.

Still, it didn't mean she liked it.

"The park," she answered shortly, reaching for her coat and shrugging it over her shoulders.

"And I'd like to go alone."

Logan blinked, a little taken aback by the bluntness, but quickly masked it with an exaggerated scoff. "I wasn't planning on accompanying you," he said, lifting his hands in faux innocence.

Evee shot him a knowing look—an arched brow that practically screamed yeah, right.

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Just be careful."

"I was planning on it," she huffed, brushing past him with her book hugged close to her chest. She took the stairs two at a time, as if fleeing from the weight of his overprotectiveness.

She didn't understand it, not really. Not until recently. Since their parents died, Logan had turned into some kind of hyper-vigilant watchdog. Like he'd assigned himself the role of parent overnight.

And sure, maybe she should be grateful. But all she really wanted was her big brother back—not another adult trying to steer her like she was a car he didn't trust to stay on the road.

The walk to the park was short—maybe half a mile from the house—but long enough to clear her head. Evee didn't mind walking, especially not in this kind of weather. The air was brisk and damp, not hot or sticky like it would be in the South or the city. The kind of weather that crept into your bones but didn't freeze you, just reminded you that you were alive.

Forks was always gray, always draped in mist and drizzle. It was the kind of place that looked like it had wandered out of a Tim Burton film—and Evee liked it that way. Most people, like Logan, found the constant gloom draining. But to Evee, it was soothing. The clouds, the cold, the sound of rain on rooftops—it all felt like the world whispering instead of shouting.

There was something gentle about the melancholy here, and she liked to romanticize that kind of thing. Maybe it was weird, but maybe not. Some people saw mud and shadows. She saw softness.

As she reached the park, she let her footsteps slow. The birds chirped overhead, fluttering from branch to branch, their songs carried by the wind. The trees rustled softly, swaying in the breeze like they were stretching after a long sleep.

Evee had always loved birds. They seemed so free, so completely unaware of the heaviness people carried around with them.

She wandered the gravel path, eyes scanning the landscape in search of a reading spot. She had something specific in mind, though she tried not to be too picky—especially in a place she hadn't explored much.

Eventually, she found it: a clearing tucked just off the trail, quiet and shaded. It wasn't the smartest decision to veer off the marked path, especially in unfamiliar territory, but something about the space called to her. A park bench rested beneath a wide, weeping willow. Its long branches swayed like curtains, offering privacy and stillness.

It was as close to perfect as she could have hoped for.

Evee sat down with a sigh and opened her book. The Waves by Virginia Woolf. One of her aunt Millicent's many dusty old novels. The kind with tricky words and poetic rhythm. The kind most people wouldn't bother reading—but not Evee.

She liked the way Woolf wrote about time, about the self, about the way moments moved like water. It felt real, even if she didn't fully understand it all. She liked that, too.

Here, in the hush of the willow, with the sound of birds and the occasional breeze brushing past, Evee finally felt like she could breathe.

Evee's peaceful mid-day reading was suddenly—and rather dramatically—interrupted by the rustling of leaves, followed by a sharp thud. Her head snapped up just in time to see a boy—definitely her age—stumble out of a bush and land with a graceless plop onto the far end of her bench.

Her first instinct, as with any normal day, would've been to gather her things and find a new spot. But this wasn't a normal day. And this boy? Well, he didn't exactly look normal either.

He was drenched, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping from the tips. A backpack slumped by his feet, and his bare chest—broad, tan, and undeniably impressive—rose and fell with labored breaths. The weather couldn't have been more than 55 degrees, and Forks was no stranger to chilly, damp afternoons. Yet here he was: shirtless, soaked, and somehow still managing to look like he belonged on the cover of a coming-of-age adventure novel.

Evee stared, utterly intrigued. Not just by his disheveled appearance, but by the sheer oddity of it all. He looked like he had wandered out of some feral dreamscape, a misplaced woodland spirit who'd taken a wrong turn and ended up in the town park. She had only been staring for thirty seconds—maybe forty—when he finally noticed her.

"Oh my gosh—I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, immediately diving for his backpack. His voice was deep but friendly, laced with that kind of charming panic unique to teenage boys who realize they've made a fool of themselves in front of a pretty girl.

He pulled out a T-shirt, wrangled it over his dripping torso, and looked up at her again, flustered but smiling. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't even see you. I swear, no one ever comes to this bench—I just... wow." He paused when he saw the way she was pressing her lips together, trying and failing to suppress a laugh.

"Are you laughing at me?" he asked, amused more than offended.

That did it.

Evee let out a loud, unfiltered laugh, the kind that made her eyes crinkle and her chest ache. "Yes! I'm laughing at you," she admitted through giggles. "I mean, come on—look at yourself! You're soaking wet, half-naked, and you just fell out of a bush like you were born in it."

He raised both hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. "Hey now—this is perfect swimming weather, thank you very much. May in Forks? That's practically summer."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're either insane, or you've got gills."

"Any local would agree with me," he shot back with a playful shrug. "You're not from here, are you?"

"Nope, and clearly that means I'm the only sane one in this park." She shut her book with a soft thud, marked her page, and stood up. "I'd like to keep my toes, thank you very much."

Then, with a small smirk, she extended a hand toward him. "What's your name, Crazy Guy?"

"Seth Clearwater," he said, taking her hand in his. His skin was warm—shockingly warm, given how soaked he was—and calloused in a way that made her wonder what kind of life he lived. "And you are?"

"Evangeline Wallows. But just Evee. It's less formal. Less Victorian governess, more... girl who gets lost in a park and ends up talking to bush boys."

Something shifted then. The air felt different. Lighter.

Seth tilted his head, clearly curious. "Wallows? Any relation to Millicent and Thackeray Wallows?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly in surprise. "Yeah my aunt and uncle... You know them?"

"Know them? They're practically family. Your aunt used to babysit me and my sister all the time when we were little. Best brownies I've ever had in my life. Like... legendary."

Evee chuckled, picturing her aunt in an apron with flour on her nose. "Yeah, her baking's pretty great. I've been meaning to ask her to teach me. I'm hopeless in the kitchen. Total hazard. One time my friend Jonah and I tried making cookies—we burned two batches and then just gave up and bought some from the dollar store."

Seth laughed, running a hand through his wet hair, flicking droplets everywhere. "Oh trust me, I get it. My mom banned me from the kitchen altogether. Said unless she's supervising, I'm a natural disaster."

"Well," Evee said, folding her arms across her chest, "sounds like we'd be a recipe for total chaos."

"Or!" he said, lighting up with a boyish grin, "we could cancel each other out. Disaster plus disaster equals... competence? Maybe?"

She paused like she might shoot the idea down, then saw the look on his face—hopeful, slightly embarrassed—and softened. "Probably not the safest plan."

His face fell slightly.

"But," she added, "we could give it a shot sometime. Just... with adult supervision and a fire extinguisher nearby."

Seth's grin returned, bright and genuine. "Yes! That's the spirit. Dangerous and dangerous is just misunderstood genius waiting to happen."

"You're delusional."

"I prefer the term 'optimistically reckless.'" He clutched his chest dramatically, then smiled. "Also... your laugh is really pretty."

The words slipped out before he could stop them. His eyes widened in horror.

"I mean—sorry—I didn't mean that to be weird or like... forward. Gosh, that sounded way weirder than it did in my head." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly mortified. "Sorry. That just sort of... came out."

Evee blinked. Her face flushed with sudden heat, the kind that made her wish for a mask or a tan. Something to hide behind.

But then she met his eyes and shook her head.

"No... don't apologize. If you meant it, don't take it back."

Seth stared at her, taken aback. "Of course I meant it."

"Then don't take it back," she said again, more softly this time, smiling through her nerves. "Just don't make it awkward."

He let out a relieved laugh. "Okay. Then I don't. I meant it."

"Then... thank you," she said, warmth in her voice. It surprised her, how easily this moment unfolded—how natural it felt. Around Seth, she didn't feel like she needed to shrink or hide or filter herself. There was something familiar in the way he looked at her, like he saw her even before he knew her.

"You're most welcome," Seth replied, the corners of his mouth tilting into a crooked grin. It was the kind of smile that made her want to capture it, save it for a rainy day, press it between the pages of a journal like a wildflower.

He glanced at the dimming sky. "I should probably head back. Dinner'll be soon, and it'll be dark in twenty minutes or so. You should probably head home too."

"Yeah... I guess so," Evee said, disappointed. She didn't want the moment to end—not yet. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Crazy Guy."

Seth chuckled, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. As he did, a small brown leather watch tumbled out into the grass, unnoticed. "It was nice meeting you too, New Girl." He stuck his hand out. "We never officially shook on it."

She reached for his hand, their fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. The warmth of his palm, the strength in his grip—it all felt... right. Familiar. Like something out of a Jane Austen novel, that perfect moment before everything changes.

"Bye, Evee," he said, his smile lingering. "It was awesome meeting you."

And then, with a playful wink, he turned and darted back into the brush.

"You know there's a path, right?" she called after him, laughing.

"This way's faster!" he shouted back, his voice fading between the trees.

Evee shook her head, still smiling as the sound of his laughter echoed faintly in the distance. She sat for a second, absorbing it all, then reached for her book—only to pause.

Something in the grass caught her eye. She bent down and picked up the object: a small, weathered leather watch, the strap frayed at the edges. She turned it over in her palm and squinted at the engraving on the back.

H.C.

Her brows furrowed slightly. It must've been Seth's. But the initials didn't match.

She held it tightly in her hand, the leather cold against her skin. A chill ran down her spine, though not entirely from the temperature.

She wasn't sure what it meant—but something told her she'd be seeing him again.

Evee got home just in time for dinner, the comforting smell of home-cooked food greeting her before she even opened the front door. The savory scent of cottage pie filled the air, thick and rich with herbs, carrots, and beef, and underneath it all, the faint sweetness of chocolate hinted at dessert. It was Uncle Thackeray's favorite meal.

She smiled to herself, slipping off her shoes by the door. Millicent made this dinner often, and Evee suspected it was more than just taste—it was something thoughtful, a small gesture of love. Her aunt and uncle had this beautiful way of taking care of each other in quiet, consistent ways. Thackeray brought Millicent a cup of tea every morning before she got out of bed, and every Thursday night without fail, he brought her flowers from the market or clipped from their own garden.

If anyone ever asked Evee what soulmates looked like, she'd answer without hesitation: Millicent and Thackeray Wallows.

At the dinner table, laughter and warmth filled the space around the clatter of forks and plates. Her cousin Jonah was halfway through his second helping, shoveling shepherd's pie into his mouth like it was a race.

"This is really good, Grams," Jonah said with a mouthful, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk.

Millicent gave him a gentle smile, sipping her wine with the same poise she did everything. "Thank you, dear. It's your uncle's favorite."

Everything about Millicent was graceful, from the way she moved to the way she spoke. There was an ethereal quality to her—strange and eccentric, sure, but magical in her own right. Evee had looked up to her for as long as she could remember, from the childhood summers she'd spent visiting to now, living under the same roof. She still admired her deeply.

Between bites, Evee glanced up from her plate. "I met someone at the park today," she said, keeping her tone casual as she lifted her glass. She waited until all eyes were on her before adding, "He said he knows you guys—Seth Clearwater?"

Millicent's expression instantly warmed. "Oh yes, we know Seth and his family very well. We used to watch him when he was just a little thing," she said, exchanging a nostalgic look with Thackeray. "He was always such a gentle child. Kind, thoughtful... just a very sweet boy."

"He's still sweet," Evee murmured, almost to herself, her fork hovering over her plate as a small smile tugged at her lips.

Unfortunately for her, that didn't go unnoticed.

Jonah and Logan both looked up like sharks smelling blood. They locked eyes and shared one of their infamous glances—mischievous, conspiratorial, full of teenage boy energy.

"What?" Evee asked, narrowing her eyes.

Logan dropped his voice into a mocking falsetto. "'He's still sweet.'"

Jonah grinned wickedly, tapping his fork on her plate. "Someone's got a crushhh~"

Evee swatted his fork away with a groan. "Oh shut up—both of you! Grow up."

The adults at the table chuckled at their antics. Thackeray, in particular, watched them with fondness written all over his face. Then his gaze shifted to Millicent, and Evee noticed it again—that quiet, tender look. It was the kind of gaze you only ever saw in old romantic films or sappy love stories, the kind people wrote poems about. But this wasn't fiction. This was real. Thackeray looked at Millicent like she was the only person in the room, the only person who mattered.

Evee cleared her throat gently. "He left his watch behind," she said, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out the brown leather watch and placed it carefully on the table. "At least, I think it's his. The initials on the back are H.C.—any idea who that might be?"

Millicent leaned forward slightly, her fingers delicate as she took the watch from Evee's hand. Her expression changed the moment she turned it over and read the engraving.

"H.C.," she said softly. "That would be Harry Clearwater—Seth's father."

Evee stilled, the air around her thickening with something solemn.

Millicent looked up from the watch, her eyes a bit glassy now. "He passed away a little over a year ago. Heart attack. It was... sudden. A real tragedy. The entire town mourned for him. He was a good man. This—" she looked down at the watch again "—this must've been very special to Seth."

The table fell into a hush, the kind that made you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Evee swallowed the lump forming in her throat, feeling a weight settle in her chest. She hadn't known, and now that she did, it made everything feel heavier. She knew what that kind of loss felt like—the kind that hollows you out from the inside, slow and aching.

Thackeray cleared his throat gently, breaking the silence. "He'll want that back. You should return it to him tomorrow."

Millicent nodded, as if waking from a daze. "I'll write down the address for you after dinner. You can go first thing after breakfast."

Evee nodded quietly, taking the watch back from her aunt with reverent hands and tucking it into her pocket like a fragile secret. "Yeah... okay. I'll do that."

Logan, never one to let a sweet moment last too long, gave her a smug grin. "Of course she'll do that."

Evee rolled her eyes and elbowed him hard in the side, drawing a dramatic oof from her brother and a round of laughter from the table.

The moment lightened, but the weight of the watch remained in her pocket—warm from her hand, but heavy with meaning.

And somehow, it made her even more certain that she had to see Seth again.

Clearwater Residence.
La Push, WA.
May 2010

           "𝓜om, I'm home!" Seth Clearwater called out as he pushed the front door open with a thud. The scent of something hearty and warm filled the air—beef stew and baked potatoes, if he wasn't mistaken. His stomach grumbled in response.

"Smells amazing, Ma!" he added as he kicked off his shoes and bounded into the kitchen. Without hesitation, he leaned down and kissed his mother, Sue Clearwater, on the cheek. She was standing by the stove, her hands busy with the final touches to dinner.

Sue smiled, clearly pleased. "You've got good timing, sweetheart. Everything's just about ready."

"Someone's chipper," Leah remarked dryly from across the kitchen. She was already setting the table, stacking the last of the silverware beside the plates. The action was deliberate—it meant that cleanup duty would fall to Seth. It was an unspoken rule in their house: whoever didn't set the table had to clear it. Seth groaned internally. He'd lost the race.

"I'm always chipper," Seth said defensively, dropping into his seat at the table. "And that's not fair, I wasn't even home."

Leah shot him a smug look. "Tough luck."

"No, your sister's right," Sue chimed in, glancing over at her son with a curious gleam in her eye. "You're glowing, Seth."

He blinked. "Glowing?"

"You've got that look about you," she continued, a teasing tone in her voice now.

Leah's eyebrows shot up. "Wait a second." She paused, narrowing her eyes. "Did you meet a girl?"

Seth nearly choked on air. "What? How—how'd you know that?!"

His mother merely chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling fondly. "Because I know you, baby. And I've seen that look before."

Seth flushed, unsure whether to be embarrassed or amazed by her accuracy. "What look?"

"The look Sam had when he first saw Emily," she said gently, then hesitated before adding, "it's love sweetheart. That far-off, dreamy kind of stare that says your mind's not entirely here anymore."

At the mention of Sam and Emily, the atmosphere shifted slightly. Seth could sense the discomfort ripple through Leah even before she said anything.

"That's ridiculous," Seth muttered quickly, trying to steer things back. "I just met her. I can't love her..."

But his voice trailed off as the weight of the truth settled over him. He looked down at the steaming plate of food in front of him. The stew smelled amazing, but suddenly he wasn't so hungry.

"-can I?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

Sue didn't answer right away. She just raised her brows and tilted her head slightly, her smile knowing. "Can you?"

Before Seth could speak again, Leah abruptly pushed back her chair with a screech. Her jaw was tight, her arms crossed over her chest.

"No, he can't," she snapped. "And imprinting isn't love. It's not some fairytale. It's just a... a biological reaction. An instinct. That's all it is."

"Leah—" Sue began, stepping forward.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she said, her voice brittle. She turned and left the room, her footsteps quick and loud as she climbed the stairs. Moments later, a bedroom door slammed shut overhead.

Sue sighed, rubbing a hand across her brow. "I shouldn't have mentioned Sam. That was thoughtless of me. There are a hundred other examples I could've used."

Seth placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Mom. Really. Leah... she needs to deal with it sooner or later. We can't avoid the name Sam forever. Not when he's a part of all of this." His voice was quiet, but firm.

Sue turned toward her son, her expression soft. "You really are your father's boy. He always had a way with words. And you..." She reached up, cupping Seth's cheek. "You've got his heart too. Just as big. Just as brave. Never change, my son."

"I won't," Seth said, pulling her into a hug. "I promise, Momma."

They stood there a moment longer before Seth slowly pulled away. "I think I'm gonna head to bed."

"Good idea," Sue nodded. "Get some rest. You've got that look like your brain's been spinning all day."

Seth bent slightly so she could kiss his forehead. "'Night, Mom."

"Goodnight, my sweet boy."

He walked slowly to his room, the weight of the evening pressing heavier on his chest with each step. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he slid down to the floor, leaning back against the wooden frame with a low exhale. A sudden, sharp pain bloomed behind his eyes—his head pounding as though his body were rejecting reality.

But he couldn't stop thinking about her.

The moment he saw her—those crystal-clear baby blue eyes, the gentle slope of her rose-flushed cheeks, the soft, golden-chestnut waves of her hair brushing against her collar—it had changed everything. He hadn't expected it. He hadn't prepared for it. And yet... it happened. The second their eyes met, it was like the world shifted on its axis.

The feeling was impossible to explain. It was fire and gravity and stillness and storm all at once. A recognition so ancient it felt like memory. Like her soul had been carved to fit beside his.

And from that moment, nothing else had mattered. Not the teasing from Leah. Not the confusion. Not even the headache pounding in his skull.

Because he'd found her.

Whoever she was—this strange, fierce, lovely girl—she was his.

She was everything.