“I’m so excited you’ve finished,” I say, trying to bridge the distance that’s suddenly between us. “It’s your lifelong dream coming true. I think you did an amazing job.”
Cricket’s mother appears with a platter of sandwiches and fruit. “I know you both are working, but I thought you might be hungry.”
We thank her, and I dig in, grateful for the distraction. The weird tension that’s been humming between us slowly fades, replaced by easy laughter and shared smiles. It almost feels normal again.
Almost.
“When do you have finals?” I ask, picking at a piece of watermelon.
“Next week. I’m so ready to be done with my marketingclasses. I can’t wait to dig into those old books.” She laughs softly.
“I bet.” I grin at her. The sunlight paints her skin gold and turns her hair almost silver. She’s beautiful in a way that hurts to look at.
The air between us shifts again, quiet and electric. I feel the words building in my chest—the truth that’s been burning there for months. I want to tell her I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss. That it meant everything to me. Thatshemeans everything to me.
But then she looks at me and smiles, and the fear hits me all over again.
If I say it, I could lose her.
So I press my lips together, swallow hard, and play a few soft chords on my guitar instead.
CHAPTER 36
Cricket Jenkins
Saturday, December 12
The sun kissesthe water as it slowly lowers in the sky, and I listen to Micah strum chords on his guitar. The sand feels cool on my fingers now, the warmth of the day bleeding away as evening approaches. Soon I’ll need to go inside and grab a sweater because the temperature is dipping, the ocean breeze carrying a chill that makes me shiver.
I look over at Micah. He’s wearing jeans and my favorite leather jacket. His hair is windblown in that way that looks so sexy on him. His gray eyes lock onto mine with an intensity I’ve never seen before, and my heart doesn’t just skip a beat—it stumbles, falls, forgets how to work entirely.
He picks up the empty food platter and moves it then scoots in next to me. He’s close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. He sets his guitar down. “Can I ask you something?”
My stomach drops, and I politely nod at him, trying tomaintain some semblance of composure even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to lean into him. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I hate it because it’s causing me physical pain to be this close to him when it doesn’t mean what I want it to.
“Sure,” I say, my throat dry.
“Are you still upset about River?” His voice is soft and a little uncertain, like he’s unsure what I’ll say.
I trace shapes in the sand with my finger, circles and spirals and nothing that means anything, as I try to gather my thoughts. “No,” I say quietly.
Micah picks up my hand, almost absentmindedly, like he’s done a million times before. His fingers thread through mine with familiar ease. I want to pull away from him, to protect what’s left of my shattered heart, but I don’t. I can’t. Even though it’s torture. Even though every second of contact is a reminder of what I can never have.
This is my life. I’m always going to be pining for him, wishing he felt something for me, and I’m always going to be disappointed.
I don’t know if I can do this anymore. Being this close—so physically close it kills me—but knowing I’ll never have him. I’m always in the orbit of Micah Barrett, where I’m destined to circle forever without ever getting closer.
The ocean stretches out before me, endless and indifferent to my heartbreak. Somewhere out there, beyond the waves, is a whole world I’ve never seen. Places I’ve never been. A life I could build that doesn’t revolve around Micah Barrett and his gray eyes and his stupidly perfect smile.
I need to leave Willow Shade. I need physical distance. I could go anywhere. New York. Los Angeles. Seattle. Somewhere I could start fresh, where every street corner doesn’t hold a memory of Micah and me.
“I need to—” he says at the same time I blurt out, “I want to?—”
Our words collide and tangle in the air between us. He chuckles a little, the sound nervous and uncertain in a way that’s not like him at all. He motions to me with his free hand. “You go first.”
I’m not even sure what I was going to say. I only know that I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t stay. I can’t watch him fall in love with someone else. I can’t spend the rest of my life being close enough to touch but never close enough to hold. It will kill me to continue like this.
“I want to leave,” I say quietly, the words barely audible over the sound of the waves.
