The love he’d extended to her was a sacred trust. She needed to handle it with extreme care. His parents’ love hadn’t proven trustworthy. He’d just lost his uncle. She absolutely had to prove herself dependable in this situation.
In fact, she wanted to prove herself to be better than dependable. She wanted to make up for the pain she’d caused him in the past.
When she heard footsteps on the walkway outside, she raised her head to see him push through Sweet Art’s back door. He’d changed, too. Into jeans and a hoodie.
“Hey,” she said.
He crossed to her and threaded his strong hands into her hair until they supported the base of her neck. Just like that, no preamble. He traced his thumbs along her jaw. “Hey.”
This wondrous new thing between them waswaytoo big and powerful to contain. She’d considered herself to be a romance guru because she’d mowed through an impressive number of boyfriends. She’d been Zander’s girlfriend for all of two and a half hours, and already, she could see that her self-acclaimed knowledge about matters of the heart had been pitifully lacking. Embarrassingly incomplete. Her other relationships had been pleasant and diverting, but they hadn’t been anything like this.
She remembered elementary school worksheets that had asked her to circle the item that wasn’t like the other. If she could line up all her previous boyfriends and Zander, she’d put an enormous circle around Zander.
He kissed her then, tugging her away from coherent thought on an ebb tide of pure, sweet, aching bliss.
Zander’s journal entry, six years ago:
Britt’s been living in France for a year now. In two days, I’ll be taking my second trip to see her there.
I can’t afford international travel. But I can afford the separation between us even less, so I’ve been tutoring students to earn money and eating ramen for dinner.
It’s worth it.
Since she’s been gone, I’ve felt as though there’s a river separating me from everyone and everything else. That river is Britt. That river is France.
My plane leaves in forty-eight hours. Which means I’ll see her again in sixty-three hours and twenty-eight minutes.
Finally.
Chapter
nineteen
Britt and Zander stayed awake all night.
They laughed and kissed and talked. They made peanut butter cookies together at three a.m. They marveled over the two of them, together as more than friends. Friends, still. But it was the “more than” part that neither of them could get over. It was that part that held the astonishing power of a hurricane. It might take them weeks to accustom themselves to it.
Britt hoped that it took her years, because exploring this horizon was like unwrapping a golden box, hiding inside another golden box, hiding inside another golden box.
They parted reluctantly at six, and Britt returned to her cottage. She slipped on pajamas and whipped up waffle batter. Energy blazed along her nerve endings. By the time her cousins made their way downstairs, sliced fruit, fresh-squeezed orange juice, bacon, and waffle fixings awaited them. She felt invincible!
If only invincibility lasted longer. Exhaustion felled her around the time her cousins left, at eleven.
She texted Zander to let him know that the coast was clear. He appeared less than ten minutes later. While he went around the downstairs living area shutting drawers, doors, and cupboards, she brought pillows down from her bedroom. They collapsed ontoher sofa. He reclined, pillows behind his lower back, legs stretched out. She lay on her side on the sofa, a pillow beneath her head.
“What movie is guaranteed to put us right to sleep?” Zander asked.
“Without giving us nightmares.” She scrunched her face, racking her brain.
“A River Runs Through It?”
“Babe?”
“Babeis perfect.”
A pink pig trotted around a farm onscreen while relaxation sank over Britt like a warm blanket.
Zander was here. They were holding hands. It was Sunday, and she had nowhere to be for the rest of the day. No responsibilities.
