“I’m ready.” I lift the lid of Sammy’s enclosure and gently scoop him into my hand. Tears collect in my eyes as I hold my little tortoise friend to my face. “Hey, pal. Thanks for everything. Honestly, I think I needed you more than you needed me. But you’re healed now, and it’s time to let you go live your life.”
I place him in the grass near the lake in Central Park and stand. James wraps his arm around my shoulders and holds me for a minute as a tear slides down my cheek. Sammy doesn’t move quick—he’s a tortoise, after all—and James seems content to stand here and let me soak in this moment.
But then, as Sammy starts to move, James steps forward, bends, and scoops the reptile up again. I watch as he places him back inside the enclosure.
“James, what are you doing?”
He gives me an apologetic look. “I didn’t want to ruin the moment and what it symbolizes, so I thought we could go through with the ceremony here. But we need to let him go back in Rome like you originally planned.”
“Why?”
“I did research yesterday about releasing wildlife into Central Park—specifically tortoises—and the odds are not in this little guy’s favor. He’ll most definitely get trampled again.”
In this moment, watching James’s gigantic hands carefully handle my little reptile, preparing to take him back home so we can release him somewhere safe . . . is when I realize, I think I’m falling in love with James Huxley.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
James
We’re sitting at the gate, waiting to board our flight. Madison unzipped my backpack a while ago and pulled out the word search puzzle. She’s been glued to it for thirty minutes, brows furrowed, pencil tapping against her bottom lip.
Her bottom lip that I will not stare at.
I take the opportunity to pull out my phone and send a text before I chicken out.
JAMES: Hey
TOMMY: Hey?
JAMES: What’s up.
TOMMY: Are you dying???
JAMES: What the hell? No.
I let out a quiet breath, thumbs hovering. Off to an excellent start.
But Madison said it didn’t need to be anything big—it justneeded to besomething.If I keep initiating these random check-ins, maybe someday it won’t feel so weird. Maybe it’ll be something we regularly do.
TOMMY: Why are you texting me? It seems like you’re drunk.
JAMES: I’m not drunk. Do you want to hear my dream from last night?
TOMMY: . . .
TOMMY: Okay?
JAMES: I went to pick green beans and there was a Snickers growing on the vine.
TOMMY: Wait. That’s it??
JAMES: It was a short dream.
TOMMY: I’m walking into a meeting now and I hope you know I’ll spend the rest of the day wondering what the hell is wrong with you.
Madison stifles a laugh beside me, failing at pretending she’s still invested in the puzzle. Nosy little spy.
She leans her head on my shoulder, warm and familiar. Something big changed between us during this trip. And I hope it never goes back.
