I take a bite of the tart and close my eyes. “Oh my god,” I murmur, “This is…”
“Perfect?” Spencer offers.
“No.” I open my eyes, lock them on his. “Better.”
And that’s when it slips out—so quiet I don’t even realize I’ve said it aloud.
“Wouldn’t it be great to just stay here. You and I...and Ez?”
He reaches for my hand and squeezes it, and without hesitation, says, “Yes.”
THIRTY
SPENCER
Nothing could’ve been more perfect.
Three days in Paris with Rhea, and somehow it still feels like a dream. A private dream I didn’t know I was allowed to have—until her hand found mine in a crowded museum, until her laughter bounced off the walls of our suite, until I spilled my heart—along with everything else— that first night.
I told her I loved her.
God, I didn’t mean to. But the words tumbled out like gravity, like truth, like breath. And she didn’t say it back. Not in words, anyway. But she kissed me harder, held me longer, whispered things that made me believe maybe—just maybe—she felt it too.
Now, we’re flying home.
She’s curled beside me in the sleeper seat, out cold before we even hit cruising altitude. Her head rests on my shoulder, her fingers loosely curled against my chest.
I don’t move. Won’t move.
This trip might have been for her, but it was everything for me.
We land in Boston, and I don't even pretend I’m heading home. I follow her to the gate for the puddle-jumper back to Maplewick.
“You should go,” she says gently. “It’s only a 45-minute flight. You really don’t need to escort me. Lacey dropped my car off at the airport.”
But I shake my head. “Not a chance.”
So I fly with her. Sit beside her. Squeeze her hand when the plane touches down. And it’s on the airstrip in Maplewick that we say goodbye. She kisses me—soft, grateful, sweet—and thanks me for the hundredth time.
“No,” I whisper, brushing her cheek with the back of my hand. “Thank you. This was… beyond unforgettable. I don’t want it to end.”
But it does.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m back at my place, shoes kicked off, suitcase abandoned. I should sleep. I’m exhausted. But all I can do is think of her. Of us. So I text her.
You awake?
The dots appear almost instantly.
Yes. Can’t sleep.
I hit call without thinking. She answers on the first ring.
“Have you ever been to Sedona?” I ask.
She laughs lightly. “No, but itison my someday list. Why?”
“Well, I was just thinking. . . “
