“You’re not wearing a coat,” he says.
“It’s not that cold,” I say, even though it is, even though I’m shivering as I say it.
“Here,” he says, shrugging out of his fleece and handing it to me.
I put it on. It’s warm, and it doesn’t smell like cigarettes. It just smells like him. So Conrad quit smoking after all. The thought makes me smile.
He starts the engine.
I say, “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
He sounds almost shy when he says, “Me neither.” And then he hesitates. “Are you still coming with me?”
I can’t believe he even has to ask. I would go anywhere. “Yes,” I tell him. It feels like nothing else exists outside of that word, this moment. There’s just us. Everything that happened this past summer, and every summer before it, has all led up to this. To now.
