Sky slips it into her pocket and then gives me a hug. I wrap my arms around her, inhaling her scent of floral perfume.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” she says into my chest.
I pull back and stare down at her. “Tomorrow?”
She nods. “I shouldn’t even tell you that, but…”
“Why shouldn’t you? I would have wondered where you were.”
“That’s why I wanted you to know. I don’t want you to worry about me, Colt. Meeting you has been the best part of my summer.”
“Mine too.”
A smile fills her face. “Your eyes are so blue.”
“Like the sky?” I joke.
She breaks into a laugh. “I don’t want to go home to the trailer just yet. Are you tired?”
“Nope. I want to stay up with you as long as you do. Let’s get to know each other a bit. Just as much as we feel comfortable with.”
“You mean you’ll tell me about your life in Montana?”
“It’s pretty boring stuff, but yeah. And you can tell me about Connecticut.”
She stiffens. “I don’t have much to say about Connecticut.”
“What about your writing then? We could talk about that.”
Her posture relaxes. “I have a lot of career goals. I don’t know if I’ll ever reach any of them, but I like to dream big.”
“Well, we’ve got that in common, Skylar.” I lead her back to the boulder, and we sit down again, our backs leaning against the rock.
And then, we start talking. Like really talking. We talk about our time in Colorado, and how much we love our families, and our favorite movies and take-out foods and drinks.
“Pink lemonade, huh?” I smile. “Sweet and sour.”
She laughs. “A little bit like me I guess.”
We don’t end up talking much about our lives back home. I don’t know why, exactly, except tonight feels like a once in a lifetime kind of night, and I don’t want to waste it. I also don’t want to focus on everything that will be waiting for me when I get back home—all the worries and fears I’m not ready to face.
I can tell she’s holding back, too, like we both want to stay in the moment as much as possible, because this moment will be gone in a flash.
Chapter Nineteen
As we keep talking, we realize we’ve got something in common—we both want to make something of ourselves. We also admit how far away that success sometimes seems.
“I have a feeling you’re going to make it,” I tell her. “You’ll have your name in a paper on a regular basis someday.”
“That’s so sweet,” she murmurs. “We’ll see.”
“Can’t you picture it?” I ask her.
“Not really,” she says honestly. “I’m so busy living each day as it comes right now.”
I put my hand on her bare knee. “Your skin is so soft,” I say.
A small noise escapes her mouth.
