“What?”
“How long, Blair,” he begs.
“Yes.” I laugh.
“What?”
“Yes, Declan. This whole time. Yes, to all of it. Every year. Every single year I’ve known you.” I know he’s asking howlong I’ve liked him. I know because it’s the first thing I wondered when he pressed his lips to mine.
I feel giddy with the relief of it. Of saying it aloud and seeing his pleased face staring back at me. He’s so beautiful.
He crushes his lips back against mine, as if he can’t stop himself now that it’s been allowed. We laugh, pulling apart. I feel like I’m in a dream. Like my head is floating off my shoulders, bubbles rising to the top and releasing with a satisfying fizz.
“Why now?” I can’t help blurting.
He understands the question instantly. “Because.” He looks away, wiping a hand through his sweaty hair, and then back at me again. “Because I can’t—I really don’t want to mess this up, Blair. If we start, I don’t want us to end.”
It sounds like he’s thought about that sentiment a thousand times before confessing it. And I understand the feeling so deeply, I don’t know how to communicate it in words.
I readjust my grip on the back of his neck, making sure he hears me when I say, “You won’t mess this up.” I shake my head. “If the goal was to make sure you didn’t ruin this friendship, I’ve already done that a thousand times in my head.”
The smile I was hoping for creeps onto his face, starting from the corners of his lips as he realizes my meaning.
Confetti pops from canisters beside us with a loud CRACK, and colorful pieces of paper rain down on us gently—a piece of pink confetti sticks to my cheek. Declan looks at me like I might disappear if he looks away. Like, if he’s not careful he might wake up to find that this was all a dream. He lifts his hand. The movement is slow, tender, as he brushes the confetti off my cheek, holding it between his fingers like a trophy.
“Let me take you on a date,” he says.
“What? A date?” I stall, still not believing this is finally happening.
“A date,” he confirms.
“Yes.” I nod vigorously, like an army sergeant commanded it.
He smiles, his dimple deepening. The freckle on his bottom lip catches my attention.
I finally kissed that freckle, I think to myself.
“Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at seven p.m. Wear clothes you don’t mind getting dirty.”
“Yes,” I say again.
My brain is barely functioning.
“We won’t mess this up,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself.
I shake my head. “We won’t,” I insist, and pray to God that it’s true.
Chapter 9
You guys know the drill. Lots of tourists will be dipping in and out this summer, so we need to be a well-oiled machine. If we all do our part, none of us should feel overwhelmed,” Declan says to the small crowd of coffee shop employees, of which I am one now.
Declan never said more words than the exact amount necessary to get his point across, and it was apparent he treated being manager like leading a football team. He rattled off tasks and updates, and although firm, the staff seemed to enjoy him. The surety of his commands, efficient and precise withoutsounding harsh, forced me to note the ways he’d grown since our high school years.
“Harper, you can teach the newbie how to make this month’s specialty drink.”
I’m so distracted, I almost miss the fact that he referred to me as “the newbie.”
“Got it!” she says, red gingham bow bouncing in her ponytail as she nods.
