Maybe so. But there was one left.
I let my free hand drift to my back pocket, feeling the bracelet there, ready. I didn’t pull it out yet. There would be a right moment.
And I’d know it when it came.
Levi sat so close, I could count every pale freckle on the bridge of his nose. The river ran thick with yesterday’s rain, and morning sunlight caught on its surface, flicking silver patterns up onto his face. He sipped coffee from the thermos I’d brought, cradling the cup between both hands like it was a talisman that might save him from whatever storm was brewing behind his eyes.
He kept glancing at me, quick, almost shy, but the kind of shy you wear after you’ve made up your mind to stop hiding.
We didn’t talk for the first few minutes. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, the anxious tapping of his thumb against the cup, the way his toes curled in his sneakers every time he braced himself to say something and changed his mind.
“You know, most people just do birthday cake,” he finally said, his voice a little hoarse from sleep. “This is, like, Martha Stewart level.” He gestured at the spread on the blanket: fruit, cold sandwiches, a pile of Levi’s favorite cheese crackers, everything packaged in neat containers. He smirked, but the compliment was real.
“Martha Stewart’s got nothing on me,” I said, letting my own mouth tilt up in something close to a grin. “I bet she never wrestled a coyote for the last slice of peach pie.”
Levi snorted, then let out a laugh he couldn’t reel back in. The sound made the hairs on my arms stand up. He tucked a strand of sunlight blonde hair behind his ear, then bit down on his lower lip. I watched the edge of his teeth whiten against the pink, then disappear.
“Did you?” he asked, wide-eyed and earnest.
“Not telling,” I said, and he made a face, then looked away. But he was still smiling, and the tension in his shoulders softened, just a notch.
He leaned forward, arms braced around his knees, and rocked back and forth. The wind set the trees whispering overhead, and for a while, all you could hear was the hush of the creek and the steady drum of his foot against the ground.
“You remember the first time you brought me out here?” he said, almost as if he was asking permission.
I nodded.
“It was freezing. I think my balls actually receded into my spleen.”
“They recovered,” I said.
He laughed again, and this time the color rose high in his cheeks. “You made me a fire, then let me sit there by myself for, like, three hours while you—” he looked up at me, a flash of challenge in his eyes “—went and fixed a broken fence.”
“I was giving you space.”
“I know,” he said. “It was weird. Nobody ever did that for me before.”
He didn’t have to say more. I knew exactly how it was to crave quiet, to need space so badly you’d invent emergencies just to escape a room full of people. Levi wasn’t like that, not really, but he’d had years of living in other people’s noise, so he took to silence like it was an animal you could pet if you were gentle.
He turned his cup in his hands, spinning it slow, so the handle lined up with his thumb every time. He kept doing it, over and over. Not an accident. He wanted me to notice.
He wanted me to ask what was on his mind.
I let the moment stretch until the tension almost snapped. Then, as casual as I could, I said, “You seem nervous. Birthday trauma or something else?”
He swallowed. His throat bobbed. I watched the way the muscle slid under his skin. “Something else,” he admitted, barely audible.
I turned my body to face him, one knee up, forearm draped over it. He mirrored me, which made his knee touch mine. His skin was so warm, it was like he ran a fever only I could detect.
I waited.
He looked up, blue eyes electric in the sunlight. “Are you going to give it to me?” he asked, and my pulse did something it hadn’t done in a decade: it tripped.
I let myself stare for a second too long. “You sure you’re ready for it?” I asked. My voice sounded rough, even to me.
He nodded, adam’s apple jumping. “I think I’ve been ready for a long time.”
I reached into my back pocket and held the bracelet out, the leather curled in my palm like a living thing. It was nothing fancy—no gemstones or metal, just simple brown leather, the name pressed inside with steady hands and too much care. He stared at it, the shape of it, then at my wrist, where his own name glimmered in black letters: “Sunshine.”
