“So, he snuck down to the gift shop while you both were asleep and bought her this ring,” he continues, spinning it on my finger. “He told her that as long as she wore it, she’d always have a part of you with her.”
You’re a wildflower in a field of daisies, Teddy Fletcher. You stand out all on your own.
I clutch the ring to my chest, feeling close to her.
My eyebrows furrow. “But I never saw her wear it.”
He chuckles. “It was too small.”
“After all that, she couldn’t even wear it?”
“She carried it with her in the pocket of her apron instead. She gave it to me the day we left Bear Lake,” he says.
My chest shudders with emotion.That’s why she never took it off.
His eyes fill with tears too.
“I think it meant she forgave me.”
I lunge at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “It means she loves you.”
We stay that way for a long time, holding each other close. When he pulls back, he says, “That’s my favorite game.”
Looking down at my hand once more, I say, “I don’t know that we’ll ever top it.”
Miles lifts my tank top, tracing a circle on my ribs. As difficult as it is to focus with him doing that, I know it’s the moment I’ve been waiting for.
“Wait here.”
I shoot out of bed for the tiny, stacked storage compartments next to the stove. The top one is our mini pantry, just large enough to hold the college dropout staples—a few soup cans and some top ramen. The bottom houses shoes and a small duffle bag of belongings I couldn’t part with the day we left. I haven’t had the need to pull it out until now.
Sliding back the zipper on the canvas tote, I dig to the bottom for the hardbound sketchbook. I cradle it under my arm and shove the duffle bag back in with the shoes.
Miles stretches out on the bed, tucking one arm behind his head so he can see me past his feet. “What are you doing?”
“I have something for you,” I say, feeling more exposed now than the night he dropped my dress to the floor for the first time.
He props himself up in bed as I lay the book in his lap.
“What’s this?” he asks, his eyes dancing in that way they do sometimes when he hopes what he thinks is about to come true does.
“Just open it,” I say.
He cocks an eyebrow and folds back the cover. Then he grips the edges of the pages in his right hand and starts fanning them like butterfly wings.
One thing remains true on every page… the sketch of a girl, her pouty lips and rounded chin, the edges of her bob framing her face, her delicate fingers holding open a heart-shaped locket on her chest.
The only thing that changes is what’s inside the locket… an open palm, a sunrise at Bloomington Lake, a truck taking the long way home, a second first kiss in a hot spring, a sleepover in a bunkhouse… every memory we’ve shared post-accident that led us to right now.
I grip his hands between mine. “Miles, if I never remembered anything at all, it still wouldn’t change that you’re the one for me.”
With that heartwarming, crooked smile of his that I’ve grown to cherish, Miles picks up the book to press it against his chest, and an envelope drops into his lap. It’s addressed to the both of us in handwriting I’ve only seen one other time scrawled across a Bear Shore napkin.
Miles slides his pointer finger through the opening at the top, ripping it in two. He pulls out a torn-out piece of notebook paper. In a shaky hand, he holds the letter out in front of us as I read it aloud.
Dear Miles and Teddy,
I hope when the two of you find this one day, you’re stupid happy. The kind that makes getting out of bed in the morning the best part of your day, knowing you get to spend it with your favorite person.
