“Yeah, glove compartment.” The moment she flipped it open, I remembered what I’d stashed there. She froze, pulling out the containers I’d stuffed in there days ago.
“Why do you have three EpiPens?”
“I bought them,” I admitted. There was no point in hiding them.
“Why?” she asked with a puzzled look. I met her eyes.You know why.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
“Just in case, God forbid, you need help.”
She stared at me, speechless.
“Luke, you... you didn’t have to. I...”
“I just wanted you to be safe, that’s all,” I told her the truth. Also, a truth—it scared me to death, seeing her on that bench, almost unconscious.
“They’re crazy expensive, and you bought three.” Her voice small.
“They’re crazy cheap in Europe compared to the US.”
“How did you even get them? You need a prescription.”
“I made it work,” I said, giving her a reassuring look. “I have a hundred more at home, just so you know. I even tested a few on myself. Had to understand what you feel when that rush hits.”
She blinked at me, torn between concern and amusement.
“I knew it from that cliff-jumping incident you’re just an adrenaline junkie.” She didn’t believe me, but at least I got her to laugh.
“That’s stupid and dangerous. Please don’t do that.”
“Don’t worry, my spicy little Portuguese tart,” I winked. She giggled, warming my ice-cold heart.
“I don’t know about my spiciness levels.”
“Well, you were quite spicy yesterday in the kitchen.”
She quickly glanced away, and after a moment, she murmured something likeWell, you brought it out of me.Pride filled my chest, and I grinned.
We stopped at a small café overlooking the ocean. The inside was narrow and quaint, but the terrace was draped in vines, with an old piano in the corner. Mostly as a decorative piece rather than a functioning instrument.
After ordering burgers, which I thought was funny because she indeed wasn’t a salad girl, we settled in, talking and enjoying the ocean view before us. I was mostly enjoying the tattooed, clear blue-eyed view at my table.
“So, can I ask?” I said, putting the last piece of lemon pie in my mouth. She nodded. “What do you and Mady have planned for next week?”
Hazel froze for a second. I suspected not from the question itself, but from the fact I’ve heard. She looked at me for more than a few seconds, searching for something, then exhaled slowly.
“It’s silly.”
“Is it, though?” I smirked, not believing her for a second.
“My mom and I used to have this tradition.” Hazel puffed out a laugh. “Every year on her birthday, we’d go to Central Park and reevaluate our year.” Her gaze softened whenever she talked about her mom. It was sweet.
“I’m not sure if she ever explained it that way or if it was something that dawned upon me considering her health, but somehow we drew the same conclusion that goodandbad things happen in our lives, but both are necessary. And in order for the new things to come into your life, you have to let go of the old ones.” She tucked a loose hair strand behind her ear.
“We’d each find a flat stone and write the best and worst thing that happened that year. Although eventually, even the worst thing turned out to be something good. Like my terrible junior-year bangs I regretted as soon as I left the hairdresser’s chair, but later was the reason we won the mother-daughter look-alike contest.”
