I stepped closer but not too close—just enough to let her choose the distance. “El,” I said quietly, “I get it. Really. I don’t want to push you. Ever.”
“I know.” She swallowed hard. “It’s not that I don’t want . . . you. I do. I really do.”
“We go at your pace. Don’t forget that,” I said. “Any pace. Whatever feels safe.”
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. Enough to let hope in.
“And,” I added, “we already have a plan if you’re ready.”
She blinked. “We do?”
“End-of-school sleepover. Kids at Becca’s. And you . . . ” My voice softened. “You with me.”
Her lips parted. Her cheeks flushed that beautiful, soft rose color that always made me want to kiss her again.
“Okay,” she whispered.
I let her take my hand again, her fingers warm and trembling slightly, and we walked together toward the other house, towardthe mess the kids undoubtedly made, toward a plan that suddenly felt like the promise of something real.
Something we were both ready for.
Or at least ready to try.
36
ELEANOR
Idropped Ava off at school with a kiss to her blue hair and a reminder to turn in her library books, even though I knew she’d forget and I’d end up paying the fine anyway.
Tomorrow was the last day of school.
Tomorrow.
Which meant . . . tomorrow night.
The sleepover. For the kids. And forus.
I walked back to the car on autopilot, waving to a few parents, nodding at the principal, barely registering any of it because my brain was too busy replaying Alex’s voice from yesterday:
“End-of-school sleepover. Kids at Becca’s. You with me.”
It echoed in my head like someone had etched it into the inside of my skull.
I thought about it the whole drive home, what it would mean, what it wouldn’t mean, what I wanted, what scared me, what felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, and also the beginning of something bright, warm, and terrifying in the best way.
Part of me felt sixteen again, nervous and fluttery and unsure what to do with my hands.
The other part, the part that lost Ethan, the part that rebuilt itself molecule by molecule, felt older, steadier, but still scared to trust something new.
I wanted to trust it.
I wantedhim.
A lot.
My stomach swooped at the thought, and I actually had to remind myself to focus on the road before I hit a recycling bin.
By the time I pulled into my mother’s driveway, the butterflies had multiplied into a full migratory flock.
