Jasper doesn’t say anything after that. He just keeps working, the soft rustle of pine needles underfoot and the distant hum of cicadas filling the silence. We stay like that, watching as the sun sinks behind the trees and the first fireflies blink into existence, their soft glow flickering against the twilight.
"All done," Jasper announces, standing back as he takes in his finished piece.
"Bluebird of Happiness," I repeat, the name settling in my heart like something meant to be there all along.
"Bluebird of Happiness," he echoes.
Brooks quietly ends the livestream, and Jasper meticulously begins packing up his things. I watch as he carefully sorts each material into its designated bin, the labels neatly scrawled in his handwriting:Leaves. Twigs. Rocks. Gravel. Pine needles. Pinecones.There are more, but the light is fading too fast for me to make them out.
"Can I help?" I ask.
He waves me off. "I like to do it myself. It’s kind of a…"
"Ritual?" I offer.
He shrugs. "Sort of. Just a few minutes of quiet now that it’s done."
I nod, understanding. Some things aren’t meant to be rushed.
Taking the hint, I step onto the porch as Brooks finishes packing up the camera and ring light. He grabs Jasper’s phone from the makeshift wooden and velcro stand, types something quickly, then locks the screen before handing it back to him.
Then, with an easy stride, he makes his way over to me.
"Did you have fun?" Brooks asks, no hint of the usual teasing in his tone.
I nod. "Yeah. I did."
His lips press together in a knowing smile. "I’ve never seen Jasper so happy," he says after a beat. "He really enjoyed doing that with you."
I shift under the weight of his words. "It was fun."
Brooks clicks his tongue, then stretches his arms overhead. "Well, I’ve got a date I’m already late for, so I’m heading out. See you tomorrow?"
I tilt my head, curiosity piqued. "A date?"
His smirk is infuriating. "Wouldn’t you like to know."
I cross my arms. "I would, actually."
He takes a step back, his eyes glinting with something indecipherable. Then, with that signature smugness, he says, "Don’t worry, Ellie. You’ll always be my first crush."
And before I can fire back a response, he’s hopping off the porch and strolling toward his stupid truck, leaving me standing there, staring after him, more rattled than I’d like to admit.
CHAPTER TEN
The Problem with Brooks
Dad has been asleep for the past two hours, his deep, even breathing the only sound in the quiet hospital room.
When I first arrived this morning, he was awake just for a minute. Long enough to find my eyes and squeeze my hand with surprising strength. The relief nearly split me in two.
Ishouldbe working on a social media strategy. Ishouldbe queuing up posts, replying to comments, and proving to the world that I haven’t completely disappeared.
But instead, all I can think about is Brooks.
And his stupid, smug,"Don’t worry, Ellie. You’ll always be my first crush"remark.
It plays on a loop in my head like an annoying song stuck on repeat, popping up at the most inconvenient times. I don’twantto be thinking about him. I don’twantto be dissecting the way he said it, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long before he walked away.
