“I know that. It’s just weird hearing someone actually call you that. Like you’re a real celebrity.”
“I am a real celebrity.”
“You’re Levi. You got slapped by a fish on the pier.”
“Celebrities can get slapped by fish.”
“Can they?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s happened before. Somewhere. Statistically.”
I smile, but it wobbles. Because we’re doing the thing we always do, joking around to avoid the hard stuff. And the hard stuff is standing right here between us, impossible to ignore.
He’s leaving again.
“Hey.” He tips my chin up. “I’m coming back.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The look that says you’re already planning how to survive when I don’t.”
My throat tightens. “I’m not...”
“You are. I can see it.” His thumb traces my jaw. “And I get it. I’ve given you reasons to doubt. But I need you to hear me. I’m coming back for you, for us, for whatever this is.”
“That’s very specific.”
“I’m working on the language. The point stands.”
Harper appears again at the top of the stairs. She doesn’t say anything. She just stands there, radiating impatience.
“I have to go,” Levi says.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll call you when I land.”
“Okay.”
“And I’ll text you constantly. Annoying amounts. You’ll get sick of me.”
“Doubtful.”
He kisses me. Slow and sweet and thorough, like he’s trying to memorize it. Like he’s leaving part of himself behind.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“Don’t run,” he whispers.
He kisses me once more, quick this time, and then he’s walking toward the jet, jogging up the stairs, pausing at the top to wave.
I wave back.
The stairs fold up and the door closes. The engines start, a low hum that builds into a roar.
