“What do you know?”
She laughs. “Nothing, but if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
I smile, let out a nervous giggle.
“What if it’s not what I think?”
She gives me a don’t be stupid look in the mirror, and I nod.
“Maybe he just wants to talk.”
“Well, it’s still better than nothing.”
“You’re right.”
“It’s another sticky! It’s another sticky!” Willa comes running into my room.
I grab it from her, and they both huddle behind me.
The front door is unlocked. Follow the notes. —Simon
“Oh my god. How cute is this!” Calla says and shoves me. “Hurry up.”
I add a little mascara and lip gloss and then head out the front door, crossing our yards to his porch.
The next sticky has an arrow that points to his writing spot. His favorite table has the next one. Well, two.
The first time I saw you ride your bike past my house to meet the Realtor, I knew my life was about to change. I just didn’t know how much. Go inside.
I push open the front door and find the next sticky where I usually hang my purse and coat if I have one.
Not seeing your things here feels wrong, like a part of me is missing.
I take a breath and hold the sticky to my heart.
I hear a noise from the backyard, but when I reach the kitchen, I find another sticky note on one of the kitchen table chairs.
This should be your forever spot with me and Grey.
Tears start to sting my eyes, but before they have time to fall, soft music plays outside. I step through the back door, where there are candles lit and white lights hanging over the patio. The sun is still setting, so they don’t shine very brightly, but the entire ambiance screams something life-changing is about to happen and my heart is about to burst, waiting to see what Simon is going to do next.
“Greer,” he says behind me. I spin to his voice. He’s standing in the middle of the patio, hands tucked into his pants as he watches me. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come.”
“I lost a little track of time.”
He nods, a smirk touching his lips.
“That makes two of us.”
He reaches for my hand, then pulls me to him. When I’m close enough, he rests his forehead on mine.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t ready when you were. I’m sorry you had to wait for me. I’m sorry that for even a single second, I let you believe that being with you wasn’t something I could do.”
He says the words without a crack in his voice, but with each word, more tears threaten to fall, and my heart aches for him.
“I’m not perfect. I can’t promise to be perfect. I still have a ways to go, and there are still a lot of things I don’t know, but I do know this: all it took was one summer for me to fall in love with you, and I’d rather spend every waking moment of my life worrying about losing you than live one more minute without you.”
And the tears break free. He swipes them away with his thumb.
