Page 81 of The Moment I Knew

His eyebrows lifted. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“It’s not really mine.”

He turned his head to look at me, actually look this time. “What do you mean?”

I tucked my hands into my coat sleeves, rubbing the fabric between my fingers. “We didn’t build it. The people who lived here before us did. Ainsley and I used to go up sometimes, but we outgrew it pretty quickly.” Before I could overthink it, the words were out. “Do you… want to go up there?”

The second the question left my mouth, I felt ridiculous. Too childish. I kept my eyes on the grass, suddenly very interested in a frozen patch near my boot.

When I finally dared to look at him, his grin was slower this time, softer around the edges. “Are you asking me on a secret birthday adventure?”

I groaned. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m absolutely going to make it weird,” he said, but he stood up anyway, brushing grass off his jeans. He held a hand out to me. “Come on. When’s the next time I’ll get this chance.”

I took his hand. His fingers closed around mine, warm and steady, and he squeezed once like he was saying “I’ve got you” without actually saying it. We crossed the yard again, stopping at the base of the tree. Up close, the wood looked older than I remembered, the rope rough and frayed in places.

“I should warn you,” I said, “if this collapses and we die, Ainsley will never let me live it down.”

He snorted. “If we die, I think you’re off the hook.”

I shot him a look, then grabbed the rope ladder, testing it carefully before putting my weight on it. It held. I climbed slowly, heart thudding. Not from fear, exactly, but from the strange feeling of stepping back into a version of myself I hadn’t thought about in years.

The space was smaller than I remembered, but not in a bad way. Wooden walls, scratched initials carved into one beam, an old blanket folded in the corner that I hadn’t noticed from below that must be frozen by now.

The floorboards creaked under my boots as I stepped farther inside, my fingers brushing along the walls. The wood was rougher than I remembered, worn smooth in places by years of hands and knees and bored afternoons. Dust clung to everything, and the air smelled faintly like cold wood and leaves.

“Wow,” I murmured. “I can’t believe this has held up all these years.”

Cole stayed near the entrance, watching me with that quiet focus he got when he was letting me have a moment. I crouched near one of the beams, squinting at a mess of carved lines and initials layered over each other like a timeline.

“Oh my gosh,” I said, laughing softly. “There.”

“What?” he asked.

I pointed. “That’s mine. And Ainsley’s.” I traced the letters with my glove—uneven and shaky, like I’d been afraid to mess it up. “I was ten. I thought if I carved it deep enough, it would stay forever.”

He crouched beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. “Looks like it worked.”

I swallowed, the knot in my throat catching me off guard. “Yeah. I guess it did.”

I stood and wandered farther in, nudging the old blanket with my boot. It crunched stiffly, half-frozen, and I laughed under my breath. “We used to drag every blanket in the house up here. My mum hated it.”

“Rebel,” Cole teased.

I snorted. “Yeah, you caught me.”

Near the back wall, I found the little shelf—crooked and barely attached—where we used to stash dumb stuff we thought was important. A chipped plastic bracelet. A smooth rock with a faded Sharpie face on it. I picked it up, turning it over in my hand.

“I forgot about this,” I said quietly.

Cole leaned in. “What is it?”

“My old pet rock,” I mumbled. Cole snorted and I glared at him. “Hey! When we moved to Canada, I had no friends other than my siblings. I had to do something to feel less lonely.”

“And you thought a pet rock was the solution?”

I glared at him. “Don’t talk about my best friend that way.”