Page 11 of Meet Me Back Here

“I thought moving would help, but they still yell all the time. I just wanted a little quiet.” Forrest breathes out a big sigh. “I’m sorry I came up here without asking first.”

I hardly have to think it over.

“You can use my treehouse whenever you want quiet,” I say.

Forrest finally turns his head and looks at me.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No problem.” I shrug. The treehouse protects us. I pick up my book. “Do you know who Nancy Drew is?”

Forrest shakes his head and scoots closer. I open to the first page.

CHAPTER FIVE

i like bacon more than i fear the scary guy with the spatula

PRESENT

It’s early when I wake up. Late autumn sun is peeking through my curtains and spilling across the foot of my bed. Jigsaw is lounging peacefully in the sunbeam, but when I shift, he uncurls and stretches before slinking up the bed to sweetly cuddle against my side like he didn’t scream in my face at four in the morning for breakfast.

Leaving Jigsaw with a kiss on his fuzzy little head, I pull myself out of bed and aim for the kitchen to get a cup of tea. I’ve got the lingering uneasiness of an almost-fight with a friend. Nothing is necessarily wrong, but it doesn’t feel quite right either.

Steaming cup of jasmine tea in hand, I grab a blanket off the back of the couch and step onto my front patio. It’s chilly so early in the day, with a crisp bite in the air, even with the sun shining down on me. Somebody is burning their wood fireplace, and I breathe in the smoky scent.

I fold myself into my favorite old rocking chair, cocooned in my blanket, and look up at the treehouse that still sits between my house and my neighbor’s. I’ll need to rake up the leaves before I head out of town, but for now, I love the bright blanket of color they’ve woven across the grass.

Forrest’s mom sold their house to an older couple just after Forrest and I started college, but she was thoughtful enough to offer the strip of land with this tree on it to my parents first. The treehouse has been through a number of significant repairs over the years, but she’s a survivor, and with me owning my childhood home, she really is mine now.

Considering all the moments in my life she’s witnessed, that treehouse is like an old friend. Looking at it now, with Arizona at the forefront of my mind, I can’t help but remember the note I left for Forrest to find up there all those years ago. It was a cowardly way to go. I know that. But it was all I had in me.

Going to Arizona was running away. There’s no way to sugarcoat that. My freshman year writing professor, a visiting professor from Desert City University named Jason Rupert, courting me with promises of a scholarship and a top writing program gave me a good excuse to go, but I would have taken any reason to leave. I might have gone without any reason at all. The stark differentness of Arizona from what I’d known my whole life made it a compelling destination. That and how very far away it was from small-town Massachusetts and a boy whose heart I’d be breaking.

The fact that he forgave me for breaking up with him so brutally before blocking his number is a damn miracle. To avoid losing everything I was, I had to make a full and clean break. It’s probably the cruelest thing I’ve ever done. But I was so young, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

I ran fast and hard, without looking back.

But even though it was my fault, being separated from Forrest was agonizing. Breaking up didn’t make me stop loving him, and every single thing hurt. I missed the way he smelled, getting funny cat videos from him, telling him about my day, seeing his toothbrush beside mine.

Every time I did or saw something new in Arizona, my first instinct was to tell Forrest about it. And that gut reaction hung around for months. It continued to pop up from time to time for the entirety of our seven-year separation.

Even after all those years, I could never be rid of Forrest Dane. I don’t think I ever fully wanted to be. Having him in my life hurt, but forgetting him was impossible.

I feel a dull buzzing against my thigh where I wedged my phone before tucking the blanket around me. It takes some finagling, but I eventually retrieve my phone without spilling my tea, an impressive feat if I do say so myself.

Forrest

What do you say to brunch? I’m craving Theo’s

Forrest. A weight lifts from my chest. It’s simple, innocuous. It’s a nothing text, a normal invite.

We’re ok.

Me

I haven’t even gotten dressed yet so don’t go in. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Forrest sends me a selfie of himself outside my favorite breakfast place—a tiny, hidden gem with the greasiest, crispiest, best bacon on the entire planet. My stomach growls loudly at the mere thought.