Page 27 of Meet Me Back Here

“What? No. It’s ok. I don’t want to bother anybody,” I say, my shoulders curling forward as I try to make myself even smaller than my five-foot height. I’m suddenly feeling exceptionally bashful. About my reaction to Forrest’s touch. About the book. About the theoretical next book.

Forrest looks over one shoulder before turning the other way. He reaches into his pocket and produces a pen.

“I don’t see anybody,” he says it like a challenge, making a show of looking left and right before waving the pen in front of my nose. “Besides, the Cam of our youth would sign it. She’d love the risk of getting caught.”

“Forrest!” I whisper urgently at him. I could never. “That’s vandalism.”

But he might be right about the younger version of me. She thrived on adventure and taking chances. She knew exactly what she wanted. She hadn’t been hurt yet.

“Only a little,” he says, urgently bringing the pen closer to my nose. “Come on, do it.”

I shake my head. “No way.”

“Do it. Do it,” he repeats, getting marginally louder each time. “If you won’t be young Cam, I’ll have to be the immature one.”

It’s moments like these that I’m reminded he’s the youngest sibling in his household. Yes, he’s usually reserved and quiet, but sometimes, he’s a royal pain in the ass, determined to outlast me in whatever disagreement we’re having. Goading like this is exactly what I’d do to him as a kid.

Somebody is going to hear him.

“Do it,” he says again, even louder.

“Oh my god, shut up.” I release his hand and snatch the pen from him. I make my own sweep of the store. Nobody in sight. “Cover me,” I demand and take my book off the display.

Forrest slides behind me, his chest skimming against my back as he leans over me, like he’s looking at something on the page I’ve flipped to. Quick as lightning, I scrawl Mia Lane on the title page and finish it with a heart before shoving the book back where it came from.

“Ok, let’s get out of here,” I plead, ready to bolt, lest somebody appear to put me in book jail.

“Just a second. I need to grab a”—Forrest glances to a nearby table and plucks a small black notebook off it—“quick replacement.”

“I can give yours back,” I offer even though I don’t really want to. But I will if it’ll get us out of here.

“Not a chance. That’s yours now. Just be cool.” And he slips through the store, walking up to the register like all is fine.

Meanwhile, I feel like a damn criminal. It’s really not that serious. I know that. But the thrill of sneaking is exhilarating. I shift from foot to foot, unable to stand still. I stop when I realize fidgeting probably makes me look extremely guilty.

Forrest comes back to me a minute later with a small bag in his hand.

“Can we go now?” I beg.

“If you’re ready.” Forrest shrugs, clearly amused at my distress. “Or we could check the shelves. Maybe they have more of your book⁠—”

I cut Forrest off by grabbing a fistful of the front of his sweatshirt and yanking him toward the door.

“I can’t believe you had me do that,” I say, laughing freely from the safety of the car.

“It felt like you needed it.” Forrest joins my laughter with a beautiful, deep sound that fills the car.

And I think I did.

He knows what I need when I haven’t got a clue.

Puzzle pieces.

“Are you sure you don’t want to change into your pants first?” I ask, an offer Forrest’s already declined.

After we finished our shopping, we grabbed lunch and came back to the resort to drop things off since it was on the way to our next destination.

“We’re going to be walking around, and it did get a little warmer than this morning. I think I’ll be ok with just the sweatshirt,” Forrest insists. “Besides, I’m a New England man raised on Boston winters. I can handle this.”