Page 49 of XOXO, Yours

She’s right, of course. I know that. But hearing someone else say it out loud somehow breaks through my stubborn self.

The person who keeps leaving is me. I even told him that the first night we had sex. When I randomly and spontaneously shared part of my past with him. Maybe that should have been my first clue that there was something different about Payton Blankenship.

I've been leaving him every day. Putting him on a shelf labeled “booty call” all the while knowing he was falling for me.

"Okay," I say finally.

"Okay?" Hope raises an eyebrow.

"I need to write him a letter."

Cora squeezes my hand once, firm and certain.

"Then let's get you inside," she says, "and find you some paper."

chapter

twenty

Payton

Kelsie's birthday lunch is loud, slightly chaotic, and operating on a schedule that exists mostly in theory. Like most Blankenship gatherings. The back porch is full—my parents, Mimz and Pops, Henry and Gracie, Oliver and Cora, and the rest of my siblings and their spouses. Someone has already knocked over a drink. Kelsie is wearing a paper crown she made herself and does not appear to care about any of the surrounding chaos, which is peak Kelsie.

I've been fine all morning. Mostly fine. Fine enough to sit in a loud family gathering and not think about what I’m actually thinking about.

Cora slips inside at some point and then my mom follows suit. They’re probably getting the dessert ready or something. Kelsie bakes for a living since she co-owns the town bakery, Sugar Bakers, with her two best friends.

Though it would seem that would leave Gracie and Caroline to make the dessert. Both of them are just out here with the rest of us, though.

"Payton." My mom is half-standing in the porch doorway.

I look up.

"Someone's here for you."

I stand and walk towards her.

“At the front door," she says. "Take your time."

She steps back out onto the porch, and I numbly make my way to the front door.

Jules is standing in the front yard.

She's shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Wearing her regular weekend clothes of leggings and an oversized T-shirt. All of which have various paint smeared on the fabric. She told me once that for her, art is a full-contact sport.

Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail. She has something in her hand. A folded piece of paper.

Her brown eyes are wide with fear.

But she’s still here.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi." I step out into the yard with her. "How did you know I was here?"

"Cora." She glances down at what she's holding, then back up at me. "I hope that's okay. That I came here. I know this is Kelsie's⁠—"

"It's okay," I say. I desperately want ot reach for her, but I keep my hands at my sides. “Jules. It's okay."