Author: Cheryl McIntyre

“Donuts,” Mason says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Donuts?”

“She likes donuts,” he supplies.

“The jelly-filled kind,” I agree.

“Start there. I brought Hope candy every single day until she forgave me. And then I kept bringing it to remind her.”

“Remind her of what?”

“What she saw in me in the first place. What made her care to look.”

I don’t think Lucy likes donuts enough to get one every day. But that’s okay because I can switch it up. I’m going to do this my way. I may not know a whole hell of a lot about her, but I like what I do know. And now I realize I want to learn more. I want to know it all.

31

Lucy

I’ve waited a week for Park to try to talk to me again. I haven’t seen or heard from him since the bar.

It’s for the best. It’s what I wanted, right?

But it’s really not. That’s just what I tell myself to make me feel better. Because the cold hard truth is this: I want Park. I want Park to want me. I don’t want to forgive Park. But I want to forgive him more than anything. I hate him for what he did. But I love him. I hate that I love him. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about him. And I wonder if he’s thinking of me. I want him to think of me. I want him to be sorry.

I want him to love me back.

I’m a mess. A complete, hot mess.

I crank the music loud and step into the shower. Every day, this simple thing breaks my heart. It’s this constant reminder of what I had for one short moment. A constant reminder of what I lost.

I’ve changed the shower curtain. I’ve thrown his toothbrush away. I even replaced mine. I purchased new shampoo and conditioner. It doesn’t take any of the memories away. How can it linger this long?

It’s been a month. A month since I spent one night and one short morning with Park. That’s all we had. It shouldn’t mean this much. It shouldn’t hurt this much.

I’m not even angry anymore.

Just sad.

And lost.

Maybe I’m hurting so much because I’ve lost a friend. Maybe we can go back. Maybe we can at least hold on to our friendship. Can I do that?

I turn the water off and wrap myself in a towel. Yes, I think I can do that. It has to be easier than this. And I know easy doesn’t always mean it’s right. But in this case, it feels right.

Friends.

We never really got to be friends.

I brush through my wet hair and actually feel like smiling for the first time in a long while. As I pad back to my room to get dressed, my heart beats quickly with a nervous excitement.

There’s a box sitting on the end of my bed. My racing heart stops beating all together. I glance around the empty room quickly then back to the mysterious box. I approach it slowly. It’s just a simple white box. I flip the lid open and frown. There’s an arrow drawn on the bottom. I look to the right—to the window.

My curiosity is peaked, but I’m naked. I throw my clothes on quicker than I’ve ever dressed before and practically run to the window. Throwing it open, I lean out and look around. Three steps down, there’s another box.

I crawl out and open the lid. There’s a small, plastic squirt gun inside, and under it, one word written on the bottom of the box: Down.

I deflate with disappointment. For a minute, I had thought this was Park’s doing. But a squirt gun? It’s obviously Jess. And I’m not in the mood for Water War today. I tuck the gun into my pocket and tromp down the stairs.

In front of Jessie’s window is another box. I open it with less enthusiasm and then stare inside with confusion. This time, it’s a silk butterfly just like the ones I have hanging from my ceiling. I brush my fingers over the smooth wings before taking it out. Where it sat, there’s another arrow.

I press the soft butterfly to my chest with one hand and open the window with the other. Peeking inside first, I let my gaze scan the room. It looks like it always does. Unmade bed, clothes strewn about, DJ equipment piled against one wall. And empty. I see another box on the dresser and go straight for it.

I hesitate, looking around once more before I flip the top up. My stomach tightens. It’s the book I got Park. The second one in the series he and I were reading. My heart is pounding against my ribs. I can feel it in my head. My hands are shaking as I take it out of the box. On the bottom, one word: Out.

I pause. Out the door or the window? I came in the window, so I decide to go out the door. I can’t help it—I look for him as soon as I step into the hall. He’s not there, but there’s another box. I nearly trip in my hurry, dropping to my knees to open it. Even though I have no idea what’s going on, I like this game.

The third and final book of the series is inside. I pluck it out and hug it to my side as my gaze follows the arrow. Right into Park’s bedroom. I stand and take a deep breath.

I can turn around and go back home. I don’t have to go in there.

It’s my decision.

Looking down at the books in my hand, the silk butterfly resting on top, I touch the squirt gun in my pocket and make a choice.

I step inside his room.

I’m alone, but there’s a box on his bed. I set everything down and slowly raise the lid. And then I smile. A single jelly donut. I move it to the side and read the words beneath: Turn Around.

I read it once more before spinning on my heel. Park’s in the doorway, eating an ice cream cone. A vanilla ice cream cone with hot fudge dripping onto his fingers. He licks it away slowly and I swallow with difficulty.

Everything has significance. From the stupid water gun—just like I shot him with the first time we met, to the butterfly—I have fifty more like it hanging from my ceiling, to the books we were reading together, to the ice cream in his hand—just like when he told me I was vanilla and he wanted to lick the hot fudge off my body.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi,” I whisper.

He moves toward me and I take an involuntary step back. I don’t make it far, my calves hit the bed and I freeze.

“We need to talk.”

“About what?” I rasp.

His eyes lock onto mine. The determination there makes my breaths come faster. “You and me.”

“There is no you and me,” I reply, my voice barely coming out.

“There’s a you and me, Lucy. There has to be,” he says firmly. “Just answer something for me?”

I nod.

“Is there a chance—any chance at all—that you can forgive me?”

“I don’t know. I want to.” His eyes spark with some emotion I can’t identify. He takes another step. I have nowhere to go.

“Can I ask another question?”

I nod because I’ve lost my voice.

“Do you miss me even a little? Because I miss you. You’re all I can think about.”

My pulse is throbbing furiously. I nod, and then I shake my head.

He cocks his head to the side, studying me. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m so sorry. I know that’s not good enough, but if you give me another chance, I swear I’ll prove myself to you.”

I don’t respond and he takes another step, putting him just inches away from me. I lift my chin in order to keep my eyes on his.

“Last question,” he murmurs. His breath caresses my cheek and I shudder. “I know I have no right to ask this, but…are you still mine?”

I eye the ice cream in his hand just so I can look away. Can I tell him? Can I put myself out there again? I close my eyes and choose. “I never stopped,” I breathe. “But you were never mine.”

“I was always yours,” he states adamantly. “I didn’t have sex with that girl.”

My head snaps up quickly. “You didn’t?”

He shakes his head. “We fucked around. A lot. And I was going to sleep with her because I was trying to forget you, push you away, make you hate me…something. But I didn’t do it.”

I feel the tears build in the back of my throat. “But you were going to.”

“I freaked out and fucked everything up. But I know something now that I didn’t know then.”

“What?” I ask. What could he possibly know to make him so sure right now?

“I don’t want to go another second without you.” He moves in a way that brings our bodies as close as they can be without touching.

“How do I know you aren’t still scared?”

“I’ll probably always be scared,” he says, shrugging.

I feel my brows draw together as I shake my head. “We can’t do this if you’re scared.”

“I have every right to be scared.” His eyes rake over my face, searching.

“Because of Hope? You’re still not over her. How can we ever be together if you’re still hung up on her?”

He grinds his teeth and steps back slightly. “I am over Hope. I’m just not over what she fucking did to me. Do you have any idea what it feels like to think you have something and then out of the blue one day you realize it was never truly yours? Not ever? Not even for a second?”

I feel my mouth drop open. “Yes, Park. I know exactly what that feels like.”

“Maybe you do know.”

“You treat me like I’m her. You treat me like she treated you.”

“I…we’re…” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.” He closes that little bit of distance. “Tell me you’ll give me another chance and I swear it will never happen again.”

“We’re different, but I’m not sure you’ll ever see it.”

“I see it. I see you. You are worth it to me. Please, Lucy.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” I can’t stop shaking. My eyes are burning. I want to give in. I want to run away.

“Say you’ll give me another chance. Tell me you want me. Tell me you care about me. Tell me I’m worth it.”

“I do want you. I do care. And you are worth it—”

His fingers cover my lips. “Stop there,” he says hoarsely. “Please.” He moves his hand and skims his mouth over mine. “Just say yes. One chance.” His tongue teases my lips and I close my eyes, shivering. “Say yes,” he demands.

“Yes,” I sigh.

Park stills and my eyes fly open. He drops the melting ice cream cone and before I register what’s happening, I’m on my back on top of his bed. He pushes everything to the side and lowers himself over me.

“You and me, Lucy, we’re like a fire: Hot and unpredictable, scary and mesmerizing all at once. We started with a spark and before I knew it, I was consumed. I love the way you burn me up from the inside out.”

I don’t know what to say to that. All I know is I couldn’t have said it better myself. I dig my fingers into his hair and pull his mouth down to meet mine. We merge like two flames, fast and out of control. Because sometimes that’s just how love works. We may smolder, we may blaze, we may rage without reason. But it’s always beautiful.

32

Park

I’ve missed the way Lucy tastes. I’ve missed the way her skin feels under my hands, her smell, and the little noises she makes. I’ve missed the way she kisses, wholly uninhibited. As if each kiss could be the last.

I’ve missed everything about her.

She pulls back suddenly and I reach for her, not wanting this feeling to end.

“Wait,” she breathes. “Hold on.” Her palms are pressing into my chest, pushing me away.

“What’s wrong?” My voice is low, calm, but inside I’m panicking. I can’t—I won’t lose her again. I don’t care what I have to do—I’ll do it. But I’m not going to live without her in my life.

“I need to slow down.” She adds more pressure, her breathing growing heavy. I roll to the side and she sits up quickly. “I can’t fall back into this.”