Weston snorted. “Julianne is very proud of your dorm accessories.”

“Clearly.”

I watched my parents eating and talking and laughing, looking happy—and sweaty. No one really wanted to touch each other—which was nice when I met the neighbors, but not so nice for affectionate people like Sam and Julianne. I could tell they wanted to hug but decided to wait until the sun went down.

“I could really go for an extra-tall cherry dip cone right now. I don’t have connections at the Dairy Queen anymore.”

“I still work there. Stop pretending you don’t get a dip cone every time I’m scheduled.”

Weston leaned his head toward me, but he didn’t dare touch his wet hair to mine. “Because you love me.”

“Yes, I do.”

He paused in thought. “Why do you still call it Sam and Julianne’s house? It’s your house, too.”

“Not really.”

“Yes, really. My parents’ house is my house.”

“You’ve lived there your entire life.”

“So, it just feels weird to say it?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Does it feel weird to say I’m yours? Because it doesn’t feel weird to say you’re mine.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile. “Some mornings, after waking up, it hits me all over again that this is really happening. I wonder why you’re mine.”

“Because you’re kind and brilliant and beautiful. And you’re not like anyone else.”

“And because I make you extra-tall cherry dip cones?”

“Exactly,” he said with a nod.

He relaxed back into his chair just as the sun spilled pink and orange rays across the sky. I thought about the mural and that our artwork would be there long after we’d left Blackwell behind.

The sun set, and the stars began to peek from the darkness, one at a time. Eventually, the first pop of the fireworks show could be heard, and a spray of red, white, and blue spread out in all directions across the night sky.

Children screamed in delight while the adults oohed and aahed.

Weston reached over and touched my silver necklace. “Are you going to stop wearing it when you’re in Stillwater?”

“No,” I said. “Why would I?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you don’t want old things in your new life.”

“This is my new life,” I said, intertwining my fingers in his.

Chapter Eleven

WESTON AND I WOULD SPEND OUR DAYS AND NIGHTS on the Gates’ private dock at Lake Ponca, in our spot at the overpass, and on the couch in his basement. He’d also visit me on the few days when I worked at the Dairy Queen.

Frankie was training a new girl, Jordan, and after a few weeks, it didn’t make much sense for me to take up room in the tiny space we had to work in. That, and I would be leaving in less than a week for college.

On my last day at the DQ, Frankie was quiet. The rushes from football and band practice letting out were over, and I was just beginning to clean up the mess we’d made.

A truck snarled in the baseball field parking lot. It was Weston’s red Chevy, and he was gunning the engine while parked in his usual spot. He backed out, paused, and then crossed the street before parking on the asphalt, just like he had done a hundred times since he got his license.

My heart fluttered. He wasn’t wearing his baseball uniform, but he was in a T-shirt and basketball shorts, his toned long arms bulging from his sleeves.

He approached my window and smiled. I pulled it open. Asking him what he wanted was unnecessary, but he was making a gesture. This was the last time he would drive across the street and order from me.

“Can I help you?” I asked, feeling a bit sentimental.

“Hi, Erin,” he said from under his bangs. His emerald-green eyes glowed as he tried to stifle a grin.

“Hi.”

“I’d like a cherry dip cone, please. Extra tall.”

“You got it,” I said, turning.

Jordan and Frankie both watched me take a cone from the holder and then pull on the soft-serve lever. I made his extra-tall cone, smiled as I created my very last curl on the top, and then turned again, dipping the ice cream into the cherry coating. The gooey red layer hardened as I carefully handed it to Weston under the window.

“Thanks, babe,” he said before taking a large bite off the top as he always did. “I wanted to be your last one.”

He dropped a few dollars on the counter, and I gave him his change. He winked at me before swaggering back to his pickup.

“That,” Frankie said, “was disgusting. I’m so glad today is your last day, so I’ll no longer be forced to witness your grotesque public affection.”

“Technically, that wasn’t PDA,” Jordan said. She shrank back when Frankie shot her an intimidating glare.

I crossed my arms. “How is Mark? He’s come to the drive-through at least once every time I’ve been here.”

She snarled, “He is wonderful. He allegedly loves me and my crazy kids. He wants to move in together. I said not yet.”

“Not yet?” I asked.

“He’s nice. I like him a lot. But not yet.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“I still can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Frankie whined, turning to restock the cups. “I mean, I knew it was coming. I’ve known you weren’t going to stick around here, but it won’t be the same without you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel bad at all,” Jordan said, pushing up her black-rimmed glasses.

“It’s not all about you, sticky fingers,” Frankie snapped.

Jordan shot her a look of confusion, and Frankie narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you popping M&M’s into your mouth every time you walk by.”

Jordan shook her head. “I haven’t. I—”

Frankie pointed at her. “You’re lucky you use plastic spoons. Otherwise, that’s unsanitary, and Patty would fire you for contaminating the toppings.”

Jordan began to protest again, but I touched her shoulder. “She warms up.”

“No, I don’t,” Frankie grumbled, picking at the wet rag in her hand.

She does, I mouthed.

Jordan nodded, a desperate expression on her face.