Such as Valentine’s Day, which was less than twenty-four hours away. Normally, I’d be happy to have a boyfriend (or something close to it) on the very day you’re made to be very aware when you don’t. But even as Nate hinted at his big plans for us—which, by the sound of it, were secret, detailed, and still in development—I couldn’t completely just relax and enjoy it. Rest Assured had run a special promotion for gift baskets and flower delivery for its customers, and the response had been overwhelming. As a result, they were booked fully for that day, just like on Thanksgiving, and I’d not forgotten how that had turned out.

“It’s going to be fine,” Nate had assured me the night before, out by the pond, when I’d brought this up. We’d taken to meeting there sometimes in the evening, between our respective homework and work schedules, if only for a few moments. “I’ll do deliveries all afternoon, be done by seven. Plenty of time for what I have in mind.”

“Which is what?” I asked.

“You’ll see.” He reached over, brushing my hair back from my face. Behind him I could see the lights from the pool flickering over the fence, and even as he leaned in, kissing my temple, I was distracted, knowing that he was supposed to be over there, assembling gift baskets and that any moment his dad might wander out and find him gone. This must have been obvious, as after a moment he pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You look worried.”

“I’m not.”

“Look,” he said, his expression serious, “if this is about my gift . . . just relax. I’m not expecting anything phenomenal. Just, you know, super great.”

I just looked at him, regretting once again that in a moment of weakness a few days earlier, I’d confessed to Olivia—who then had of course told Nate—that I was stressing about finding the right thing for him for Valentine’s. Her loyalty aside, though, the truth was that having dropped the ball at Christmas, it seemed especially important to deliver something good here, if not phenomenal.

“It’s not about your gift,” I told him.

“Then what is it?”

I shrugged, then looked past him again, over at the pool house. After a moment, he turned and glanced that way as well, then back at me, finally getting it. “It’s fine, okay? I’m off the clock,” he said. “All yours.”

But that was just the thing. Even in these moments— sitting by the pond with his leg linked around mine, or riding in the car with his hand on my knee—I never felt like I had all of Nate, just enough to make me realize what was missing. Even stranger was that with anyone else I’d ever been with—especially Marshall—what I was given, as well as what I gave, had always been partial, and yet that had still been plenty.

Now, we pulled into the Perkins lot, and Gervais jumped out, bolting for the building as always. As soon as the door shut behind him, Nate leaned across the console between us and kissed me. “You do look great,” he said. “So what made you finally break down and spend those gift cards?”

“I didn’t. Cora ambushed me and took me to Esther Prine. I was powerless to resist.”

“Most girls I know would consider that wish fullfillment, not torture.”

I sat back, shaking my head. “Why does everyone keep saying that? Who says just because I’m a girl I’m hardwired to want to spent a hundred and eighty bucks on jeans?”

Nate pulled away, holding up his hands. “Whoa there,” he said. “Just making an observation.”

“Well, don’t.” I looked down at my lap and those expensive jeans, not to mention the shoes I had on with them (suede, not on sale) and my jacket (soft leather, some label I’d never even heard of). Who was this person in these fancy clothes, at this expensive school, with a for-all-intents -and-purposes boyfriend who she was actually worried wasn’t opening up to her enough emotionally? It was like I’d been brainwashed or something.

Nate was still watching me, not saying anything. “Sorry,” I said finally. “It’s just . . . I don’t know. Everything feels overwhelming right now, for some reason.”

“Overwhelming,” he repeated.

It was times like these that I knew I should just come clean and tell him that I worried about him. Having the courage to do that was the part of me I was still holding back. And I was always aware of it, even as, like now, I did it once again.

“Plus,” I said, sliding my knee so it rested against his, “there’s this issue of your gift.”

“My gift,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s just so all-encompassing,” I said with a sigh, shaking my head. “Huge. And detailed . . . I mean, the flow charts and spread sheets alone are out of control.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“I’ll be lucky if I get it all in place by tonight, to be honest.”

“Huh.” He considered this. “Well. I have to admit, I’m intrigued.”

“You should be.”

He smiled, then reached over, running a hand over my jacket. “This is pretty cool,” he said. “What’s the inside look like? ”

“The inside . . .” I said, just as he slid his hand over my shoulder, easing off one sleeve. “Ah, right. Well, it’s equally impressive.”

“Yeah? Let me see.” He nudged it off over the other shoulder, and I shook my head. “You know, it is. This sweater is pretty nice, too. Who makes it?”