It started to rain again. I stood up, ready to head back inside, when Brett pulled me onto his lap. He was shaking his head, this evil smile on his face before he leaned in and kissed me. Even under the small cover of the swing, the wind blew the rain onto us. I could feel it on my neck, feel how wet Brett’s hair was when I ran my fingers through it. I pressed my hand onto his heart and felt it beating right there, so close. I felt the way his fingers danced across the bare strip of skin above the waistband of my jeans.
I could feel everything.
I let my head fall back, felt the rain on my face for the second time that day. When I looked at Brett, there were droplets dripping down his face. His hair was flopping over his forehead and his eyes looked navy blue in the darkness. He was all skin and soft angles.
For some reason, my mind went back to that very first day, when I was sitting under the oak tree behind the football field. “I used to categorize my days,” I told him. “Some were worth remembering and some I wanted to forget.”
“Which one is today?” he asked.
I didn’t even have to think about it. “One to remember.”
Neither of us said anything for a moment. We sat there, staring at each other. There was beauty in the way his eyes held mine, in the way we held each other. Even when we didn’t speak, it was still beautiful.
“Becca?” My name felt so familiar on his lips.
I nodded, wiping the hair off his forehead.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispered, closing his eyes.
My heart seemed to leap out of my chest then. I was sure that if I looked up, I’d see it sailing past the stars, the moon. And when he kissed me, I searched for metaphors, for similes. For the “like” and the “as,” but I couldn’t think of a single thing but how it felt to have him so close to me. I searched for the words to put this feeling into thoughts and I came up empty. Or maybe I was just too full, full of whatever this feeling was.
Stop overthinking, I told myself. Feel.
So I did.
“I love you too,” I said.
Brett smiled. The stars fell from the sky and landed on his face. It was the brightest smile of them all.
“You do?” he asked.
“I do,” I said, laughing. “I don’t think I even realized it until just now. But I do love you, Brett, because you make me feel safe. You make me feel hopeful. I never thought I’d love anyone. And with all the downsides of love, you managed to show me the upside,” I whispered, holding his cheek in my palm, his heart in my hand.
Brett was watching me as if I were the sun his world revolved around, and I couldn’t quite fathom how I’d ended up here. How, on a planet with billions of people whose lives would never cross, I managed to capture the heart of the most beautiful one.
I tilted my chin up as Brett leaned down, our lips yearning for each other’s. His mouth met mine and my world exploded into a million tiny fragments. He tasted like peppermint, like home and every good thing mixed into one.
I wasn’t sure how we ended up back inside his house or how the two of us fumbled up the stairs without falling and then tumbled onto his bed. His body felt so new, so right, and I let my hands trail across his skin like he was a map, undiscovered territory. When Brett lifted my shirt above my head, I felt myself blush, all the way from my cheeks to the tips of my toes.
“I don’t want you to be embarrassed,” he said, lifting his head from my chest until his eyes met mine. They were so dark, those black holes again. “I love every single thing about you.”
I trembled as he kissed my jaw, my neck. I felt my armor cracking, every wall I’d built up around my heart tumbling down. His lips were undoing them, one by one, unraveling me from the inside out. And then his mouth crashed into mine and my entire world shattered. When the fragments blew away it was only Brett left, shining above me.
Brett
I REALIZED THAT NIGHT THERE was only one thing Becca needed to be happy. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t even books. It was the shocking, slightly disturbing obsession she had with cotton candy ice cream.
After she had showered and was drowning in my clothing, she sat down on the couch and hit me with those eyes, asking, “Brett, do you have any cotton candy ice cream?”
“We only provide quality ice cream in this household. But . . . I may have something even better. Wait here.”
I ran up the stairs two at a time. I went to my bedroom and searched through my closet until I found it, tucked in the corner of the top shelf. It was the only book I would read as a kid. My mom was always buying me books to make up for all the hours I spent throwing a football around the backyard with my father. It didn’t work. I always chose the football.
Book in hand, I raced back down the stairs and jumped over the back of the couch, landing beside Becca, who flinched. She was shaking her head—disapproving as always—as I placed the book in her lap. She picked it up quickly, running her fingers along the cover.
“‘Goosebumps’?” she read aloud. I nodded proudly. “Why are you giving me this?” She tucked her foot under her thigh and turned to me.
“First of all,” I said, “easy on the judgment, Hart. You’re holding my childhood in your hands.”
She giggled. Actually giggled. She even held the book up to cover her face.
“This is what you read as a kid?” she asked.
“That, and only that.”
“Is this supposed to impress me?” she teased.
Yes. Was it working? “Have you read this?” I asked. She shook her head and I jerked my chin back toward my neck, disgusted. “Come on. Get comfy.” I stretched into the corner of the couch, then patted my chest.
“What?”
“Get comfy,” I repeated. “I’m reading this to you.”
“I don’t want to read that, Brett.”
“Why? Because there’s no romance? No love?” I said, wiggling my fingers. “I’m reading it to you, so there’s nothing to complain about. All you need to do is listen to my voice.”
Becca rolled her eyes. I was sure one day they’d get stuck like that.
“You really want to read to me?”
“No,” I answered. “Believe me, there are a million things I’d rather do with you than read this book, but we kind of just did that, so . . . come here. You always tell me about your books; now give one of mine a try.”
I was halfway through the second sentence when she said, “Wait. Is this scary?”
“These books are for children. And I thought you were all horror-movies-don’t-scare-me tough?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“I am,” she said, jabbing her elbow backward into my chest. It actually kind of hurt. “But words are scarier than images.”
“I think you’re the only person on this planet who thinks that.”
“Look, an image is there in front of you. Right? You stare at it but then you can look away and it’s gone,” she said. “Words aren’t like that. They build an entire world around you. It’s not something you look at, it’s something you’re inside. That makes it scarier.”
“I understood none of that.”
She sighed. “Is it scary or not?”