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I’m glad for a few minutes alone, because the Loveless Sunday Dinner is nonstop cacophony most of the time, and I just need to breathe and maybe also process the looks that Levi keeps giving me.
I’d also like to decide whether our brief conversation about stoplights in town was veiled flirting, but I don’t think it was. I think that Levi might truly hate the intersection of Courthouse Road and Route 39.
“June,” his voice suddenly says, and I whirl around, croquet mallet in hand.
“How’d you do that?” I ask, because I heard nothing.
My pulse is racing so fast it could compete in NASCAR.
“I’m very stealthy,” he says, bending to pluck a stake from the ground. “Also, I went through the forest. Those assholes didn’t help you clean up the game?”
“You’re calling Rusty an asshole?” I tease, trying to maintain my composure.
Levi just looks amused.
“She has her moments,” he says. “But mostly I meant my brothers.”
“I won, so I volunteered,” I tell him.
We toss the rest of the croquet set into the bag, and I zip it up but before I can lift it, Levi grabs it from me and hoists it over his own shoulder.
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying that,” I tease, my palms already sweaty.
I glance back at the house. I can’t see inside, but I’m absolutely certain that someone’s watching us. Probably my brother. Probably Levi’s brothers, too.
I want to kiss him anyway. I know I shouldn’t and I know all the reasons that I shouldn’t and yet the desire is burning a hole right through my middle.
“Of course you are,” he says, perfectly calm. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you as long as I’ve got arms.”
Neither of us seems to be moving back toward the house, and I look up at Levi’s serious face.
My insides feel like a washing machine.
“I came out to talk to you,” Levi says, his voice serious as the grave.
The pit of my stomach suddenly drops out. I swallow hard.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you yesterday,” he says, his voice soft. “I’m sorry.”
I’m already nodding like my head is on a string, being jerked around.
“You’re right,” I say. “Totally right. Yes.”
Inside, I’m screaming. It’s the right thing and I know it’s the right thing but I’m screaming anyway.
He gives me a long, long look, his eyes searching my eyes until I finally look away, my arms folded over myself.
“I like you, June,” Levi says. “I can’t pretend that I don’t. But to be anything more than friends would be—”
“A bad idea,” I finish for him, because I feel like he’s talking at a glacial pace, and I also feel like if I don’t say something I might explode. “Definitely a bad idea, because it would mess up your relationship with my brother and my relationship with my brother and it would just be too weird all around, the whole thing.”
It didn’t feel weird. It felt right, not weird, and I know it and I’m nearly certain that Levi knows it, but neither of us is going to admit it right now.
“Exactly,” he says. He takes a deep breath, adjusts the bag over his shoulder, lets it out. “I’m glad you think so too.”
“I definitely think that,” I say, then look over my shoulder at the far end of the yard, where it meets the woods. “Um, I think there’s another croquet piece over there and I’m gonna go grab it, I’ll just meet you back at the house, okay?”
I don’t wait to hear Levi’s response, I just walk for the woods. There’s nothing over there, I just needed to get away from him for a moment because despite everything, I feel like shit.
I stand at the edge of the yard, staring up at the trees in full summer foliage, and breathe. I breathe deep and I breathe hard and I tell myself again and again that this is the right choice. I did the right thing. I’m applying for jobs in Alaska, for Pete’s sake, I can’t just take up with Levi for a month or two and then leave him and Silas to the fallout while I’m far away.
This is good. This is correct. I’ll get over it.
I just really, really want to cry my eyes out right now.Chapter FourteenJuneI read the plaque on the building for approximately the 1,573rd time.
Burdet House
Built 1808
Sprucevale Historical SocietyThe Burdet House — built 1808, now home to the Sprucevale Historical Society — is a nice house. It’s brick, with a small porch off the freshly painted front door. The porch has white columns. The rest of the house has blue shutters that match the front door, the windows look original, and the whole thing looks extraordinarily well-cared-for.
Which is what I’d expect from a historical society, so that all checks out.
I check the sidewalk to the right. I check the sidewalk to the left.
