“I want to show you something.” I keep tugging her hand, savoring the feel of it in mine, and it reminds me of that first day we met. When I pulled her through the gardens to the same spot I’m leading her to now. Today will hopefully not end in muddy clothes though.
When we’re almost to the arch that will take us to the private garden, I turn toward her, blocking her view.
“Close your eyes.”
She narrows them at me instead, but with a huff of air, her eyelashes flutter and she complies. I grab both her hands in mine, walking backward until we’re right where I want us to be. “Keep them closed,” I say, and release her hands to walk around behind her.
Leaning down to close the gap in our heights, which has become even more pronounced this year, I slide my hands onto her waist and let my lips ghost against her ear when I say, “Open.”
A tremor runs down her spine and I feel triumphant at the reaction to my touch. But then she gasps and whirls to look at me, eyes alight. Because instead of the old tire swing we loved as kids—that was barely hanging on by its threadbare ropes and was unlikely to hold my weight for one more summer—there’s a beautiful wooden bench swing. One that’s big enough for two.
“What happened to the tire swing?” she asks, reaching for my hand and pulling me farther into the garden.
“It swung itself into early retirement during a storm, according to Grandad,” I say, taking in her reaction, her excitement. I’m glad she’s not disappointed in the change.
“It did indeed.” Grandad’s voice booms from where he stands in the kitchen door, watching us. “And I felt like maybe a more grown-up option that could actually fit you both might be better.”
Avi beams and runs over to give him a hug. “It’s good to see you, Angus,” she says. She tried calling him Mr. Murray once, that very first summer, and he quickly set her straight. “It’s a beautiful swing.”
“It is, isn’t it?” This time it’s Gran who’s come in behind Grandad, a whole big Murray family reunion, with Avi in the middle. “It’s actually become a bit of a favorite spot for me and Angus too, so just know you won’t be the only ones vying for time out here.”
Avi laughs and envelops Gran. She didn’t even hug her own grandparents this enthusiastically when she arrived, but they’ve never had the same close relationship with Avi as mine have. They’re just different.
“We’ll let you two have it this afternoon though. I imagine you’ve got some catching up to do. We’ll see you for dinner, Jameson.” Grandad nods at me and there’s a warning in his eyes. We had a whole talk last night—much to my embarrassment and chagrin—about how Avi and I are getting older and I need to ensure I’m being respectful of her as her friend.
“Aye. See you for dinner.” I give him a nod in return. I know they can see out to the swing from the window, just like they’ve been ableto every summer since Avi started coming here, so nothing is going to be happening here… “Should—” I begin, turning to Avi.
Before I can even finish my sentence, Avi rushes for the swing. The soft cushions that Gran made make it almost like a couch, and she curls up on one end, eyes expectant as she watches me move toward her.
I take up the space opposite her, leaving a respectable amount of distance between us. I have ideas of what I’d like to see happen this summer, but it’s just that: for the summer. I don’t want to do anything that might make Avi uncomfortable or that will ruin our friendship. That’s not something I can live with either.
She kicks her shoes off and extends her legs toward me until her feet press against my thigh. My body goes tight with just that small touch.
“Truth?” I ask with a quirk of my lips.
“Anything you wanna know,” she says.
“Boyfriend?” I don’t need to elaborate beyond that.
She shakes her head, a shy smile and a blush on her face “No. You?”
“No boyfriends for me either,” I deadpan.
She giggles and kicks me gently with her foot. I bark out a laugh.
“Stop, you know what I meant.” She rolls her eyes, but her grin only widens.
I grab her foot, and instead of letting go, I slide my hand up to rest on the smooth skin of her shin. Her intake of breath makes her chest rise, my eyes falling there for a second too long.
“No, Avi, no girlfriendseither.”
She nods with approval and bites her bottom lip. She takes in the garden, avoiding my gaze, and I take her in. Her hair is longer, like she hasn’t cut it all year. I don’t think she’s cut it much at all since that summer when we were fifteen. It reaches halfway down her back in waves now—though most of it is pulled over her shoulder to fan across her chest. She’s wearing a tight tank top under a flannel with cutoff denim shorts. Shorts that cover very little of her long, shapely legs.
I force my eyes back to her face and find hers on me as well. The freckles that smatter across her pale skin stand out more when she’s flushed, and her brown irises dance with interest at my perusal. Her lips are a soft pink and I’m tempted to press mine there to see if they feel as silky as they look, if they taste as good as they did last year.
“Jamie…” she says with barely a whisper.
“Avi…” I husk in return.
