The stab in his chest forced him to still for a moment. “I’m delighted someone appreciates my wordsmithery.”
“Not my favorite, though. The graduation one…” She yawned again. “So sweet.”
He’d required weeks to write that limerick, draft after draft discarded for revealing too much or giving her too little of himself. Only the prospect of living halfway across the country from her had allowed him to slip it into her locker the last day of school.
Her cheeks plumped in a tired smile. “My favorite part was how you rhymedCountywithcount-y. A stroke of genius.”
“Creating timeless poetry is hard. Sue me.” He rubbed her feet, and her toes wiggled, charming him completely.
“I memorized it.” Her voice was getting softer, her words less distinct. “Read it so many times.”
He still remembered every line, the tortured product of his struggle to say just enough to show he cared but not enough to show how much.
When she spoke, he could barely hear her. “There once was a girl from Queen’s County.”
Might as well help her finish. She probably wouldn’t even recall the conversation.
“Of kindness she had quite a bounty,” he said.
“Then she left for a college…” Her breathing deepened.
“To gain plenty of knowledge.” When she didn’t reply right away, he filled in the last line for her. “And was missed more than she could count-y.”
It was the lone time he’d ever acknowledged missing her, the gaping hole in his life without her in it. When she’d found him later that day, as he was walking home, he could tell she understood the significance.
“I got your note,” she’d said, offering a wobbling smile. “How do you count the amount someone is missed? Is there a scale of some sort?”
He’d kicked at the gravel beneath his feet, scared and embarrassed. “I don’t know.”
“If there is, I’ll max it out when we leave in August.”
Her eyes bright with tears, she’d tackled him with a hug, squeezing him tight. He’d put his arms around her in return, but hadn’t allowed himself to hold on to her with any strength. When she’d pulled away, he hadn’t protested or stopped her.
They’d spent another two months together, and then they’d gone their separate ways.
Soon, they’d do it again. And once more, he wasn’t holding on tightly.
But maybe he could risk a little more of himself this time. “You were my favorite person in the world. Always were. Always will be.”
Sound asleep, she didn’t respond. So he covered her, turned out the lights in his bedroom, closed the door behind him, and sat on the couch in the dark, staring into an impossibly empty future.
SEVEN
“Lucy,I remember how much you loved our AP U.S. History class.” Allie gestured toward the third tiny house offering. “What a wonderful way to incorporate that enthusiasm into your daily life!”
Lucy had loved biology too, but she didn’t plan to live inside a dissected frog anytime soon. Or a deflated kickball, to mark her enjoyment of PE. Still, she had to appreciate the builder’s considerable expertise and attention to detail.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more convincing replica of a covered wagon,” she said.
Covered wagon replicas, she’d found, were few and far between. Nonexistent, actually, before this very special moment in her life.
“This wagon comes in only four thousand above your top budget, and it’s a bargain for the price. Let’s go inside and see all the amazing features this tiny house offers.” Allie bounded up the wooden steps, the crew following close behind.
Sebastián propped his fists on his hips. “Ah, yes. Acovered wagon tiny house. For when you want to recreate the circumstances of the Donner Party in style.”
She didn’t think she’d ever heard him offer his opinion quite so freely before. “You don’t know. The inside of the wagon could make dying of typhoid or drowning while fording a river look glamorous.”
“Yes, maybe this is the Ritz-Carlton of covered wagons. At that price, I’d hope so.” His hand rested on the small of her back, warm and strong. “I suppose we should find out for sure.”
