I stand up and give him my credit card. He swipes it and hands it back with the burritos.
“Thanks.”
“Have a great day,” he says with a nod.
I nod back. “You, too.”
I step back onto the sidewalk, but before I go back to where I really want to be, I stop at a flower shop and buy Sadie her favorite—pink lilies.
48
SADIE
Hoboken is different from NYC.There are still people and noise, the electricity of something to chase, something to discover—but it’s softer around the edges, as if the architect collaborated with an artist and let her brush through it with a subtle sheen.
I cling to Milo’s arm. We’ve walked through green parks, sipped on foaming lattes, and had the best steak I’ve ever had in my life—something I won’t tell anyone back in Texas.
“I can’t believe you lived here,” I marvel.
He nods. “Yeah. Strange, isn’t it?”
“No, not strange. It’s—” I let go of his arm and turn to face him, forcing our walk to a stop as my hair whips around my face. He reaches up and tucks it behind my ears, and I lean into his touch for a moment before I continue, “It’s like this—I know every street, everypothole, in Dusty Hollow. And I know there’s comfort in that, where you can swerve knowing exactly what to miss, but I kind of want to hit a pothole.”
Milo’s lips pull into that warm grin that makes me feel like I’m not crazy. “I get it, Bookworm. You want to live outside your stories.”
“Yes!” I shout, unexpectedly jumping, making us both laugh. “That’s exactly right. Did you know I read the same books over and over again? As if the ending is going to change or the characters are going to make better choices the next time around . . .” I grab Milo’s hands. “But we don’t get do-overs.”
Milo presses his lips together, like he’s holding my words in, and I know he’s thinking about the note he wrote me—how he said he’d give it all up if he could go back.
“And I think that’s okay,” I continue. “Because your history only tells you where you’ve been, not where you’re allowed to go.”
I repeat his TikTok tagline . . . the one he signs off with every Friday. I finally downloaded the app to see that Milo Carter has 326,000 followers and always wears those fake glasses.
He squeezes my hands. “So, where do you want to go, Sadie?”
I let my eyes trail around our surroundings—the old buildings with beautiful sculpting, the modern shine of glass and metal, the green of summer in the city—until I spot something that makes me smile.
“There,” I say, pointing toward the sign.
“Please don’t tell me it’s karaoke,” he jests.
“No.” I laugh.
He turns and reads the sign. “Um, Sadie? That’s a wedding. A wedding we aren’t invited to.”
I quirk a brow. “And probably the perfect place to go kiss a stranger.”
“We could probably skip that list item.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, pulling him toward the wedding venue.
He groans playfully but matches my pace. When we get to the entrance, which is covered in beautiful white roses and greenery, I turn to him again, quickly brushing at his baby-blue button-up before tugging at the hem of my black dress and swiping another coat of red lipstick on my lips, smacking loudly in his face.
“Sadie Summers. Are we about to crash a wedding?” he asks, his tone playful.
I catch my reflection in his eyes, grinning. “Yes, we are.”
He puts his arm out and I loop mine through. He shakes his head. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
