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“You should bring Oz as your guest to the prom and I should bring Emily as my guest so we can all go together.”
I stop walking, and while the idea is brilliant, I seriously want to kick him in the nuts.
Chevy swings around to face me and catches me by my belt loops. He drags me to him, and while that action typically melts me in ways that I wake up dreaming about at night, I’m a little too irritated at him for it to work.
“Don’t you want Oz and Emily to go to prom with us?”
The mature answer is yes. The girl who has loved being boring as hell and just being eighteen is throwing a fit like a sleep-deprived toddler.
“It’s not like Oz is going to dance with you. He and Emily can’t keep their hands off each other for thirty seconds.”
Extremely true. Begrudgingly I say, “Fine.”
“Great.” Chevy lets me go and starts walking again, but I turn to go home. My taking Oz as my guest is the right thing and so is Chevy taking Emily, and after all that we’ve been through, it’s stupid to have my feelings hurt that Chevy hasn’t asked, but there are some things in my life I’ve thought about since I was younger and prom is one of them.
But then I pause. This is stupid. Chevy has loved me, he has saved me and he has risked his life for me. This is the twenty-first century and I need to grow up. I spin around and say, “Will you go to prom with me?”
Chevy glances over his shoulder and blinks. “What?”
“Yeah, sure whatever, I’ll take Oz, you’ll take Emily, but will you go to prom with me?”
Chevy’s expression darkens and he stalks in my direction. “You are the most impatient person I know.”
Now I’m lost. “I’m what?”
Chevy bends and I let out a yelp when he lifts me with his shoulder, turns and continues to walk toward our section of the field. I’m laughing, I’m yelling at him, I smack him on his back and laugh harder when he tickles my side.
Finally, Chevy sets me on my feet and holds my shoulders as I get past the dizziness of all the blood that has gathered in my head returning to my limbs.
I blink a few times, and when I lean affectionately into Chevy, he strokes my collarbone with his thumb. “A few months back, I promised you boring. I promised you college, I promised you a future, I promised to never leave your side again. I’ve got you, I’ll always have you and we’re going to have the most exciting, boring prom with all of our friends, but sometimes, I don’t like sharing you.”
Chevy twirls me and I suck in a breath. It’s our spot. Our place in the field. It’s where we played as children, it’s where Chevy and I shared our first kiss. It’s where he first told me he loved me, it’s where he carved our names on the tree to the right. It’s where we explored each other’s bodies, it’s where we explored each other emotionally.
It’s the one place in the world that has brought me such joy and right now it’s close to bringing me to tears. There are poles set up in a circle and hanging from them are lights. In the middle is a blanket with a picnic basket and surrounding the blanket are lit candles on wooden boards.
Chevy walks around me and hooks his cell phone up to portable speakers. My favorite song plays and Chevy extends his hand to me. “I once promised you dancing at midnight in our field. It’s not midnight, but it will be in a few hours, so want to dance with me now and then dance with me again later?”
Yes. So much yes. But dancing isn’t what I want. Not right now. We will, but there are other things we need to do first.
I walk over to Chevy, and when he gathers me into his arms, it’s like the entire world stops. It doesn?
??t spin. It stays as perfect as it is in this moment.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I can’t remember a time when I haven’t loved you.”
The right side of his mouth tips up. “You sure about that? You’ve given me a few looks that could strike me dead.”
I laugh, then sigh. “Even then I loved you.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re like fireworks, Violet. Beautiful separate, but phenomenal when put together. Of course, you can’t have all of that without a few explosions.”
“You promised me boring,” I whisper.
“I promise we will have nothing but boring explosions.”
Boring explosions. I can live with that. Razor throwing pie at Oz at the diner, Chevy and me arguing over comma placement in our English paper, then ending up in the hottest kiss of my life, making out under the bleachers during a basketball game and then serving detention for a week after being caught.
I can handle each and every one of those beautiful, boring explosions.
