I love this version of us, who can have fun anywhere, anytime. I love the way he looks at me like I’m in on some secret joke, or like we’re the only two people in the room. We can be our own imaginary band, right here in the middle of a music store, and we don’t give a crap who notices.
It’s how we’ve always been. I don’t want to lose it.
We buy a couple of albums on our way out, including the one for Andrew. I toss a new lip gloss into the mix before paying.
Holden shakes his head at me. “Don’t you have like, fifty of those?”
“No,” I lie.
“Mm-hmm.”
He kisses the side of my head before slipping by, making butterflies swoop in my belly. The cashier grins at us.
Outside, Holden pulls us toward a gravel path that winds through the park. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Mom said she’s reserving the lake cabin for Labor Day weekend again.”
My stomach drops so hard it feels physical, and my feet stumble against the gravel.
Shit.
I forgot about Labor Day.
Not the holiday itself. That’s impossible. It’s practically sacred in our families at this point. Same lake. Same cabins. Same stupid arguments over burgers and camp chairs and whose turn it is to bring firewood.
But this year…
This year will be different.
Because Holden’s hand is wrapped around mine right now.
Because he kissed me in a music shop not even fifteen minutes ago like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Because who we were last year doesn’t exist anymore, and everyone will see it.
“I forgot about Labor Day,” I manage.
He trudges on. “Yeah. It’ll be fun. Just wish my brother was going to be there.”
I scrub a hand over the center of my chest, trying to ease the pressure building there.
“It’s so soon,” I say quietly.
“Yup. Only a few weeks away.”
Exactly. Weeks. The same amount of time that we’ve been testing this whole thing out.
Holden tilts his head. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m just… trying to catch up, I guess.” I give a soft and humorless laugh. “The summer is disappearing so fast.”
Holden squeezes my hand. “Time flies when we’re having fun.”
I smile despite my sudden anxiety. I can see all of it too clearly—sitting together around a fire or sharing lazy morning kisses while our families make breakfast downstairs. We’ll spend every hour together just like we always do—except now everyone will look at us like this is a forever-kind-of-thing instead of a trying-it-out thing.
And the worst part is I want that.
God, I want it so badly my chest hurts.
But I don’t know if I’m there.
