The play.
The basket of snacks and bottle of wine.
Hearing him call me beautiful.
All the late nights tangled together in my apartment.
Waking up in his arms with sleepy kisses in my hair.
The carnival.
The Ferris wheel.
It all makes my heart ache so much.
I’ve ridden that stupid Ferris wheel a hundred times in my life, but none of those memories compare to Holden kissing me at the top while city lights glowed beneath us. It changed everything. Our friendship shifted into something deeper—and yes, scarier—than I let myself believe could last.
It took me a while to trust it.
Somewhere during these last five days, I realized it wasn’t Holden I didn’t trust. It was myself. I didn’t know how to stand inside something this big without getting swallowed by it. Loving Holden feels enormous—safe and terrifying all at once—and I needed space to hear my own thoughts inside it again.
But the thing is, Holden never asked me to disappear into him. I just didn’t know how to stop myself from doing it.
That realization hurts almost as much as missing him does.
I know now he wasn’t trying to trap me. He wasn’t trying to control me or push me into anything. He’d never do that. Holden just got excited. He loved me loudly, which is a very Holden thing to do. I didn’t know how to explain that I needed room to catch up emotionally without making it sound like I wanted less.
I never wanted less.
I just needed to hear my own heart.
Tears slip down my cheeks, and I quickly wipe them away. The last thing I need is to crash because I’m crying on the highway like a disaster.
Darkness has settled fully by the time I finally turn down the long gravel road toward the cabin. The porch light glows warmly through the trees, and I can already see people gathered around the fire pit.
Music drifts faintly through the night air. Suddenly my heart is pounding so hard it feels painful. I can hear Trista and Macy, someone is playing a guitar, and people are laughing.
There is only one person I want to see, though.
I pull into the field and park between two massive trucks, killing the engine. For one second, I just sit there gripping the steering wheel. Old Holden would’ve been halfway across the campground already, demanding to know why I’m late and asking if I’m okay.
But he’s not here, and suddenly, I don’t know if he’s even going to talk to me.
The place where he should be rings hollow, and anxiety twists hard in my chest. I climb out slowly and grab my bags, sleeping bag, and pillows. My dad appears from near the cabin, relief flashing across his face immediately.
“There you are,” he says, walking over. “We were worried, kiddo.”
Translation:you should’ve answered our calls.They each called me three times, and Trista texted a few times too.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Traffic was awful.”
He watches me for another second, like he wants to ask something but decides better of it. Then he takes one of my bags. “Well, you made it. That’s the important thing.”
The closer we get to the fire, the harder my pulse pounds.
Then I see him.
Holden sits on one of the logs near the fire pit, elbows braced against his knees. Firelight flickers gold across his features, and even though I can’t see his face clearly, I know—Iknow—he’s watching me.
