“Okay,” I say cautiously. “What is it?”
It isn’t that I don’t trust Maisie. I do. But letting other people surprise me is something I’m working on. Case in point, why I’m in my hometown, looking for my bag, instead of on the road with Faust. And the second I think about him—and where I’m standing, hours before tonight’s soft opening—my blood goes hot and cold at the same time. Split, right down the middle.
“Maisie,” I whisper. “Are you serious?”
“First.” She holds up her hands. “I had to. He’s my investor. And he only agreed to come after I told him you were okay with it.”
I blink, actually shocked. “But that’s not—”
“True? I don’t know. You tell me.” Maisie’s hands sink to her hips. There’s a defiant glow in her eyes, her mouth curled ever so slightly at the corner. She might be shorter, with a hundred more freckles, but when she lets her confidence win, my sister is a giant. “He’s outside. I can tell him that you changed your mind. But… I’ve been thinking a lot about your name lately. About why Grandma called her restaurant Arcadia. Mom and Dad might’ve named you after her, but I don’t think she named her restaurant after herself.”
I can only listen as she continues. “Arcadia means ‘perfect place,’ right? And her restaurant was her perfect place. And I know it hurt when it had to close. Like… we lost ourselves, because we lost that place, you know?”
My throat feels thick. I look away so she doesn’t see the gleam in my eyes.
“But that was Arcadia, Cat. That time we had together. It wasn’t because of the restaurant, or the house. It wasn’t because we had or didn’t have money, or had or didn’t have all our shit together. Perfect places aren’t perfect because of where they are, or even when they are,” she says. “They’re perfect because of who’s there with you.”
Gently, the memories I’ve been holding on to unwind around my aching fingers. My most painful, hidden pieces—the memories that hurt so desperately when I realized that was all they’d ever be again. Grandma and I, sitting at the restaurant, arguing over a crossword puzzle. Dad and me, fighting over the last slice of French silk pie, and how he’d always let me win. Mom, my fuzziest memories. A hand on my shoulder. A smile. Feeling safe.
Stillness.
“You’re smart, Mouse,” I say, teary-eyed.
“I try,” she says, then hesitates. “And I got you into this mess. Do you want me to…?”
“No. I—I want to see him. He’s outside?”
With a deep breath and a game show arm swing, she sidesteps away from the door. “All yours.”
Mine. I think about that word as I push through the door, already forgetting to keep the bell from jingling. But that isn’t a bad thing, really. The happy jingle carries on the buzzy air, cutting through the summer cicada hum, making Faust look up. He’s standing by Maisie’s car, hands in his pockets, but when our eyes meet, I feel like his arms are wrapping around me. My heart, tugging me to him. And he walks to me, too, until I’m drinking from that quiet well of intensity that is his face, less than a foot from mine. Perfect, angular, open. I don’t know what he’s wearing. I can’t look down.
There’s a thousand things I have to say.Thank you?I’m so sorry? “Faust. I…”
He hums. It’s a warm sound, quieting me. Saving me from having to speak first. Then, he reaches over to my shoulder, slowly enough that I could push him away, if I wanted to. “Your hair’s red,” he says, curling an orange swoop around one finger.
Impossibly, I feel each touch of his fingertip, though he barely grazes the fabric of my shirt. Every inch of me is hardwired to react to him being this close again, electricity skittering over my skin. “I wanted to be me again.”
“Good. I—sorry.” He starts to move away, my hair unwinding from his finger.
I stop him, sliding my fingers over his. “No, itisgood.” Iswallow. “I’m sorry. I, I took things out on you I never should’ve. And that day, it was so intense, and I was looking for the worst.”
“No, I made a mistake. I made so many mistakes.” Faust’s chest falls, like he’s been holding his breath since we last spoke. “I shouldn’t have overstepped your boundaries. It won’t happen again.”
“I know why you did, though.”
“I don’t.”
I press my fingers between his, winding them together over my collarbone. “You’re the first person to actually get to know me. There was bound to be confusion.”
Wonderfully, he laughs at that, one of his barely there sighs of a laugh that I’d bottle up if I could.Listen to in case of sadness emergency.
“And I was confused, too,” I say. “I spent so long running that I didn’t realize how tired I was until I stopped and—it scared me, thinking that you could know me better than I knew myself. That you saw that in me before I did. Because I think you really are the first person to understand me. And not just me. You help people. Everyone you meet, I think. And I’ve learned so much just from being around you. I went to the doctor, and, and I applied to school, online classes, to be a designer. And I shouldn’t have pushed you away, for having wanted to take care of me and everyone else, but I—I wish I could’ve been the person you told everything to. Even if people told you not to, and it isn’t fair… I, I wanted to be the person you cared for the most.”
Faust’s dark eyes go wide. “That, that isn’t…” He stops. Shifts, pulling me closer. “What I want shouldn’t be spoken of in past tense.”
A shiver runs through me. “What do you mean?”
“You are not temporary, Arcadia.” As he speaks, Faust keeps hiseyes on me, my every breath, and I’m stunned by the vulnerability I find on his face, the hint of tears in his deep voice. “This. What this is, how I feel—it’s not going to change. Not tomorrow, or next year. When people—when my parents talk about love, they say they’d do it again in every lifetime. They’d find each other. But I do it here, with this one. Not knowing what’s next. If this is it, all we have, I pick you. One life for certain, and mine’s yours. And I will make that clear, every day. Starting now.”
