Page 188 of Summer Love

He nods, silent.

“If I leave the internship now, I’ll have nothing to show on my résumé except that I quit. And in this industry, that can burn you. I need to at least finish it.”

His thumbs start working my foot again.

“I get it,” he murmurs.

He’s not blaming me for anything. He’s just resigned. That’s the part that hurts most.

“I’ve got six months left,” I say. “But after that… I could look for a job in San Francisco. In marketing, or digital. It’ll take a little time—I don’t have much experience yet—but it’s doable. And in this field, one or two remote days a week, that’s pretty standard now, so…”

I stop. It feels like I just set off a bomb between us.

“We’d be close,” he says, and his smile comes back. “Honestly, that’d be amazing.”

Jace didn’t come all this way to make me give up everything I’ve built. He’s not asking me to choose between him and my plans. He crossed the country to tell me he loves me. Close, for him, is already huge.

My eyes start to burn again.

This time, I have no doubt left. He meant it. In my bedroom six years ago, in his trailer two weeks ago, and here, now.

He reaches for his backpack, pulls out the little cherry-red board, and sets it on my knees.

“You put it in the ‘Help yourself’ boxes. I grabbed it.”

I turn the board over. Future and Olympic are crossed out in marker. Only Champion is left.

I run my fingers over the crossed-out words.

“You’ve always been my champion,” he says. “Barefoot in the sand or on skates.”

I don’t answer. I can’t. Carefully, I set the board down beside the mattress.

Jace digs into his bag again and pulls out a book.

“Here. From Sierra.”

I recognize the cover—the M/M the book club picked. I raise an eyebrow—a bookmark sticks out a third of the way in.

“You started reading it?”

“A few chapters on the plane. To pass the time.”

“And?”

Jace makes a face.

“Wasn’t disappointed.”

I laugh—really laugh, this time. He smiles and sets the book down next to the board.

I climb into his lap and my lips find his.

Not like in the trailer. Not like at seventeen, in the Ferris wheel car or on the yellow board. The kiss is slow, sure. This time, I’m the one choosing.

My hands find the back of his neck, lose themselves in his hair, slide back down over his shoulders and under his T-shirt. His fingers move up my thighs. I hold my breath.

He pulls back a little, rests his forehead against mine.