Page 167 of Love Felt Like This

“Not today, A.” I hold out my arms, and Griffin hands her to me. I nuzzle my face into her neck, making her laugh before she can repeat “Go!” again. If she did, I might sob all over her cute plane pajamas.

I’ll miss this girl. I’m pretty sure a new puppet is created every time Ava laughs.

“Hey, do you think you’ll drink some coffee on the plane? That’s my favorite.” She giggles again, and I shake my head, making a show of how silly I am. “Oh, right, you can’t have coffee. Darn. Okay, chocolate milk will have to do then, right?”

She nods and points at the plane again. “Go!”

Dang it, girl.

“That’s right,” I agree. “The plane is gonna go, go, go.”

I give her a squeeze, and she squirms to be put down. She probably has no idea it’ll be a while until we see each other again. There’s no reason for big goodbyes, I guess. I set her down.

“How about you go get some of that chocolate milk, huh?” Griffin says, gesturing to a smiling flight attendant waiting in a coat at the bottom of the stairs.

Ava beams, running to the plane and then climbing the steps with assistance. The attendant tosses me a welcoming wave, maybe remembering me from our award-show trip. Or maybe it’s a goodbye wave.

I look to Griffin. His eyebrows are tugged in the middle.

Oh, don’t do this to me.

“You’re coming to LA,” Griffin says. There’s no question. He’s so sure of himself.

“I’ll be there in a few weeks to pitch.”

“And you’ll get the show.”

I tilt my head to the side. He reaches out with both hands to cup my cheeks, tucking a strand of wind-blown bangs behind each ear as he steps closer.

No no no. I’m not crying.

“I expect a text,” I say, poking his chest. “A report on that great chocolate milk, okay?”

But his eyebrows pinch even closer.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m sure it’s great milk.”

“Beverly…” he says gently.

“Okay, maybe just good milk.”

“B…”

I’m babbling. My heart aches. This feels like a trap I willingly walked into. We’re supposed to be back at the house writing songs, performing Bernie for Ava, maybe even making out in the corner when we think nobody is looking. We’re supposed to be eating pancakes at the diner. I’m supposed to be making them laugh with Dr. Napkin or maybe even Colonel Fork (note to self: add to project ideas).

But I’m separating us early. And don’t be fooled: It is my doing. Because I felt compelled to buy crafts instead of going on a date with Griffin like a normal person. Because I’m always working, even when I don’t want to—even when I’m sitting here about to say goodbye to this incredible man.

“This is my fault,” I admit.

Griffin shakes his head, taking my chin with his forefinger and thumb. “Don’t do that.”

“It is,” I insist. “I knew we were in public. I should have been more careful talking about Ava.”

“We were in a random store getting craft supplies, talking like normal people.”

“But you’re not a normal person.”

His eyes widen. I shake my head quickly, as if trying to shake away the sentence, hoping the wind eases the embarrassment warming my cheeks.