Page 61 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

“You look fine.” He leaned in to press a kiss to my sweaty temple, and I snapped another. He pulled away to frown at the new picture of him kissing the side of my head, me still grinning like an idiot. “You’re not going to post that, are you?”

A week ago, I might have. But if I was ever going to post a picture of a man, I realized now that I wanted it to be for real. Not just for the sake of stirring up conversation. “Why?” I nudged him with an elbow. “Not ready to make things Instagram official?”

“We’re covered in dirt. And I’m like five shades redder than normal.” He shook his head. “Your followers would rip me to shreds.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, tucking my phone back in my pocket with a small smile. “It’s not for Instagram. It’s for me.”

At that, he seemed to relax a little. A strange, guilty feeling swirled in my gut as we tore our eyes from each other to watch the bison, but I couldn’t discern the source of it. I’d decided not to use any of this for the podcast. I’d successfully brought it up with Jo, and we’d agreed to think about other possible content for Season Seven. So what was left to feel guilty about?

Declan folded his arms and frowned. “I wish I’d brought binoculars.”

I shook off the inexplicable guilt, tried to focus on the conversation at hand. “Don’t tell me you actually own binoculars.”

“What?” He shrugged, arms still crossed as he watched the bison in the distance. “They’re useful.”

“You’re the definition of a nerd. Remind me how you managed to be popular in high school?”

“If I had to take a guess,” he said, inclining his head thoughtfully, “probably the same way I managed to finally win you over. With my ineffable charm.”

I withheld a laugh. “Okay, now you’re going to have to elaborate on where you learned the word ineffable, because I have no idea what that means.”

“Sometimes I read the dictionary for fun.” He was so serious when he said it, I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him. I just stared. “I’m joking,” he said, catching my expression. “Obviously.” But judging by the guilty laugh that followed, it maybe wasn’t obvious.

We both settled into the grass so that we could watch the herd and appreciate the view for a little while before we’d have to face the long trek back to Avalon.

“You know, I’m not a complete lost cause when it comes to school,” I said after a moment. “I might’ve kinda tanked that last semester in high school, but that was mostly because of all the stuff with my parents.” They’d held out for so long on telling me about the divorce, but I wished they had held out just a little longer. The announcement came a month before the end of the school year—according to them, because they wanted to give me time to pack and decide who I’d rather live with before the lease on our apartment expired in June. But I ended up so distracted sorting through eighteen years of my life and searching for a job to help my mom afford her new apartment that I bombed a couple of my finals. My application to Thornton was rejected and I found myself back at the YMCA that summer, watching a bunch of retirees do water aerobics. “I did a lot better in college.”

He seemed more focused on me than the bison. “What was your favorite subject?”

“Music.” I hesitated only a fraction of a second before adding, “I majored in it, actually.”

A part of me still half-expected the verbal beatdown—why would you waste the money, that’s a dumb major, how’s that job at McDonald’s working out for you—but instead, he asked, “Really?” He actually sounded excited by this revelation. “Do you still play the tuba?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “But that’s because I was more on the industry track. Don’t get me wrong, I liked being in band and everything, but I always preferred being on the other side of things. Getting to enjoy the music rather than making an idiot of myself up on stage, playing probably the dorkiest instrument ever invented.” I’d chosen the tuba when I was in fourth grade because I thought it would be funny. The goofiest-looking, goofiest-sounding instrument. It was funny all right, but I found as I got older that most people were laughing at me, not with me.

Declan held back a smile. “I always thought it was kind of hot. Your lips on the mouthpiece—”

I shoved him playfully. “God, you’re the worst.” When the laughter died down, I said, “Jo reminded me that you used to come to all of the concerts.”

“I like music.” When I shot him a skeptical look, he confessed to the rest. “And it was an excuse to see you. I even brought flowers the first time. Waited by the stage and everything. I was planning to apologize for the shaving cream thing and tell you how I felt. But then I saw you—you were wearing this long green dress and your hair was up in this sort of—” He drew a circle around his head like a halo.

“Braid crown,” I provided, because I remembered the performance he was talking about. It was the winter recital during sophomore year. The music teacher had stuck a few plastic sprigs of holly in all the girls’ hair and we’d performed a sloppy orchestral version of “Jingle Bell Rock.”

“I chickened out last minute and shoved the flowers at Jordan Gardner before booking it out of the theater.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “You didn’t!”

Declan nodded gravely. “I did.”

“I remember that! They were carnations. We all thought Jordan had a secret admirer or something.”

“He never told you who gave them to him?”

“To be honest, I don’t think he saw your face. He never would’ve shut up if he’d known it was you,” I said, still laughing. I leaned over and bumped my shoulder into his. “I never would’ve shut up if I’d known the flowers were meant for me. I probably would have teased you relentlessly as payback for the shaving cream incident.”

Declan smiled at me faintly. “No chance you would have reciprocated, then?”

“Oh, I might have come around. Eventually.” It was strange to imagine all the what ifs in my past. Maybe I wouldn’t have had such an aversion to commitment, if I’d had some positive romantic experiences of my own. If someone had stepped in before the pessimism had taken root and shown me that there were still healthy relationships out there. “Better late than never, right?”