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“I’m trying to get this done quickly so we don’t miss the fireworks.” He picked the pasta off his shoe and threw it back at me.

Eliza looked my way and tapped her watch.

I checked my phone: 8:45 p.m. Dammit. I looked back at her and mouthed, I’m sorry.

She made a pouty face and walked away. Chad hurried after her, and my entire body felt like hot lead.

“I really hope she doesn’t get back together with that tool bag,” TJ muttered.

Same.

TJ and I didn’t finish up until fifteen minutes after the fireworks finale, which I could barely see from where we stood. He left on his motorcycle, and I got in Granddad’s old truck and swung by the farm for a few things before I made my way over to Eliza’s. I didn’t sneak down her driveway on foot this time, but I did drive slowly down it.

With the lights off.

Her house was quiet and mostly dark, but small twinkle lights outlined Eliza’s balcony. A couple of lamps were on in her room, and all four of her windows were open. Four windows and a balcony. The kind of stuff you saw in movies, not real life.

Or so I used to think.

For the briefest moment, I thought about ringing the doorbell, shaking her father’s hand, and asking him if I could take Eliza out for a little while. He’d grip my hand a bit longer than necessary—like any protective father would—but he’d smile and say, “Sure, Fulton. Have her home before midnight though.” And I would, because that would allow me to come back the next evening and the next.

But then I looked down at my spaghetti-stained shorts and jersey and back at Granddad’s run-down truck.

Get real, Reed.

I smacked the face of my broken watch to bring it back to life and picked up a couple of small stones before tossing them onto Eliza’s balcony and waiting.

A sound like a laptop closing.

The creak of a chair.

Then she appeared through a flutter of thin curtains.

Time slowed.

Her long hair hung loosely around her shoulders in waves. The white lights blurred around her. And for a moment, I forgot to breathe.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, smiling.

“I’m sorry I missed the fireworks.” I shoved my hands in my pocket. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Hell yes.” She hurried back into her room and switched off her lights before looping a long rope around one of the balcony’s banisters.

“Careful,” I warned.

But within a minute, she shimmied down it and kissed me.

“Damn, Crowley.” I nodded to the rope and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Sneak out often?”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

I drove us back toward the farm, parking near the end of the South Five, where I put down the tailgate and spread out a few blankets that I hoped Nana wouldn’t notice were missing. Eliza hopped up and climbed toward the cab, where I joined her.

“Wow,” she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. “Look at those stars.”

I rubbed my thumb on the back of her hand. “I don’t get to see stars like this back home. Too many lights.”

“Do you miss it?” she asked. “Home?”