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So I whip around, pressing my fingers deep into my wet eyes, angry at my shoulders for shaking so hard they betray me.
“Shelly. Shel, hey,” he says softly, gently turning me to face him and taking the oil from my quivering hands. “I’ll make you two more promises.”
I look at him with sore eyes.
Eyes that are flipping begging.
“Number one,” he says softly, laying his hands on my shoulders, both eyes dueling incandescent flames. “This isn’t goodbye. I have to leave, but I’ll always write you. I’ll keep you smiling at my dumbass jokes whether you like it or not.”
My heart skips with hope.
Just enough to settle down, dry my eyes, and listen to what he says next.
He grins. “Also, if you help me get everything put away when I’m done with this oil change, I’ll take you to Burgies N’ Stuff for Mack burgers and shakes. Chocolate, with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Just like you always like.”
“On the motorcycle?” I counter.
“Hell yeah.”
* * *
Present
My heart crashes against my ribs like an unruly wave as the memory fades.
That was the worst day of my life—and the best.
Riding behind him on his motorcycle, sipping tall shakes at the picnic table outside the diner while I stole fries off his plate and dunked them in creamy chocolate, trying and failing to make peace with the end of our lives as we knew them.
I wasn’t even sure he’d come back alive.
What if something happened? It was an active war and he could get killed.
Even so, I tried not to dwell on it, and we talked about all sorts of things.
About his Uncle Grady serving, doing recon in Iraq and coming home for his baby daughters. The fact that Grady McKnight returned in one piece made me feel a tiny bit better.
About where he might go, the things he might see, but for everything he said about himself, he made me share my dreams.
With my emotions spinning, I geeked out about history, antiques, and so many books.
I told him I’d like to become an archivist someday, and he said I’d make the best one ever.
He stayed for supper at our house that night, wolfing down chocolate chip sundaes plied with vanilla and hot fudge for dessert. I listened to Gram tell him he’d better find some pretty girl to write when he’s gone to keep sane while Grandpa chuckled knowingly.
God, how I wished that pretty girl were me.
And when he left for the last time, he hugged me after he was done hugging everybody else.
A long, solid, heart-killing hug, right before he leaned down and kissed me at the last second.
It was on the forehead, sure, but I still count it as my first kiss.
Our first kiss.
Our only kiss.
A kiss laced with so much innocence and none of the future betrayal...
