He pulls away, so I shake my head and start to speak.
But he stops me again with his lips.
After giving me another long kiss, he backs away slightly and cocks an eyebrow at me.
“You know you can’t—” I try to say.
Kiss.
“Stop th—”
Another kiss.
“I’m going to keep kissing you until you stop talking,” he tells me.
“But I—”
Kiss.
Ohmigawd, he is so frustrating.
“Aiden, but we already—”
His lips land hard on mine. Again.
And with every kiss, my resolve is weakening.
He stops kissing me and looks into my eyes.
I bite my lower lip to keep from saying anything else, while shaking my head, closing my eyes, and wishing I could close my ears.
Because I don’t want to hear what he has to say.
It was hard enough to hear it once. To end it once.
His face is way too close to mine. I can feel the stubble on his cheek. His breath on my neck.
His finger touching my lip.
“Does this mean you’re ready to listen?”
I shake my head no.
Because I can’t listen. I can’t hear it. It’s why I couldn’t listen to his messages or read his texts. I’m not strong enough.
He kisses my neck, causing my eyes to open in surprise. Then he bores those green eyes straight into my soul.
And his soul tells me the same thing it always does. That we should be together forever.
He breaks eye contact, holds his hands up, and says, “Boots, I give up.”
“Then why are you here?”
He kisses me again.
This time with his tongue. That love-potion-infused tongue that always renders me incapable of speech.
He should’ve just used it the first time.
“You were right. It wasn’t all about you. I jumped into relationships last year. I did things with girls I didn’t have feelings for. I wanted to do things differently with you. And I know you loved the Keats guy. It was unfair of me to judge your relationship when I know nothing about it.”
“But I can’t—”
He kisses me again then says sternly, “I’m not finished yet.” Then his voice softens. “Boots, I don’t care about my past, or yours.”
I study his face carefully, wishing it could be true. “Do you mean that?”
He gives me a teeny smirk. “Why, were you bad in the past?”
“Um, no,” I say, carefully choosing my words. “I was just kind of a different person.”
He cups my face in his hand, gazes into my eyes, and says sincerely, “I only care about your future. Our future.”
“But sometimes people's pasts come back and ruin their futures.”
“Not ours.” He holds his palm up and says, “Don’t move.” Then he picks up a heavy shopping bag from one of the seats. “I got you something.”
I watch as he reveals a large Mason jar.
I squint my eyes at it. “What's in there?”
“Dirt.”
“You got me dirt?” I ask incredulously.
He grins, his green eyes sparkling. “Yes. To build our mansion of love on.”
I try to pretend his reference to our love mansion doesn’t affect me, even though it makes me completely melt inside. I manage to give him a chuckle and say, “It’s gonna be a small mansion.”
He laughs too, then looks at me seriously. “It’s symbolic dirt. It also means a fresh start.” He sets the dirt down on the floor between us, then puts his hand on the wall above my shoulder, boxing me in like he’s done before. “I don’t care if everything we’ve told each other up until this point is a lie. We start over. Here. Today. This second. Both of us. On fresh dirt.”
I can’t speak. I can only look down at the jar of dirt—the non-sand dirt—and wonder how in the world he could possibly know the one thing that I so desperately need.
I’m lost in thought when he takes my hands in his, brings them to his lips, and asks gently, “Boots?”
Tears flood my eyes as my heart overrides my brain. I stare at the jar of dirt and say longingly, “I really want dirt.”
“You want dirt?” Peyton asks loudly from behind us. “Are you serious? I told him that was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Aiden turns and glares at her.
She responds by miming zipping her lips and throwing away the key.
He turns back toward me and puts his forehead against mine. “We both need dirt. Please let me come with you.”
Damn the gods, damn fate, damn everybody.
But I find myself nodding.
Nodding and crying.
I may not be able to give him my love, but I can give him the one thing I couldn’t give anyone else.
Closure.
I'll let him come with me. I'll tell him on the island that I can't go back to Eastbrooke. That my mom is making me go to Vancouver or something. That maybe we can stay in touch. And if I survive my face-off with Vincent, maybe, someday, I could see him again and tell him the truth.
And I know it’s selfish, but maybe there will even be a few more take-my-breath-away moments before I put him on the plane and send him back to school without me.