True to his word, Kellan has taken Will out a few times to show him the ropes. I haven’t tagged along, though. I’ve had enough shame on a surfboard, thank you very much.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, running a hand across the stubble decorating his chin. “We went this morning. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to travel by portals. Seems too surreal, you know?” He drops onto the couch next to me; a whiff of saltwater nearly undoes me. I love that smell. I particularly love that smell on a certain person whose text messages from last night have been read and dissected probably a hundred times now.
Will nudges me. “Guess who came along?”
My breath catches in my throat.
“I have to admit,” he says casually, “that I rather like your Jonah. He seems like a good bloke. Quiet, but we got on well.”
“Well, well,” Callie murmurs. “Color me shocked that J crawled out of his hole to socialize. Surfing lately has been a solitary thing for him.”
It takes just about every last ounce in me not to inquire whether or not Jonah asked about me.
But then Will hands me a gift, wrapped up shiny and pretty with a ribbon when he says, “Thought you might like to know that while we were waiting for Kellan to come in, he asked me how you were doing.”
I’m speechless. Hopeful and ecstatic and speechless all at the same time.
“What did you tell him?” Callie asks.
Will ruffles my hair. “I told him the truth, that you’re busy with work and keeping your head down.”
As if on cue, my phone beeps. My heart flies into my mouth as I reach for it. Sure enough, it’s Jonah.
You should talk to Will. I think he needs you today.
I didn’t think it was possible to love Jonah any more than I already do. I was wrong. Him caring about my best friend like this only makes me love him all the more.
One week, four days of texts, and I finally get something other than a question from Jonah. I’m out jogging through the park in central Annar, dripping sweat and cursing my need to get fit so I can take down the Elders, when my phone beeps in my sock. I immediately come to a halt, breathing hard, and search for a nearby rock to collapse onto.
I’ve missed you, too.
A thousand flowers erupt from the mossy carpet surrounding the rock I’m sitting on. I’m no Nymph, and plants aren’t my thing, but damn, if I haven’t just forced life to spring anew all around me. I squeal and clap and reread the text dozens of times. I’ll never delete it. Never.
He misses me. And I couldn’t be more hopeful if I tried.
It takes me two glorious yet anxious minutes before I answer him. I want to say the right thing. No pressure, but the truth. Always the truth from here on out, no matter what happens. I never stopped missing you. I miss you now.
He doesn’t answer, but I spend the rest of the day in a deliriously happy fog. I greet every person I come into contact with the biggest smile that’s stretched across my lips in a long time. I hug more people in the span of three hours than I have in over a year. People probably think I’ve lost my mind, but I. Don’t. Care. Jonah Whitecomb misses me. I treat Will and Cameron to a four star restaurant dinner and order sparkling cider rather than wine. Because I need my wits, and there’ll be no more drunk, morose Chloe. I offer up cheers to at least a dozen things—blue skies, successful missions, them living in Annar with me, Will’s pancakes, Cameron finally shaving off his beard (not that I didn’t like the beard—I make sure to include that, too), Cameron relenting and giving me a flannel shirt of his that I love. I’m into recognizing the little things. Love and appreciation, I’m discovering, doesn’t have to be big and bold. They’re best served in the ordinary joys of daily life.
I’ve officially become a text-a-holic. Jonah is sending me at least three messages a day now, and each one sends me into a tizzy of happy delight. Some even sprout into conversations. He hasn’t called, and I haven’t seen him yet, but we’ve gotten now to a point where we’re communicating.
Just now, he sent me: Astrid really seems taken by Cameron Dane.
It sounds ridiculous, but this text melts my insides like butter. He’s sharing something about his mom to me. Granted, it’s about my—well, my pseudo-dad, but still. And I’ve already been a front row witness to the mush these two are generating, plus there’s the whole bit with Kellan where we love to dish on the relationships developing between the parents and children. Still, I answer: Cameron is the same. I wonder what their story is?
It’s a bit disingenuous, as I already know in pretty good detail what their history is, but I’ve got to keep this texting bit going.
He hasn’t told you?
I’m grinning. Well, I know about the past. I meant the present?
Ah. Obviously, I don’t have details. I just know how she feels when she thinks about him.
Now I’m laughing. I decide to be bold. We should play detectives and get to the bottom of the Astrid-Cameron relationship. If there is one, I mean.