She nods. “Now. He got back to school an hour ago. He’ll get the notification for sure.”
My hand shakes as I type out a tweet and tag Esben: Ran when I shouldn’t have. If you can forgive me, meet me at 7. Same place, same 180 seconds together. #thiskissthiskiss2.
I couldn’t pull my plans off without Kerry’s help, and she’s convinced this will work. “He’s hurt,” she says, “but he’s mostly angry at himself for his part in this. I know that without him telling me anything. Also? I’ve seen how he’s been since he’s been home from LA. Allison, he’s hopelessly lovesick. You can practically see his heart bleeding all over his shirt.”
“That’s an attractive image.”
She shrugs. “Today’s a good day for drama.”
“I left him there, Kerry. I left him in Los Angeles.” I rub a hand anxiously over my upper arm. “He did everything, and I went totally crazy. I left him. That is not okay.”
“You were strung out. You . . . Allison, you were not thinking clearly. We all get that. Esben gets that. He’s got to. He’s scared right now. Just like you are.”
For forty-five minutes, I neurotically check Twitter, desperately hoping for a reply, for something to tell me that he’s coming, but there’s nothing. There are, however, over six hundred retweets of my post.
“Let’s go,” Kerry says confidently. “Jason, Danny, and Carmen have everything set up.”
I nod, but she has to drag me from the bench.
The short walk to the center of town feels too short, and the cobbled streets, iron lampposts, and cute shops all take me back to September. Kerry leads me by the hand to the blocked-off street that is filling with people on this warm night.
“You ready?” she asks.
“No.” But I force a smile. “Yes.”
“Then take a seat.”
She pivots me toward a very familiar table with a set of two chairs. Slowly, I walk to my spot and sit down. I look around. There’s a bit of a crowd, I notice. In fact, it is a much larger crowd than the first time we sat across from each other. My heart starts to pound, but I can’t help smiling a little. Apparently, my Twitter post attracted a few followers. There are so many strangers here, but I relax a hair when I see Jason and Danny, who both give me goofy faces and thumbs-up signs. They’ve each got a phone in their hand to record this, and my stomach knots. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carmen waving at me, and she smiles with support. I cast my eyes back over those people who have become part of my life and for whom I am so grateful.
At least this time, I am not alone. I may be even more scared, but I am not alone.
There is a clock at the top of one of the shops, and I see it’s two minutes before seven. I look at Kerry, and she motions for me to be patient.
I adjust myself on the seat and then run my hands through my hair and exhale deeply. I shouldn’t panic yet.
But minutes tick by, and I cannot stop myself from glancing up at the clock repeatedly.
Soon enough, it’s ten after.
Dammit. I shake my head and look down, unable to face Kerry or anyone else.
A few people clap and call my name. I hear someone say, “It’s okay, Allison! You got this! He’ll show!” More encouraging applause lifts my eyes, and I try to smile at the crowd, even though my eyes are brimming.
At seven eighteen, my heart really begins to sink. He’s not coming. Esben doesn’t forgive me.
I think about how awful it will be to never again hold him, kiss him, laugh, or fully live. To never again be allowed to love him.
What if he never again sets his hand on the back of my neck, grounding me the way his touch always does?
What if those amber eyes of his never again sparkle with mischief when they see me?
What if I never again get to trail my fingers over the curve of his lower back in a way that drives him wild? There’s a certain gasp he makes when I eventually inch under his waistband and then stroke my fingers to the front of his body. I want to do that over and over.
What if our bodies are never again joined together, moving seamlessly and smoothly in the way that we’ve learned makes magic and romance and bliss come true?
What if there are no more blueberry kisses tasting of intense cold and even more intense heat?
What if there are no more phoenixes, sand timers, mismatched socks, or microwaveable mac and cheeses?
What if we never again help shelter dogs find homes or reconnect long-lost friends or create princess parties for children? We’ve become a team, and our partnership has strength and healing. We can change the world. We can find more good. I know we can. I do.
And what—oh God—what if I never get to prove how much harder and better I can love him? How I can fall in love even more deeply with this sincere, giving, undeniably everything boy who has rocked my world to its core?
What if this romance has ended?
What if, what if, what if . . .
My heart is filled with terror at all that I might have destroyed.
Seven twenty-five. I’m sure that I look visibly distressed, because people around me begin to chant the hashtag I’d made. “Thiskissthiskisstwo!”
I am done. I can’t take this anymore, and I push my chair back. I glance at Kerry, and she nods in sad agreement. It’s time to give up.
I’m about to stand and end this hell, when the crowd erupts in such applause that I’m scared to even hope why. My heart clenches when Esben flings himself breathlessly onto the chair across from me.
I’m not sure how I manage to speak, but I do. “You’re here.” I make no attempt to conceal the relief or the emotion that rings through my words.
He nods slowly, and I see undeniable love in his eyes. “Always,” he replies through his panting. “Always.” His face is flushed, and he has to catch his breath before he continues. “I saw your tweet. My phone died . . . that’s all. Baby, that’s all.” He runs a hand through his hair as he slowly settles. “So, I couldn’t reply. Then I went to drive here, and . . . my car needed another jump. So I ran.” He swallows hard and tries to slow his breathing. “But I ran to you.” Esben locks eyes with me. “I’m here. I am completely here.”
“That’s all that matters.” I smile at him and take a big breath, calming my nerves that were fried a few moments before. “And you want to do this?”
He smiles back and begins to settle in. “I do.”
He’s sweaty and perfect and intolerably gorgeous. He is everything.
Esben will never have to jump through hoops for me again.
After we’ve both found a measure of stability, and when I know it’s time, I raise an eyebrow. “You ready? A hundred and eighty seconds.”
“A hundred and eighty seconds,” he agrees.