Page 15 of Find My Way Down to You

“Nobody!”

I tug on the belt loop of his khakis, provoking. His hands shoot out to tickle my ribs. A laugh springs out of me, so loud it forces a bird in a nearby oak tree to take flight.

“I did it, you asshole,” London says, grinning, breathless, “because I love you.”

We both pause, frozen. The world goes silent. All but theocean meeting the shore, the roaring heartbeat in my ears, and his words floating away on the breeze.

Panic tenses his jaw. He’s never said that before.

Neither have I.

London swallows. His face flushes pink as coral. “I mean—”

I surge forward and kiss him. His stammering stops. He kisses me back. Over time, we’ve gotten better at this. Still not perfect, but better.

Between noses bumping and teeth clinking, I whisper, “I love you.”

It falls from my lips without thinking. Without considering the weight and boldness those words carry. Because his weird smile is pointed at me. Because he gave me this bracelet. Because, secretly, I’ve wanted to say it first, day after day, but I was too nervous to.

“August, I love you,” he repeats.

His voice is like honey, full and warm.

I’m helpless to the hot bloom of my heart unfolding beneath my ribs.

As he leads me up the driveway, London grips my hand. Firm and secure. It stays like that the whole night.

I want it to stay like that forever.

3

Mornings are hard.

I’m not sure what time it is. I don’t have the energy to search for my phone. All I do is watch the day chase shadows off my ceiling.

Shafts of sunlight scatter across my face. I forgot to shut the blinds. My eyes are scratchy, raw like sandpaper. Sleep didn’t come fast enough last night. It didn’t hold me under either.

I’m still caught in a dream. In the sticky web of a memory. The ache of it is soft, tender like a newly formed bruise.

Something vibrates on the mattress. Eventually, I kick away my blanket. My phone screen is painfully bright with a notification—a new message in my family’s group chat.

Dad

GOOD MORNING FAMILY!!!

Mom

Morning started almost four hours ago.

I’ve been up at the greenhouse since dawn.

Dad

Auggie are you up? Thinking about your plan?

Frustration flickers like a flame in my chest. I’m not sure whether it’s from my dad’s dramatic love of emojis while texting or his final question. I pinch the bridge of my nose, calculating a calm response.

My mom answers for me.