Page 64 of Just One More Thing

Midnight.

Top of the lighthouse.

Meteor shower.

Don’t break the pinky promise.

X, Mo

I stare at the signature. He’s the only one who calls me that. Has since we were kids. Since before I knew names could feel like something soft and specific and entirely yours.

I don’t read it again.

I seal the envelope before I can talk myself out of it.

Outside, I cut across the loop toward The Knuckle, walking fast because hesitation is my favorite sport and I’m trying desperately to retire.

As I step onto the bridge, the screen door of Jake’s boathouse slams. I lean just far enough over the railing to see him and Hank walking up the dock.

I duck back immediately.

If I see him right now, I will absolutely lose my nerve. I’ll smile too wide and say something normal likenice eveningand then flee back to Holey Moley and spend the rest of my life wondering what would’ve happened if I hadn’t.

I slip inside The Knuckle and find Bethany behind the bar. “For Jake,” I say, sliding the envelope toward her.

Her eyes flick to my face, then to the envelope, then back to me. “Should I be excited or concerned?”

“Yes.” And I leave before she can ask another question.

She starts to say something anyway. I don’t stick around to hear it.

The hours between sunset and midnight take forever.

I try to read. I reread the same paragraph five times and absorb none of it. I lie down, sit back up, check my phone, don’t check my phone. I make coffee I don’t want and drink half of it standing at the window, watching The Knuckle like some kind of stalker lunatic.

By eleven thirty, I give up pretending I’m calm and start hauling supplies.

The lighthouse sits on its rock outcropping at the edge of the jetty. The path is rougher than it used to be, parts of it washed away after a hurricane. I make my way across carefully in the dark, two totes over one shoulder, cooler over the other, sea spray and overly enthusiastic waves doing their best to take me out.

The spiral stairs are narrower than I remember. Or maybe I’m just wider. And this climb. This climb is longer than it used to be, I’m sure of it. By step forty-two, my lungs protest, my thighs are burning, and I have to stop and catch my breath.

I briefly consider dying here and letting the town speculate. Mrs. Kravitz would absolutely tell everyone I tripped over my own longing.

I make it to the top and step into open air. The sky is ginormous from up here, stars scattered across it in every direction. The ocean crashing against the rocks below sounds different from up here.

I spread blankets, arrange pillows, set the cooler by the railing. I open a box of doughnut holes because I’m nothing if not consistent.

If this goes badly, at least I’ll have doughnut holes.

A candle in a jar is bravely holding on in the breeze. I cup my hand around it until the flame takes hold.

Then I sit.

And wait.

The quiet up here is doing me no favors.

What if he doesn’t come? What if Bethany forgot to give him the card? What if he read it and thought,We’re not sixteen anymore, Mo?What if?—