Page 26 of Haunted

“They used to do small concerts out here,” he says, “but it’s not up to code.”

The fire code. Of course. It’s something we both look out for now.

We sit on one of the iron benches. The October air is cool and the bulbs lend the place an intimate glow. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. I study him in the light. He’s so different. The same eyes, the same long fingers, but the rest of him has been rebuilt.

“How’s Shelley?” I ask.

“She’s good. We were in that studio apartment for a while, but she found a two-bedroom across the street. You can see her window from here.” He points up at a lit square in the building above us.

We both go quiet. Then he turns to me.

“I wanted to apologize. To all the Broussards, but mostly to you.”

I shake my head. “We’d like to see you again. You made a big impression. You should see Bree’s coloring skills. They’re on point.”

He smiles, and it’s the first real smile I’ve seen. “Please tell them I’m okay.”

“People asked about you at school all the time. If we were still together. People thought I had your number, after you changed it.”

The wind picks up and moves his hair across his face. “You know why I had to go.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. I came here because I miss you.”

He looks down at his hands. “I needed time, Lance.”

“I know. And I tried to give it to you. But I was going out of my mind, and I need you to know that whatever happens, I’m here. I really am. Just please don’t shut me out like you did. That note—” I stop. “It really hurt.”

He leans against the wall, looking up at one of the bulbs. “Did you know people were trolling us online? After the photo. There were comments about us. They weren’t kind.”

This is news to me. “What comments?”

“I’m not going to repeat them.” He shakes his head. “Telling you wouldn’t have made it stop. But I thought if I left your orbit, at least I’d leave that behind too.”

“You should have told me.”

He shakes himself slightly. “It doesn’t matter now. Let me say this or I never will.” He rubs his lower lip with his thumb. “When you and I were together—or whatever we were—it was the worst time of my life. I was in a bad way.” He looks away briefly. “I wasn’t ready for what you wanted. And I know it’s late, but it was never you. You were perfect.”

Perfect. He said perfect. About me. For a year I’d tortured myself that the problem was me—that I’d wanted too much, too fast, too loud. I have to look down at my hands for a second.

“I’d like to have you in my life again,” he says, quieter now, as if the words are just occurring to him. “Even though I needed the distance, it’s been hard not having you there.”

There. Not here. There. As in, friend.

I take a breath. “I’m very happy to be your friend again, Parker. And if that’s all you want, I promise that’s fine by me.” I hesitate. “But I still have feelings for you. I do. And I get that the timing was terrible before. But maybe you felt something too?”

He’s quiet for a long time. “I don’t know where gratitude ends and the other thing begins.”

“Can I try something?” I ask.

He looks at my lips, as if he’s reading my mind, and then he makes eye contact. “I’d like that,” he says. “At least then we’d both know.”

I lean forward and brush his lips with mine, and when his mouth opens, I press into it. He smells like freshly ground coffee. He tastes clean and warm. He makes a small sound, and I pull him against me. He threads his arms around my neck. His back is warm through his shirt. We are in a courtyard with string lights, and the October wind is pulling at us.

We part. “Wow,” I say.

“Okay,” he says. “Now we know.” He’s a little flushed and he looks at the ground, but there is a shy smile on his face. I know this smile. It’s the one he gave me over art supplies and a green toothbrush. He glances back at me. “So if I wanted a repeat of that, I’d have to go all the way to where?”

“Oceanside, California.”