Page 132 of Sunset Catchers

“I know you can, pretty girl. But I want to do it.”

His face is inches from mine, which makes it easy for our lips to brush.

“Thank you, big stud.” Another peck. “Now, push me as hard as you can. I want to touch the sky.”

And so he does. He pushes me until I’m laughing hard in that way that makes it hard to catch your breath. That brings this sort of dizzy levity inside your chest.

Then, I insist on taking a turn pushing Levi, and he’s the one laughing boisterously. And for once, this potent display of joy doesn’t scare me at all.

It makes me feel hopeful.

We both end up back on our own swing to catch the sunset, while holding hands like lovesick teenagers, marveling over the lilac sky that’s sporting strokes of pink.

“Hey, Levi. Why does the sky turn pink?”

His eyes glint. And he explains it to me using words like wavelengths and molecules and gosh. I’ll never understand it. He’s very excitedly awaiting my commentary.

“Sorry, nerd. I still don’t get it.”

He sighs. “Speaking of science, you were right to issue a tornado warning.”

“I was?”, I ask Levi with a chuckle.

“Yup. You did flip my whole life over. For the better.”

My pulse turns sticky.

“It’s still standing, by the way. Damage might still come to your life and property. I think I’ll always be a bit of a natural disaster.”

“I’m more than okay with it,” Levi states.

“I’m glad I waited for you to fall in love,” I say.

“I’m glad, too, Win. You have no idea.”

The pink sky behind Levi seems to irradiate from him. I pull on his hand until he’s close enough for me to catch his lips with mine.

And although there is some trepidation easing itself over the uncertainty of what comes next, I find myself not being worried at all.

As long as this guy is by my side to catch the sunset, I think I’ll be just fine.

4 days later

May

Winnie

“I miss his stupid face.”

I sniff, letting my head fall back against the back of the couch to keep my tears from overspilling and rolling down my cheeks. They do anyway. I wipe at them roughly.

“I miss his stupid smile. And his stupid blue eyes. And stupidly arguing with him.”

“Babe, just call him,” Junie tells me from the kitchen.

“I can’t. It’s been four days! How pathetic would that make me look?” I whine while more tears form over my eyeballs.

“Not any more than you do now,” she points out. I scowl at my best friend. Then put my palms over my closed lids, trying to send my tears back into their respective ducts, since they’ve been leaking without my authorization.