Page 35 of The Promises We Were Never Meant To Keep

“Oh.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“I don’t know.” I fold a shirt and place it neatly onto the pile. “I thought you were saving to move out?”

“I am. But that’s two years away.” He inches closer. “Why do I get the sense you’re upset?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Then what is it?” He flashes me a Holt grin.

I give a helpless little shrug, hating how silly I feel. “I’ll just worry about you on one of them, is all.” I force a smile when he crowds me with his body against the table. “Besides, how will you travel with all your hockey gear if you have a bike?”

“I’ll still have my truck.”

“If you want a bike, I think you should do it.”

Holt slides the tip of his nose up the length of mine. When he speaks, his voice has dropped in pitch. I suck in a sharp inhale that tastes of him.

“You’re right,” he says.

“I am?” Why do I find it so hard to think when he’s this close to me?

“The Island is expensive. I should keep saving.”

“Yeah.” I nod, sucking my lip in and biting down as I murmur, “but you’d look really hot on a bike.”

“Ahh.” He drops his head back. “You just had to go and say that.”

I giggle at the tortured groan he releases. “Sorry, but it’s true.” I hook my finger through the loops of his jeans. “I still think you should save, though.”

“But my girlfriend thinks I’d look hot on a bike.”

I tug him closer, too close. If anyone walked in right now, I’d be in trouble.

But as I lift onto my tippy toes to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, I decide I just don’t care as I say, “One day.”

It’s only July, but it feels like I’ll blink, and summer will be over. I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to lose these moments I have with Holt. For hockey to start up again, with all the practices and games. For every weekend to belong to the ice when I’ve just gotten a taste of the heat.

“Yo, Holt! Come on, man!” Kevin shouts from down by the beach. “Could use some help, here.”

Charlie Anderson, a boy from the football team who seriously might be competing on the side in body building competitions, brackets his mouth with his hands to taunt. “Holt doesn’t play unless he’s got a stick to hide behind.”

I feel Holt tense behind me in the moment before he leans in and mutters, “That just won’t do.”

“Go show him you hide from nothing.” I give his leg a parting pat before he hops up and jogs down the beach.

Everything glows, lit up by the setting sun as I watch Holt take his place on Kevin’s team. They’re playing a rule-less game of rugby with extra tackles—because they’re boys—and I already know Holt’s team is going to lose.

I cheer for them anyway. Even though it doesn’t take me long to get bored of watching boys tackling each other into the sand in what looks like hellishly brutal attacks.

Glancing to the side, I spot a little daisy in the grass that edges the sand. My hand drifts out to pluck it from the earth, and I begin pulling white petals in a game I’ve played since I was young.

Picking daisies with Mom had been a favorite pastime of mine.

A body drops into the sand beside me, a deep voice sighing into the space. “He loves you.”

I blush at the pile of petals. “It says he doesn’t.”