Page 82

“Hi,” I say, looking at the bags with bewilderment.

“Hey,” he says, looking at me longingly. He takes a step forward and pulls me toward him by the waist, and I snake my arms around his neck. Our kiss is sweet and gentle, and when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against mine.

“Hey,” he repeats again, smiling down at me.

“Hi,” I say, laughing. Then I point at the grocery bags on my stoop. “What’s all this?”

He steps away from me and picks up the bags. “Groceries,” he says simply.

“I can see that.” I step to the side to let him in with the bags. “But why?”

“Kora mentioned on Saturday that you never have food at home,” he says as if it’s obvious. He slides off his shoes and walks into the kitchen.

“So, you bought me groceries?” I say, trailing after him.

“Yep.” He sets the bags down on the counter.

I stare at him.

“What?”

I grin. “You’re being cute again.”

“Robin,” he warns me, yanking me closer to him. “I am a big, strong, and tough guy. Don’t call me cute.”

“The cutest tough guy,” I correct him. “You know, I was worried things between us would be awkward.”

“Why would they be awkward? Because you’ve seen my dick now?” He grins.

I laugh. “I mean, in a nutshell? Yes.”

“Do you want to see it again, or should we make dinner first?”

“Bold of you to assume I’d want to see it again.” I gently shove him away with a smile on my face. “I say we make dinner first.” I open the grocery bags to see what he brought.

“But that’s a yes to seeing it again?” he asks innocently, helping me unpack the bags.

“Depends how good this dinner is.”

“I’m about to make the best meal mankind has ever tasted.” A beat goes by before he adds in a serious tone, “All jokes aside. I like you, and I’d like for this not to be one-time thing, but I don’t know how you feel. If you would rather go back to strictly being co-planners, I will accept that. I won’t make things weird, I promise.”

“I definitely don’t want to go back.”

“Thank God.”

The month before the funeral flies by, and every day I wake up with a growing pit of dread in my stomach. I can’t help counting down the days until Hayden leaves.

We spend all of our free time together, trying to squeeze every last drop out of the time we have left. He shows me his favorite places in Cottondale from when he was younger, and I show him mine. He even takes me to his grandmother’s grave, and we leave a stolen orange by her tombstone.

My life starts to feel like the best part of movie, when you watch a montage of the character’s happy moments. Time goes by fast, as it always does when you so desperately try to hold onto each minute.

I’m so anxious about the summer coming to an end that I experience every moment with him like I’m watching a flashback, feeling nostalgic while it’s happening. It’s like I’ve known him for a lifetime, yet our time together feels fleeting.

We don’t talk about what will happen to us when he inevitably goes back home. We don’t talk about what we are to each other. We don’t talk about what this is.

I fear that to him it’s just a casual summer fling, but to me, nothing about it feels casual. Especially not the way he looks at me, or the way he touches me. But I’ve been wrong about relationships before, and I don’t quite trust my instincts.

I do start to trust myself more in other areas of my life. I don’t think that making decisions will ever become a strength of mine, but I’ve become so much more confident planning the funeral. I don’t overthink anymore. I believe in my ideas, and together, Hayden and I try to execute them as best we can. There is so much to do, but I love figuring it all out. If the funeral didn’t mark the end of his time in Cottondale, I would be looking forward to it.