Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
I pace in the quiet, and I weigh them. On one hand, I can’t stand the way I feel right now.
On the other hand, I think I—
The door snicks open, and I spin around. He’s home.
His brown eyes are soulful. His hair is wild. His gaze, locked on me.
“Leighton,” he says, importantly. Like there’s something on his mind.
But there’s something on mine too. And I need to go first, since he’s taken so many steps.
Sometimes you don’t get all the time you think you need. But maybe you didn’t need it at all. I’ve spent so much time planning for the future that I don’t want to miss the present. Not with him. Not with us. “My mom had an affair with my dad’s agent before she left him. Us. It was a mess. I never wanted to be like her. A liar,” I say, closing the distance between us, then stepping into the now. “I want to do something about the way I feel,” I say, borrowing his words from this morning. “I want to tell him.”
Miles’s eyes sparkle like a thousand stars. “Yeah?”
I laugh, powered by nerves, fear, and hope. “Why are you so excited?”
“Because I’m crazy about you, Shutterbug,” he says, then pulls me into his arms. “And I want to be with you.”
Emotions tighten around my throat as he hauls me closer, sweeps his lips across mine, then stops, cupping my face. “You want this?”
“I do,” I say, breathless. “But what about…are you afraid?”
He shakes his head. “I was. I’m not anymore. You’re worth it.”
God, his certainty is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen because it’s the sturdiest. “Let’s do it tomorrow,” he says.
I laugh. “You have a game. He’ll be in game mode.”
“He’s always in game mode,” Miles says.
“I know. But he has meetings with his coaches, and practice, and video review, and the game itself. And I don’t want to do it while he’s at work. I’ll take him to breakfast this weekend—to his favorite diner—and tell him then.”
“Good. I fucking can’t wait.”
“Really? You’re not afraid?”
“I want you more than I want the life I had before,” he says, and a tear slips down my cheek. From his passion, from his certainty, from his heart. And from that sly smile on his gorgeous lips. “But why don’t I show you?”
I arch a curious brow. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s go geocaching.”
Without a second thought, I take his hand, and we leave.
44
WHAT SHE MEANS
Miles
It’s an evening in late November, so it’s dark and a little chilly. But that’s what jackets and lanterns are for. Sure, there are phone flashlights and real ones, too, but this camping lantern is way cooler—and extremely necessary—as we walk down Tennessee Hollow Trail. We’re not taking the same path we did when we came here more than a year ago. There’s a shorter route close to the same spot where we went on our very first date. Good thing, too, because there’s a geocache we need to find.
“It’s close to that other one,” I say, eyes on my phone making sure to study it closely so she doesn’t realize I’m faking it.
This cache isn’t listed on any app.
“Are we almost there?” she asks.
“Right around the bend in the trail,” I say, and when we near the footbridge, I grab her hand and point to a rock.
“It’s across from the bench where we found the first one?” she asks, her voice laced with disbelief.
Fine by me.
“Looks like it,” I say, keeping my poker face on and my tone even, giving nothing away. Inside, though, I can’t wait.
We’re a minute away, but it feels like forever until we reach a boulder by the creek. She looks around it, then stops. There’s another lockbox next to it.
But it doesn’t look like the first one. This one is silver, ornate, carved with intricate floral details—like wildflowers. In the middle of the box, there’s an engraved L.
She bends closer, staring, her lips parting in amazement. “This is gorgeous,” she says.
My heart is bursting, but I keep it together, pretending to read from my phone like it’s a clue. “Here’s the code to open it,” I say.
I read off some clues I came up with quickly. They aren’t hard, but they are specific.
“A hat trick. What a win is worth in the standings. A goal counts this much.”
“Three, two, one?” she asks, but her blue eyes sparkle with recognition. She’s putting it together—these are my clues. But she plays along, opening the box that I left here this morning.
Hoping we’d come back to it soon.
And then she gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth, then to the chest of her jacket.
“It’s the heart locket,” she says, her voice soft, like it’s the last thing she expected. And that’s perfect. More perfect than I’d imagined. And I’ve imagined this a lot.