Chapter Twenty-Four

His birthday came in early June when we'd just arrived at the house. We'd only just met. By the eighth of August, we knew each other considerably better. In days, the summer would end, and I'd go to college and Adam would head to Nashville to try his hand at a music career. What we had been to each other those eight weeks would no longer exist.

After cake, dinner and gifts at the house with everyone, we snuck out that night. Adam took me to the overlook, and we lay in his truck bed, fingers tied up, my head on his chest. The sky was clear. No lights for the stars to compete with.

"I love you, Vienna," he whispered into my ear.

He'd said it before. A few times. I could feel it, too. "I know," I whisper back.

"I know, as in…"

"As in, I love you, too ." I waited for him to kiss me or touch me.

He stared up at the sky. "I don't want to go anywhere without you."

"Where are you going?" I joked. "Are you leaving me on the side of the road?"

"I'm serious." He sighed. "It's killing me knowing that soon we're not going to get to do this . That I won't get to ask you about your magazines or watch you bake or feel your soft skin."

I twisted my head to look at him. "Me too. But what can we do about it?"

He stayed focused on the stars, but his arm tightened, smushing me tighter to the drum beating under his shirt. "We could get married."

After a beat, I snorted a laugh.

"I'm not joking." He finally turned to look at me. "We could get married."

"We can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Because…" I waited for him to laugh it off, but he didn't. He expected an explanation. "We're just kids, Adam."

"We can vote," he said.

"We can't buy liquor."

"We can drive."

"We don't know how to buy a house or pay for health insurance or –"

Adam shut me up with a kiss. When he pulled back, he muttered into my mouth, "None of those reasons are because you don't love me."

I dragged my thumb across his cheekbone. "You know I do."

"Then marry me." He pulled me closer to his face and glued his forehead to mine. "We can figure out how to do the rest. If we're married, we can make choices together. We can build a future together. You can go to culinary school, and I'll play at whatever smoky bars I can find. We'll build your bakery and build my music career."

I let go of his hand and pressed myself to a seated position. "My dad would never allow it."

He sat up and cupped my jaw. "I'm not asking him . I'm asking you."

I exhaled.

Adam folded his legs, scooting closer to me, scooping the other side of my face. I rested in his palms. His tan, bright face glowed in the darkness. His brow furrowed as he searched my eyes.

"I'll never feel this way about another girl," he said. " Ever . We're perfect for each other. You're perfect. I promise everything will be perfect."

I set my hands on his and closed my eyes, feeling like I might melt right there, in his arms, never letting the sun rise or the next season exist. It felt stupid, playful, and real. I didn't think of anything other than that moment when I murmured, "Okay."

"Okay?" he asked behind my closed eyes. "That's a yes ?"

"When?"

His lips touched mine. "Anywhere there's a courthouse. You're eighteen now. We can go any time."

I opened my eyes. "Did you wait to ask me this on my birthday?"

"Yeah." His fingers cup the back of my neck. "I would have asked you a month ago, but that would have just terrified you."

He dove in for a deep kiss then. I remember feeling scared, then safe, then scared again. I grappled for his shirt and pulled him on top of me.

Adam leaned over my face, brushing my hair back gently.

"This isn't why I asked you to marry me," he said.

"I know." I ran my hands along his tense arm muscles beside my head.

"We don't have to do this, Vee."

"I want to."

"You sure?" he checked.

I lifted my head to kiss him, twisting my hands in his shirt. "I'm sure."

Adam covered my body and helped me peel his shirt off. He carefully ran his hands under my shirt next, watching my eyes, waiting for me to tell him to stop. I didn't. I didn't tell him to stop when he bared my chest or when he unbuttoned my shorts. I didn't tell him to stop when my heart beat wildly in my chest at the sight of what he hid inside his pants.

I covered myself when the nerves became too much, but he didn't fight my hands away. Everything Adam did was always patient, always loving, and always on my terms. The process of entering me took so much longer than it needed to because he made sure I felt safe. Comfortable. In charge.

I've been with a dozen men since then, but never with anyone who loved me. Even with nice, well-meaning guys, they never treated sex as though it could be a big deal. Mostly, it felt like a transaction. I found myself numb to the experience on multiple occasions because of that fact.

That first time, in the bed of a truck with Adam, I held on to someone whose intentions I never questioned.

He loved me. Wholly. With every word, every touch. I don't know why I keep wanting to assume he didn't feel as much as did. If anything, I'm the one who held back on my feelings.

Not that night, though. I made the first move. That night I let go of every thought I'd ever had, every fear I ever entertained, and I just relaxed into him, feeling safe in his arms, not knowing that everything would end the next day.

In my bedroom, with everyone downstairs hunting objects, we turn away from each other. Adam to the window, me to the door. If he is thinking about that night, then I can't bear to see his expression. He followed through with his promises to himself. I broke my promises to both of us.

He begins slowly: "A lever. A corkscrew. A wheel."

I shudder and then turn around. "Simple machines. Okay…"

Adam faces me. He cracks his knuckles and draws a vertical line through the center of my body with his sharp eyes.

He's thinking about it, all right. I'm a small, easy target right now, but he doesn't look angry. He looks sad. Even though I made up my mind on that next day, climbed into my father's car and left my heart out the window, I felt inconsolable pain for what it did to Adam. I could have stabbed him and he wouldn't have looked more betrayed.

My nose prickles. "A wedge," I say.

His voice comes out heavy. "Like door stop or a golf club?"

I sniffle and lightly laugh. "Yeah. I'll bet that's it. One of his golf clubs. In the basement."

"After you." He gestures to the door.

I walk down the stairs and Adam keeps an unmistakable distance between us. David peers his head in from the kitchen. He stirs a bowl.

I tap his shoulder with my pointer finger as I pass. "We got you figured out, Davey. And you thought you were so slick, didn't you?"

He smiles, looking between me and Adam.

"Yes," David answers. "I think I am."