Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-six

As kids, it was easy for us to imagine that our woods had magic in them simply because it was ours. The beach where we spent most of our time was an open stage where we saw everyone and everything, where we were always seen in turn. Like the expanse of the ocean promised a certain kind of freedom that the beach could never quite deliver because there was never anywhere to hide.

But the woods were insular, the paths tangled, and everywhere you turned there were tall, ancient trees that would keep your secrets. That would hide your edges and hold your stories, blot out the too-bright sun and muffle the too-loud world. It was our first real taste of independence, of existing in a world where we governed ourselves. We would lose ourselves in it, sometimes together, sometimes splitting off in pairs or on our own, and always reenter the world in a kind of haze, like we'd gone somewhere much farther than the edge of town. And the way Levi would spin stories through these trees, weave them through the twisting paths, it sometimes felt like I'd come back from an entirely different world.

Walking through these woods now, seeing them with these fresh eyes so much higher from the ground, I still feel the rustle of that old magic in the low, late-summer breeze. I smell it in the distinct, briny sea salt against the fresh pine. I feel it in Levi's warm hand wrapped around mine, the hand he took a few minutes ago when we reached the mouth of the trail and walked back into this place together for the first time in years.

Levi squeezes my hand and I look up at him and see a reflection of that magic in his eyes, too. Something lost but never fully forgotten, something that is changing its shape to adjust to the new shapes of us.

"Tell me where you left off in the story," I say to Levi.

And he does. A lot of it is still easy for me to follow because I read the same notes Levi was working from. But once he starts digging in deeper, there are moments of thoughtful quiet between us that are punctuated by one of us lighting up with a memory or a new idea. Some of the pieces come back quickly, and others seem to stretch, like they're taking their time waking up. We reminisce and remind and rebuild, breathing life into the old story even as Levi starts to shift some of the pieces and make them new. Like we're not just walking down a path back to the stories we used to share, but a bridge between the past that built us and the future we're building.

We reach the top of one of the highest of the small peaks on the trail, and it feels like a good settling point for now. Like if we get any further, there will be too much for Levi to have to remember to write down later. Not that it will matter—I already feel all the ideas pressing into me the way they did when I was a kid, and I carried them around with me for weeks. Some of them tightly enough that I still have them with me after all these years.

Levi settles his gaze on me, and there's a quiet intensity in it that stirs deep in my chest. He steps in closer, shadows and light from the trees casting golden afternoon sun on his face, and I think for a moment he's going to kiss me. I lean in with anticipation, but when my eyes are firmly set on his, he stays rooted in place.

"I know you think I didn't put you in the story," says Levi, his voice low and steady, "but that's just it. You are the story. I started it for you. Before I wanted to be a writer. Before I wanted anything much at all. I just wanted to watch that look on your face whenever I told it."

I smile up at him. "So you wrote me a story about the people I love," I say. There's an entirely different magic in understanding this; one that will never be written explicitly on the page but felt in the space between every word.

He couldn't have known then that it wouldn't be just a story, but a remembrance. Another way of keeping Annie's love in our lives, of capturing that fire of hers that we can still feel the warmth of even now. I feel the same ache for her I'll always feel, but the grief is shifting again in that way it has since I lost her—I don't feel the guilt of it anymore. It makes so much more room for the love.

Levi's voice is hoarse when he speaks again. "I want to keep making stories with you, June. Stories that are all our own."

I nod, the words feeling like they're sealing something between us. "Me too."

He takes my hands again, weaving his fingers through mine. "I know I said I'd give you time. And I mean it. But I want you to know that everything's settled now. I left my job. I squared everything away with the old apartment and finalized my lease here. I'm not asking for anything from you. I'm hoping. I'm—" He swallows hard. "You know how I feel. I know it doesn't undo the past. But I'm still hoping for the future."

I squeeze his fingers with mine, a smile curling at my lips. "Levi, nothing's settled," I say. "We're two big messes right now, you and me. But I don't need settled. And I don't need any more time. I just needed—I needed to be sure of something in myself, before I let myself be sure of this. I needed to let myself move on. And right now I need…"

I search his eyes, and then trail my gaze down to his lips. I tilt my head just as he leans in, and the kiss feels like a final floodgate opening, like a swollen sky has split and finally let out a swell of perfect, warm rain to wash our hearts clean. Like we're finally coming together with our whole selves, every certainty and messy, unformed part of us, every piece we've held back and pieces we haven't even formed yet to give.

It sweeps up again under our feet, in the loose pines shaken by the wind, in the promise of a new season just as the one you're holding on to gets chased away: magic. We've felt it before. Spent years trying to feel it again. One quiet promise, one soul-stirring kiss, and it all spills back and leaves this impossible happiness in its wake.

We stand at that peak for a long time, holding each other, sealing ourselves up tight. We talk about things of great and little importance, things present and yet to come. We talk about the wedding and talk further into the future—to Sana's birthday and the long list of songs she has lined up for karaoke, to Dylan and Mateo's one-year anniversary and the cake flavor they still haven't decided on for the top tier, to what my parents are going to do with the house long-term. We talk like the future is a given. We talk long enough that the sun starts to dip low in the sky, nudging us back down the trail. He gathers my hand up in his again, and we start to make our way back home.

"We forgot to brainstorm scones," says Levi before we reach the trail opening.

For the first time in my life, I might actually be too dazed to think about baked goods. "Right," I say. "Well, we have a whole lot of misadventures to draw from."

"I personally would not object to an Uptown Funk scone," Levi suggests.

I raise my eyebrows at him, impressed that he came in with a snappy idea ready to go. "Ooh," I say, remembering our shared cold pizza on the couch. "Pepperoni and sun-dried tomato with a mozzarella cheese crust."

"Now that is a scone I'd enjoy," says Levi.

"Domino's, but make it bougie." I twist my lip to the side, thinking. "Maybe a Gallery Game scone?"

"Carrot cake–flavored," says Levi solemnly, "as an homage to those terrifying cartoon carrots."

I give him a surprised once-over. "Wow. For someone who hates desserts, you're an excellent partner-in-scones."

Levi slows his pace then until we both ease to a stop. "I've got another idea, too." He looks almost bashful when he adds, "Actually, I went ahead and took the liberty of making a test batch."

Levi shrugs off the small drawstring backpack he brought with him, opening it up to reveal a Tea Tide scone sleeve. I can smell it before I can fully see it—the bright burst of orange and the headiness of milk chocolate. It's heaven in a scone.

"I figured if you were going to make a Levi scone, I'd make you a June one," he says, handing it to me.

I hold it up, taking in the flecks of orange zest and hunks of chocolate, the scone perfectly crisped. Levi wasn't kidding. He really was paying attention to the scone-making in the back. And to me, with my old love for milk chocolate and new obsession with citrus. A scone that's part old June and part new.

"Aw. I feel bad," I say, on the verge of a laugh. "The Levi scone was a punch line. You actually made me a dream scone."

"I heard your punch line is selling out when it rotates in on Tuesdays and Fridays, so I'll take it on the chin." Levi nods at the scone, and when he meets my eye, I see a quick glint of mischief in his. "Go on. Try it."

I hold his gaze as I take a bite. He really outdid himself. The scone has a perfect, satisfying crunch on the outside and just the right density on the inside, the zesty orange flavor balanced perfectly with the richness of the chocolate. Just as I'm about to ask him how the heck he mastered the delicate art of scone-making just by watching, I feel it—a telltale crackle, pop , pop , tiny fireworks on my tongue, between my teeth.

"You did not ," I cackle as the Pop Rocks start to go off in earnest, loud enough that I'm sure Levi can hear it, too.

He finally breaks out in a smile he's clearly been trying to hold back. "You set yourself up for this."

"And you set yourself up for this ," I say, reaching up to wrap my fingers through the soft curls on the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss. Soon enough, there are Pop Rocks going off in both of our mouths, and we're laughing through the kiss, the vibrations of it pulsing through each other's bodies.

We're breathless by the time our lips part, our foreheads still pressed together, leaning against each other like we'll fall over laughing if we don't. Our eyes meet, and I feel our own kind of crackle in them—the instant recognition, the unmatched understanding. The way we have always been able to see deep into the cores of each other, to feel the depths of the other's hurts and triumphs and everything in between. A thread between us that kept its pull even after all these years apart, too steady to break, too strong to unravel.

"I love you," I say, the words easier than any I've ever spoken out loud. They've been a part of me for so long that it feels like they were beating in my heart long before they left my lips.

Levi's smile softens. His eyes, which had been brimming with laughter, now brim with something else. He holds my gaze, and I feel the love between us like a lifeline. Like the thread is tightening, holding us closer than we've ever been.

My own eyes are starting to tear up at the sight of his. Levi kisses me again, slow and deep. When we break apart, he says quietly into my ear, "I love you, too."

It's only the second time I've heard him say it, but I already know that it won't matter how many times I hear it. I'll still feel the warm tingle of it spread through me every time.

"And to think," Levi quips, "all it took was a scone."

I laugh, wet and muffled. Levi thumbs a stray tear away, and I look up at him and say, "Yeah. We could have saved a whole lot of time with all our fake dates, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. What a drag those were," says Levi, pulling me in closer. "What a task it was finally getting to hold your hand in that museum," he says, wrapping his fingers through mine. "What a bummer seeing you move in that ridiculously sexy dress," he adds, using his other hand to skim my hip and reach back to lightly squeeze my ass. He draws in even closer and says into my ear, "What a shame to know the exact face you make when you…" He lets the words hover, warm and teasing. "Take a really good bite of a scone."

The blush might start in my cheeks, but by the time he's finished speaking, it's spread all over my body, a relentless, crackling flame. "Thank goodness you survived," I say wryly, my own hands wandering to his back, pulling him flush against me.

Levi's breath hitches just slightly, and I can feel the exact reason why pressed against my hip. "Yeah," he says, swallowing thickly. "Thank goodness."

I'm already straying far beyond this spot where we're standing, like the heat of my desire was just waiting for me to fan it, to burn up all the other thoughts. I only separate myself from Levi and start walking because there is a long list of things I'd like to do with those flames, and none of them can happen here.

"I guess we should finally, officially end our pact," I manage to say, despite the breathlessness.

Levi's hand has already eased back into mine. "We can make it a promise, instead."

I nod slowly, letting the satisfaction of this moment sink in. Pressing it to my heart so I'll always remember the feeling, even if I won't be able to recall the words.

"I like the sound of that."

"Good." Levi's eyes glint again as he adds, "We'll get Sana to draw up the terms."

It only takes a few more steps for us to reach the edge of the woods and slowly make our way out of the trail. Only it doesn't feel like it did when we were kids, like trading one world for another. The magic follows us back out this time. It's still pressed between our fingers, steady in every step. It's old and it's new, unchanged and changing, but always, always ours.