57. Poppy Wells

57

Poppy Wells

One day

“ I want to see the world,” I whispered, glancing up at Jasper, who tugged me closer to his chest. “Someday.”

Golden hues, mixed among rays of lavender and orange, painted the fading sky as it settled above the waves. I hadn’t fought him when he snuck me out of my own bedroom window, nor when he pulled me down onto his lap, my back tucked against his chest as his arms looped around my stomach.

“Yeah?” He asked, golden eyes shining under the fading sunlight. I loved those eyes. “We’ll go together,” he promised, squeezing me tightly. “All of it. We’ll see it all.”

I giggled, nuzzling my head beneath his chin, my gaze lost far out to sea. His laugh knitted each wave, the echo of it still ringing in my years as if it were yesterday. Oliver died all alone. Scared. Frightened. He’d never have a childhood. Go to college. See the world beyond Hawthorne Hills borders.

But I would. I’d make sure of it. And wherever I went, I’d take a piece of him with me. Every ocean. Every star. Every corner of the world.

Neither of us would ever be alone again.

“We’ll make it out of this town, won’t we?”

Jasper just smiled softly before interlacing his pinkie finger with mine. His lips delicately grazed the tips of our conjoined fingers.

“Yeah,” he vowed, resting our hands above his heart. “I promise, Wellsy.”