nostalgia. Nothing had changed in there, and when I closed my eyes, I could smell Papa’s cooking on the stove, hear the soft melodies of Otis Redding and Marvin Gaye. Suddenly, I was disappointed in myself for not coming back sooner. It had been almost a year, the longest I’d ever gone without seeing Papa, and I missed him. And really, I had no excuse for not coming back… you know, besides the fear that being here would remind me of a certain blue-eyed boy who made insane declarations on a porch swing that had forever been mine, forever been safe… until I had a momentary slip in judgment and decided to give said boy my first kiss on that very same seat.
Okay, I’m being dramatic.
I chose to kiss him.
No regrets.
Still, I couldn’t be around him, and so I left.
Standing in the entryway of my kind-of-home, it occurred to me how still the house was. How quiet. It was a rarity. When Papa was home, there was always music playing, and if not music, then the TV. There was nothing. I left my bags by the front door and went to his room. His bed was made, but he wasn’t there. I checked his bathroom for any sounds, and when I assumed it was safe, I opened the door. He wasn’t there, either. I thought about calling him, but that would ruin the surprise. I’d made sure he didn’t know I was coming. In fact, I’d made up reasons I couldn’t come just so I could see the look of surprise and (hopefully) joy when he saw me.
Finally, after searching the entire house and the perimeter for a whole twenty minutes, calling out his name, I noticed the side door of the barn ajar.
And that’s where I stand now, looking at the back of a shirtless boy—or man, I should say. His back is sculpted with nothing but muscles. His waist is narrow, shoulders broad. He has a broom in his hand, and he’s sweeping the floor. Most of the furniture’s been pushed to the side, some in pieces, and as I move closer, I notice the white wireless earbuds in each ear.
No wonder he didn’t hear me.
He’s wearing a cap backward, so I can’t see his hair clearly, but it’s obvious who it is, and I don’t know why he’s here, but I’m so happy he is. I’d been hoping to surprise him, too. It’s been too long, and our phone calls have become less and less over the past year. The floorboards squeak beneath my feet as I stop behind him, lift a hand, and tap on his shoulder. “Holden!”
He turns quickly.
It’s his eyes I notice first, and then everything else, all at once.
Leo’s name catches in my throat as if saying it out loud will make him disappear. I’m sure he says something, or at least his lips move, but I don’t hear anything over the thumping of my heart. Ducking his head, he takes out an earbud, those eyes of his taking me in from head to toe, and I feel it again: bare, exposed, unprotected.
But it’s different now. It’s electric.
And then his lips kick up. One corner first, and then the other, and then I’m in his arms, and he’s lifting me off the floor, and I’m letting him. And I shouldn’t let him because it’s the reason I left so abruptly in the first place. After that kiss, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to crawl into bed with him, under the covers, and let him hold me and touch me and never stop kissing me, and it would’ve been so, so perfect. Until it wasn’t.
He keeps his face nuzzled in the crook of my neck as he lowers me back to the floor, back to reality. “Jesus, Mia. What are you doing here?”
I laugh, like a bubble bursting from deep in my chest. “What are you doing here?” His hands settle on my waist, while mine settle on his biceps. They’re somehow both firm and soft. I should let go. I don’t.
“You first.”
“I live here,” I tell him, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Leo clucks his tongue, his nose scrunching. “Nope, pretty sure you live in New York, and your grandpa said you weren’t coming this summer, so...”
For a second, I let myself believe that Leo came here for me. Obviously, I was wrong. That would’ve been impossible considering no one knew I was coming. I drop my