Chapter Five
I’m tempted to close the door and lock it. I can just hide from Oz forever… right? As I’m standing at the door, tempted by the lock, I spot him through the glass. He’s walking toward me with a big smile on his face. There’s a quilt draped over his arm.
I step outside, holding the picnic basket. “Good thinking on the blanket. That doesn’t come with the basket—though maybe I should consider adding it.”
“You could charge more,” he points out.
I laugh. “I charge a lot already. Speaking of which, I expect you to pay me for this.”
He grins. “I’m good for it.”
“So, I’ve heard. You’re a big-time architect in San Franscisco. You specialize in earthquake-resistant skyscrapers, right?”
We begin walking toward the harbor, falling into step beside each other.
“We call them seismic structures,” he says. “I enjoy it, but I’m ready for a change. I’d like to focus on smaller-scale projects now. Lately, I’ve felt my heart being pulled back here. I think it may be time to come home.”
Is it because his thirtieth birthday was in July and mine is next week? Is it because of the pact? I want to ask, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. Even if he is here because of the pact, I can’t actually marry him. I haven’t seen him in years. I hardly know him. I’d thought I knew him a long time ago, but that day I walked in on him in his dorm room proved otherwise. So, why am I still hung up on that stupid pact we made on the trampoline? Why haven’t I been able to forget it all these years?
We find a spot along the waterfront and Oz spreads out the blanket. Twinkling black and white Halloween lights are strewn around the trees. I sit next to him on the blanket and start unloading the basket.
“What kind of pickles do you like? Classic dill? Sweet bread and butter? Spicy?”
“I’ve heard your pickles are legendary,” he says, smiling. “I think I’d better try them all.”
I nod. “Good choice. Let’s save the spicy ones for last. I don’t want to taint your tastebuds.”
I’d secretly hoped he’d want to taste them all, so I brought along plastic sample cups. I put a few pickle chips into each cup.
He chuckles. “I’ve had beer flights… but I’ve never had a pickle flight.”
“You’re in for a treat,” I promise. Pointing to each container in turn, I tell him what I’ve brought. “Sweet bread and butter, garlic dill, dill-jalapeno, and dill-habanero.”
I watch eagerly as he tries each one. His eyelids flutter closed, and a smile dances on his lips. “These are amazing, Lindy. I love all of them. I think the dill-jalapeno are my favorite. The habanero is a bit too spicy for me, but I bet they’d be amazing on a sandwich.”
“Speaking of sandwiches, would you prefer ham and cheddar or turkey and gouda?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Did you only bring one of both?”
I laugh. “Yes, but I cut them in half. So, we can each have both.”
“Perfect,” he says.
We chat over lunch, and I tell him the sandwich shop is growing too big for me to keep it going in its current form. I’m not sure why I tell him. I haven’t even talked to my brother about it yet. But Oz has always been a good listener and telling him about it makes me feel better.
“I think you already know what you need to do,” he says.
“Name the business, hire staff, increase production…” I tick items off on my fingers, one by one.
Oz grins. “See? I told you. You already know what to do.”
When we finish eating, we lie down on the blanket next to each other. It feels just like the old days and the time we spent side-by-side on the trampoline. We’re quiet for a long time, just watching the clouds drift overhead.
“Lindy?”
“Yeah, Oz?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
I swallow around a rising lump in my throat. This is too much like that long-ago conversation on the trampoline. “Sure.”
“How many pickles do you have to squeeze to get a jar of pickle juice?”
I roll over and stare at him, perplexed. “What?”
“For pickle juice,” he says. “How many pickles do you have to squeeze—”
“Are you serious? That’s not how pickle juice is made. That’s—” His lips are twitching at the corners and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re teasing me.”
He bursts into laughter.
Laughing, I punch him in the arm. “Jerk.”
His face grows sober at the word. “Speaking of which, I owe you an apology.”
The laughter dies on my lips. “An apology? For what?”
He gazes into my eyes. “You know what. That day at the dorm.”
“It was a long time ago,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” Oz says. “But a day hasn’t passed that I haven’t been sorry. It’s the moment in my life that I regret the most. I didn’t expect to see you, and I was with another girl, and I panicked. Nothing happened with that girl, by the way. I know it probably doesn’t matter to you now, but I felt so bad about the whole situation that I made her leave right after you left.”
I tie my hair into several knots. “Forget it, Oz. It doesn’t matter now.” But that’s a lie. It still matters to me. Far more than it should.
He pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “I wrote you a note that night. I couldn’t bring myself to mail it, but I’ve always hoped I’d get the chance to give it to you. I know it won’t mean as much now, not after so much time has passed, but I still want you to have it.”
He pulls an old, worn piece of paper out of his wallet and unfolds it. Creases are permanently etched into the paper where the folds had been. It’s obviously been tucked away a long time.
“You haven’t gotten a new wallet in over ten years?” I joke, not sure what to say.
“I’ve gotten one or two since then,” he says, “but I always tuck the letter inside. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you sooner.”
I take a deep breath and read the note.
Lindy,
I didn’t mean what I said. Not even a little. I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. I love the way your hair looks brown indoors but looks as bright as an autumn leaf in the sunlight. I think a lot of people may not notice that, and I feel bad for them. And they may not notice that your eyes aren’t really brown. They have a bit of green in them and a circle of gold right by your pupils. And most of all, I think people may not notice how funny you are, and how your laughter sounds like music, especially when you’re laughing at something I said.
If Luke wasn’t my best friend, I’d have told you all this a long time ago. But he is my best friend, and you’re in Fog Harbor, and I just got an internship at a big architecture firm in San Franscisco—and that’s cool, but it’s also scary, and so far away from everyone I know. So far away from you—and some things aren’t how I want them to be at all. I want too much. I want everything. Fog Harbor, the internship in California, my friendship with Luke, YOU. Everything I want is at odds with something else. It’s a mess, and I don’t know how to fix it. I guess I’m a jerk, like you said that day on the trampoline. I’m sorry, Lindy. I really, really am.
Maybe things will be different when we’re older. I hope so.
Until then—
Yours, Oz
My eyes flicker from the note to his face. He’s staring at me in earnest.
“Oz,” I say, my voice sounding strangled.
“Charley told me you’re not seeing anyone right now. Is that true?”
“Y-yes.”
His beautiful green eyes gaze into mine. “I think maybe enough time has passed that Luke won’t mind so much if I ask you out on a date. But even if he does, enough time’s passed that I don’t care anymore.”
I swallow thickly. “He’d be a hypocrite if he cared, seeing as how he’s marrying my friend in a few days.”
“So, will you?”
He’s just asking me out on a date, right? “Will I what?”
He smiles. “Go on a date with me? I’ll pick you up after the sandwich shop closes tomorrow, if that works for you?”
“O-okay,” I stammer. I fold the note back into a tiny square. No matter what happens next, I know I’ll cherish his letter for the rest of my life.