44. What She Means
44
WHAT SHE MEANS
Miles
It’s an evening in late November, so it’s dark and a little chilly. But that’s what jackets and lanterns are for. Sure, there are phone flashlights and real ones, too, but this camping lantern is way cooler—and extremely necessary—as we walk down Tennessee Hollow Trail. We’re not taking the same path we did when we came here more than a year ago. There’s a shorter route close to the same spot where we went on our very first date. Good thing, too, because there’s a geocache we need to find.
“It’s close to that other one,” I say, eyes on my phone making sure to study it closely so she doesn’t realize I’m faking it.
This cache isn’t listed on any app.
“Are we almost there?” she asks.
“Right around the bend in the trail,” I say, and when we near the footbridge, I grab her hand and point to a rock .
“It’s across from the bench where we found the first one?” she asks, her voice laced with disbelief.
Fine by me.
“Looks like it,” I say, keeping my poker face on and my tone even, giving nothing away. Inside, though, I can’t wait.
We’re a minute away, but it feels like forever until we reach a boulder by the creek. She looks around it, then stops. There’s another lockbox next to it.
But it doesn’t look like the first one. This one is silver, ornate, carved with intricate floral details—like wildflowers. In the middle of the box, there’s an engraved L .
She bends closer, staring, her lips parting in amazement. “This is gorgeous,” she says.
My heart is bursting, but I keep it together, pretending to read from my phone like it’s a clue. “Here’s the code to open it,” I say.
I read off some clues I came up with quickly. They aren’t hard, but they are specific.
“A hat trick. What a win is worth in the standings. A goal counts this much.”
“Three, two, one?” she asks, but her blue eyes sparkle with recognition. She’s putting it together—these are my clues. But she plays along, opening the box that I left here this morning.
Hoping we’d come back to it soon.
And then she gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth, then to the chest of her jacket.
“It’s the heart locket,” she says, her voice soft, like it’s the last thing she expected. And that’s perfect. More perfect than I’d imagined. And I’ve imagined this a lot.
“Is it the same one?” she whispers, like she doesn’t want to dare to believe it .
It’s like the sun is shining inside of me. “It’s the same one.”
She can’t speak for several beautiful seconds that make my heart soar. Her reaction is even better than I’d imagined.
“But…how?” she finally asks.
“Let me put it on you, and I’ll tell you,” I say, my voice bursting with hope.
She shudders, then nods several times. “Yes, put it on me now.”
Someone is eager, and I love it. She reaches for the locket, handing it to me before standing. Spinning around, she holds up her hair, revealing her gorgeous neck. I hook it in place, letting the metal fall against her skin, then turn her to face me. It’s like the locket has come home.
“How did you do this? How is this possible?” she asks, her voice full of wonder.
“That day Birdie brought the replacement bracelet here for me?” I prompt, reminding her.
“Right. Since you’d retrieved mine already that morning,” she supplies, nodding for me to go on.
“After she went, she happened to mention that there was also a locket in the box. Which made me realize you must have put it back that same morning. As soon as I returned from the road trip I was on, I took my chances and came here, hoping no one else had found the cache. The locket was still there, and so was the bracelet from Birdie. So, I left the bracelet, took the locket and held onto it.”
Her hands cover her lips before she drops them and whispers, “For a year? ”
“More than a year, sweetheart.”
Her voice trembles as she asks, “But why?”
The easiest and the hardest reason ever. “I think I always knew I was never going to be able to resist you. No matter how hard I tried. Because I always knew it was you.”
She clasps the locket tightly, covering it with her hand, then closes the remaining distance between us, looping her arms around my neck, our chests pressed together. I can feel that peace in the present again—because she feels the exact same way.
“I have something for you too.”
I can’t wait to see what she means.
We return home. She shows me a picture of the same locket. “I took it the day I returned it,” she says, her voice soft. “So I could always remember that day.” She pauses. “Do you want to frame it?”
“I do. For here.”
Sometimes you just know when you meet the love of your life.
The plan is simple. As we walk into High Kick together—on the way to the arena the next afternoon, since really, what’s the point in pretending we’re not living together now?—Leighton reviews it with me. “I already texted him and asked him to have breakfast at our favorite café on Saturday. ”
“We’ll be back from the road trip,” I say, eager to show I remember every detail. We play Dallas at home tonight, then travel to Los Angeles late tonight for a game tomorrow.
“And Riley has the SAT on Saturday morning, so he’ll be free,” she continues, then adds, “it’s a busy week already, with the meeting Melissa booked us on Friday morning with the bridal website about our collab, so the timing works out perfectly.” Her voice picks up, like she’s relieved the pieces are falling into place. “And…at breakfast, I’ll tell him we’re dating.”
Best plan ever.
But as we approach the counter, I stop her, giving her a playfully stern look. “We’re not just dating, sweetheart,” I say, my voice low and steady, my gaze locked on hers.
She dips her face, as if she’s a little shy. “I know.”
We’re at the counter, though, so I drop the conversation and say hi to my grandmother. Birdie’s eyes are twinkling like she already knows. She doesn’t, but in some ways, I think she always has.
Leighton orders her Earl Grey latte, since Birdie has won her over with it, and I opt for a vile coffee today, and we hand Birdie our to-go mugs.
“Coming right up, Boo,” she says with a wink, sticking a decal with the name on the mugs before filling them.
When the drinks are ready, she sets them at the edge of the counter and beckons us over, whispering, “I’m earning my stripes, right? I’ve got a feeling, looking at you two.”
Leighton lets out a hopeful breath. “Soon. Really soon. And thank you. You deserve it, Birdie,” she says, but there’s a touch of nerves in her voice.
“You know what? I do. Underground Grandma Matchmaking Society, you’d better look out! I’m running for president,” Birdie quips, flashing a grin.
We leave and slide into my car. But before I turn on the ignition, I try to lighten the moment and give Leighton a mock-serious look. “So if we’re not dating, what are we doing?”
“You’re my boyfriend,” she says, her voice cracking the slightest bit. Nerves again. I wish I could ease those nerves for her, but I know she’s the one who has to tell her dad, and it’s not going to be easy no matter how well we plan it.
“That’s right. I’m finally—fucking finally—in the girlfriend zone with you,” I say, not caring if I sound like a besotted fool. I am one with her. She grabs my tie, and I drop my mouth to hers for a hot, quick kiss, then drive to the arena. I swear I’ll be counting the seconds until Saturday. I’ll be ready, too—for the fallout. Ready to talk to Coach. Ready to let him know that even if he’s pissed, even if he’s mad, even if he can’t stand me, I’m the man for his daughter. Her dad might bench me, freeze me out, or worse, cut me loose entirely. But losing her? That’s not an option.
I counted down the days we were apart. Now I’ll count the minutes until we’re no longer a secret.
When we arrive, we’re careful. We don’t touch or flirt. I even walk her in through the main door so it doesn’t look like she’s getting special treatment by using the players’ entrance. We’re early since she needs to be here before the other players arrive so she can take pics of the guys showing up for work in their suits—myself included. As we walk, heels click sharply behind us, cutting through the Thursday afternoon pre-game hum of the arena. A polished, smooth voice calls out, “Leighton, baby.”
Leighton freezes mid-step, the color draining from her face. I follow her gaze to the well-appointed brunette with a perfect blowout striding toward us, and I know instantly.
That woman can only be Leighton’s mom.