Chapter 9
Ellie
I’m staring up at the sky, trying to find shapes in the clouds, when Griffin flops down next to me on the hammock, nearly tipping us both backwards. “I swear to God if you knock me out of this thing I’m never inviting you over again, Griffin.”
He doesn’t say anything in reply, but his large fist suddenly obscures my view, so close to my face it makes me go cross-eyed when I try to focus on it. Smacking his hand away, I push myself up onto my elbows so I can face him, and find a thousand-watt smile lighting up his face.
My body may not have flipped over a few moments ago, but my heart sure is now.
“What?”
He still doesn’t answer, but holds his fist up again at a more reasonable distance, and I see a singular sunflower held in his grasp. “Got you this,” he says, grinning even wider.
I can’t decide where to focus– the flower, or the smile.
“Would have picked you a bluebonnet, but that’s illegal.”
I have no idea how to respond, so I blurt out, “No it’s not, that’s actually a common misconception.” My curiosity outweighs my fear of being perceived, so I ask him, “Why?”
“Because it reminded me of you. I wanted you to have it.”
I take it from him slowly, dropping my gaze to the petals as I twirl it softly between my fingers. I should be used to it by now, but every time he does something so simple yet so sweet, it knocks the wind out of me.
Shoving those feelings down, I ask, “Why does it remind you of me?”
He shrugs. “It’s bright like you.” He lies back, putting his hands behind head, his legs long enough that he can stretch them out and still have the heels of his boots dug into the ground.
“And you turn your face up to the sun for a few seconds every time we step outside, without fail,” he says matter-of-factly. In a much quieter voice, he adds, “And, it’s the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day. Well, besides you.”
He jolts slightly, a surprised look on his face, like he also wasn’t expecting the words to come out.
My heart doesn’t just flip this time, it soars.
***
“You’re quiet today.”
Abby points it out in a way that leaves it up to me to choose whether to respond, and I love her for it. She knows that sometimes I don’t want to talk about things, I just want her to know that there is a thing, and sit with me in silence while I work through it.
But I do want to talk about my thing today though–and that thing is Griffin Hart.
With summer break rapidly approaching, two things are happening. One, Abby and I have resumed our summer tradition of eating pickle flavored sno-cones by Larkspur Lake (which isn’t really a lake, but a hole the mayor decided to dig in the 70s to give the town a “water feature”).
Two, I need to figure out what to do about Griffin.
Or rather, what to do about my feelings for him.
Whatever it is I’m even feeling. My chest tightens as I replay the last few weeks on a loop in my head.
We’ve been spending a lot of time together recently–not only with Jack and David, but just the two of us.
I don’t even know if they know we’ve been doing that.
I certainly haven’t told them. I can’t imagine David would be happy about it.
That boy has the most severe case of FOMO known to man.
I think Jack might already have his suspicions that something’s going on, and him asking questions would be worse than any tantrum David might throw about being left out.
Plus, I wouldn’t know how to answer any questions he has about my feelings for Griffin. All I know is I’m feeling a lot more than friendship these days, and it scares the hell out of me.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a bite of sno-cone to give myself time before I elaborate. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Griffin.”
Abby and I have been friends for so long that it feels like we’ve talked about everything under the sun–so why does it feel so weird to talk to her about this?
Probably because we never talk about boys.
We seem to somehow have managed to skip over that part of girlhood.
I’ve never really done the whole “crush” thing.
I’m an only child, fiercely independent by default.
I’ve also never slowed down long enough to have time to develop a crush.
My life has always felt so full of love and adventure that I never bothered to consider adding something else.
And there’s always that thought lurking in the depths of my brain telling me to get as far away from Larkspur as I can, to see the world. I’ve never had any intentions of tying myself to this town–or to anyone in it.
That is until a certain cowboy showed up and made himself at home in my perfectly curated routine.
And in my heart.
“Okay,” she replies slowly. “Say more words, please.”
“Ugh this is so weird to talk to you about.”
She looks offended by this, and I can hear the protest coming before she even opens her mouth.
“Not because I don’t want to talk you to my sweet ginger angel,” I say soothingly. “But we’ve never really talked about this stuff.”
“Well you’ve never brought it up before,” she says, pointing her spoon at me in accusation.
“Well there’s been nothing to bring up! And you’ve been essentially betrothed to Aaron since birth, so we never need to talk about your love life. Even your stupid names match perfectly.”
She shrugs simply–she knows I’m not wrong.
In kindergarten, Abby befriended the boy who lives three houses down from her, Aaron, and decided then and there that he’d do just fine for the rest of her life.
Pragmatic and self-assured even at age five, she approached him on the playground and declared they’d be getting married someday.
They negotiated terms (as well as any five year olds can), shook hands, and Aaron has looked at her like she hung the moon ever since.
I don’t know if he ever actually asked her to be his girlfriend once we got to dating age, now that I think about it. Everyone just accepts Abby and Aaron as fact the way you accept the sky is blue, or that the sun rises in the east. It’s borderline scientific.
“Okay, well now’s as good a time as any to start talking about it,” she continues. “Again I say–say more words.”
Taking a deep breath, I begin to word-vomit all of the thoughts that have been stuck in my brain for the last few weeks.
Griffin has caught me completely off guard.
He’s been everything from annoying to infuriating to charming, and so much in between.
Every moment I spend with him I learn more, and every new thing I learn makes me hungry for anything he’s willing to give me.
He’s got to be the most steadfast, confident, complicated boy I’ve ever encountered. There are moments where he’s every bit of a teenage boy–crass jokes and hyperactivity wrapped in a knack for being something like a Tasmanian devil when he, Jack and David get together.
Then there are moments when it’s just us, and I get glimpses of exactly the kind of man he’s going to grow up to be. He’s kind, and consistent, and dependable, constantly surprising me with the way he listens to me so intently–and even more so with the way he actually remembers what I say.
When I say I like a song, he’s got it queued up the next time I get in his car. He remembered my grandmother’s birthday, and brought her a bouquet of every flower I’ve ever mentioned growing with her.
It’s like he has a special Ellie box in his brain where he stores every detail about me that I give to him. And he looks at me with such intensity sometimes that I could melt–or maybe I could shine.
“So basically I have no idea what I’m feeling, and I have no idea what to say to him, or if I should say anything at all,” I conclude at the end of what had to be a twenty minute monologue.
Staring out at the lake thoughtfully, Abby finally says, “With every ounce of peace and love, that’s bullshit.”
My jaw drops. “What do you mean that’s bullshit?”
Turning squarely to face me, she launches into a monologue of her own. “I mean exactly what I said–that’s bullshit. You know exactly how you feel, you’re just scared to admit it, because for once this is something that you can’t control.”
She pauses, tilting her head in thought. “You like him, and you’re pretty sure he likes you. And that’s scarier than him not liking you.”
I hate it when she’s all insightful.
As much as I hate to admit it, this isn’t the first time I’ve been called a control freak. Or the second. Or the tenth. I like fun and whimsy and spontaneity–when I know exactly how it’ll turn out.
What’s wrong with a girl wanting a guaranteed happy ending?
“Ellie, that boy has liked you since the second he laid eyes on you,” she says in a much gentler voice. “I know it, Jack knows it, Griffin knows it–and I think you know it too, but admitting it makes it real.”
“So what do I do, Abby?” I can’t keep the desperation out of my voice. Probably because I am desperate.
“You find a way to tell him. Or show him enough that he tells you first.”
She says it like it’s simple. It doesn’t feel like anything about this is simple.
When did life get so complicated?
I don’t respond, and she doesn’t press me on it. She knows that I know she’s right. She knows I’ll figure it out in my own way. And I will figure it out. Because I want every bit of Griffin I can get–even if I have to risk getting my heart broken in the process.