Chapter 1 #2
Seconds stretch out further than a Texas sunset as we stare at each other, time a gaping abyss between us. Years that turned a boy into a man—his blond hair now more golden than white, his face lined with a decade of memories made without me.
I can feel others meandering around the store glancing in our direction, their eyes searching for what kind of reunion this will be.
“I’m here for the produce, Mr. Waters,” I say, turning my attention to him.
He wipes his hand on his apron. “Oh, yes. I’ll go get that for you.”
“Mr. Waters?” Milo asks, breaking his gaze from me, which has made goosebumps sprinkle on my bare arm even though it’s hot enough to cook an egg on the sidewalk outside.
“Sadie still refuses to call me Matt,” Mr. Waters answers as he turns to walk away.
“Probably ’cause she still looks like she’s in high school,” Milo mutters as he looks intently at me. “Not an imperfection on this girl.”
My cheeks flush. “Good genetics and big sunglasses.”
“Or, you know, you just look good.” Milo laughs, and I hate that my eyes are transfixed on his Adam’s apple, but it seems more manly, as if excess cartilage is the new cleft chin.
I gulp and quietly murmur, “I’ve changed.”
He reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, making my pulse stutter recklessly, before stealing the top book off my stack and looking it over. “Still Team Peeta?”
I nod politely even though I’d prefer snatching it out of his hands.
“Because Gale has his sights on success?” Milo questions as he flips through the pages.
“Because Peeta brings out the softness in Katniss when the rest of the world is hard,” I answer.
Milo’s mouth tips to the side. “You always rooted for the underdog.” Then his eyes flutter and his lips spread into a wide grin. “Remember that time you baked cookies for the opposing team? You knew we were going to destroy them, and you felt terrible.”
I nod, biting my tongue to keep from giving in to the nostalgia of this moment—the memory of taking three dozen cookies to the opposing team’s locker room and telling them they did a great job easily surfacing as if it happened yesterday.
“Your famous chocolate chip, right? I wonder what they thought of that when you were wearing my jersey.” He chuckles as he slides the book back onto my stack.
My mind snags on the way he says his jersey—number thirty-five, which was also painted on my cheek in blue and gold every Friday night during football season.
“Did I hear something about cookies?” Mr. Waters asks when he comes back with a plastic bin full of expired produce.
“Oh, we were just talking about Sadie’s chocolate chip cookies,” Milo replies.
“She still bakes them,” Mr. Waters interjects. “Signature Sadie.”
Milo smiles at Mr. Waters before he looks back at me fondly and says, “Same books, same cookies, same Sadie. You haven’t changed so much.”
The words shouldn’t irritate me.
I like my books, and my chocolate chip cookie recipe is flawless.
But the repetition of the word same crawls under my skin and makes me itch. Milo isn’t the same.
I may not participate in Dusty Hollow gossip, but I did hear the whispers of his success, his girlfriends, and his life he lived without me. Just because he’s back doesn’t mean he can expect me to be the same girl who wore his jersey.
“I have to go. The produce.” My words are a whisper, but there’s a strength in my chest beginning to blossom.
Milo starts to take the plastic bin from Mr. Waters. “Let me help you.”
I turn on my heel, walking toward the glass doors. Milo follows behind.
“Thanks, Sadie!” Mr. Waters calls after me.
I put one hand up and wave. “It’s no problem!”
I hold the door for Milo, but as soon as he steps outside, I say, “I can get it from here.”
“I can go with you. I’d like to talk, if that’s okay.”
I shake my head. “I’ve got it. Thanks for offering.”
“Sadie.” His tone is gentle and low. “I—”
“Milo Carter!” A large hand attached to the one and only Coach Ryland slaps him hard on the back. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were coming back to town, and to take my job!”
Milo’s lips spread in a grin as he looks with admiration at his high school coach. “Now, that’s not what I heard. Heard you were retiring.”
Coach Ryland laughs. “That’d be the more accurate version of the story, but it depends on who you ask around here. Let me buy you a coffee. Maybe give you a few tips. High school football is a little different than the pros.”
Milo’s eyes dart between me and Coach Ryland.
“Sadie, you don’t mind if I steal your boy from you, right?” Coach Ryland asks.
I want to say that he’s not mine. Hasn’t been for a very long time.
But instead, I fix a smile on my face and say, “Of course not. Take him for as long as you need.”
I set my books carefully on top of the expired produce before I grab the handles of the plastic bin, my fingers brushing up against Milo’s, making my breath hitch slightly. He doesn’t let go.
“You go catch up,” I practically whisper. “I’ve got things to do.”
“Coffee tomorrow? Iced vanilla latte with a pump of caramel?” Milo asks.
It’s been my coffee order for the last fifteen years. The one Milo would bring me every Monday morning when he picked me up for school when we were dating.
Another piece of evidence to add to the accusation that I haven’t changed . . .
“I have to go,” I repeat, pulling at the bin until he surrenders.
“Sadie, I just—”
“It was good seeing you.” I cut him off, making sure I keep my smile firm and my politeness intact.
I turn, leaving Milo behind as I walk to my light blue Volkswagen Beetle, already replaying every single word that was said between us. Our conversation is a constant loop as I check for what I could have said wrong, or differently, or truer.
But the words that feel the loudest, that settle like iron through my body, are same books, same cookies, same Sadie.
Ten years ago, I told Milo to chase his dreams because I had dreams, too.
Somewhere along the way, mine stopped asking to be chased.
Or maybe I just stopped chasing them, and they grew tired waiting on me.