One Infinity Together (The Burrow #2)

Chapter 1

KIRA

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Do something that scares you every day.”

I’ve always disagreed with this advice. In my opinion, we should do something that scares us once a year. Maybe twice, if you really like the thrill. But every day?

Absolutely not.

Some people didn’t understand the value of routine.

For example, I didn’t have to tell Britney, the barista at The Burrow Café and one of my best friends, what I wanted in the morning.

She always had my chai latte prepared, which gave me extra time to chat with her before I had to go upstairs to work.

My 6:00 a.m. spin instructor saw me in class every day. She knew my favorite steps, and when I was low on energy, she knew to play an amped-up remix of a K-pop hit.

Sunday mornings found me at the Community Connections Center—a bright, bustling haven for underprivileged kids.

During the week, it offered tutoring and mentorship.

By the weekend, the space transformed into a creative playground.

I led the art class, where paint-splattered smocks and messy fingers were the norm.

One week, we tackled watercolors. The next, we dove into sketching or experimented with bold acrylics.

With fifteen kids in my class, there was a rhythm to it all, and each week they knew exactly what to expect.

Today was watercolor day, and even though I encouraged the kids to paint whatever they felt, I knew a handful of them would follow the theme I chose for myself.

I looked up at the bright sun for inspiration, admiring how it cast a glow across the calmer-than-usual Chicago streets. Maybe I’d paint the sky.

See? Routine provided inspiration.

Average days like these relaxed me. I liked knowing what was coming next and having the time to prepare for it.

My roommate once planned a surprise party for my birthday, and I screamed so loud our elderly neighbor came to the door, cane swinging over her head.

She stole the first slice of chocolate cake and casually asked us when the next party was every week since.

Walking down the street, I cradled the steaming hot chai latte in my hands, savoring the warmth against my palms. The rich aroma of spices and tea wafted up with each sip, mingling with the scent of blooming flowers from a nearby stand.

Other early risers bustled around me, along with the occasional honk of a horn.

I nodded a hello to a jogger who passed by and contemplated how long I could run without dying—I landed on three minutes max—when I heard it.

It was on a perfectly normal, ordinary day that I heard Landon’s voice.

Even across the busy intersection, filled with young fathers pushing babies in strollers and locals walking their dogs, his voice cut through straight to me.

It had a musical quality, a deep pitch that tickled my ears.

Back in school, it would soften to a hush whenever he whispered secrets to me, unaware that his voice carried just enough to make his dreams public knowledge.

And his laugh—bold and uncontainable—always burst out like a crescendo, bouncing off the walls and dragging everyone into its orbit.

Once, when we were sixteen, he read me a book of love poems. His Os dragged longer across his tongue than they were supposed to and he never took a breath where there was a comma, but it was the most romantic thing I had heard.

Later, it was me who dreamed about those poems, and how his Os didn’t drag when he said I love you.

All that’s to say I knew Landon’s voice as well, if not better, than I knew my own.

Even though I hadn’t heard it in seven years, it was powerful enough to freeze me in my steps.

It did more than that, honestly. My knees shook, sweat dripped down my spine, and my heart performed acrobatics I didn’t think it was capable of, dropping to my stomach, then launching into my throat.

This isn’t happening.

It couldn’t be. Something so life-altering was not happening on a day like today. I was tempted to ignore the voice entirely.

But…

I had to know. Like how I always had to check that the apartment cockroach underneath the shoe I threw was dead, I had to see Landon with my own eyes.

Through the strollers and the steady current of people, I spotted a familiar tousle of dark, curled hair.

He looked more sun-kissed than I remembered, like he’d been living outdoors and only remembered sunscreen when it was too late.

Walnut-colored eyes ignited as he rolled his eyes at whatever the person on the other side of the phone said.

He always had broad shoulders, but holy shit, he was buff now. No longer the scrawny kid I once played kickball with after school. His jeans rode low on his hips, and his white sneakers reminded me of the same fashion style he always had: comfort first.

What were the chances it wasn’t him?

Slim, but not zero. He could be a handsome stranger on the way to pick up breakfast for his girlfriend, which they’d eat in bed while watching reruns of New Girl. Lucky bitch.

A second later, his eyes connected with mine and the resulting zip down my body confirmed that it was, without a doubt, Landon Cole.

For anyone else, this would be like a scene in a romance movie, when the protagonist sees her lover and everything else fades away. But the sounds of the crosswalk and footsteps didn’t disappear because it was love that overcame me.

Face-to-face, I instinctively noticed other changes in his appearance.

His face was narrower, jaw sharper, with stubble coating it.

He grew into the nose that was once too big, but his lashes were still too long, blinking gently onto the peaks of his cheeks.

His mouth somehow looked softer and smoother.

Landon seemed flustered for a second, his lips moving without making a sound as he rushed through a goodbye with the person on the phone. He tucked his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and held up one finger. Wait for me.

I’d seen Landon say goodbye to a lot of people throughout our lives: his grandma, who passed away too soon, the fourth-grade teacher, who finally helped him understand multiplication, the friend he cursed out after they made fun of the shape of my eyes.

I never expected he would say goodbye to me, too. Especially so callously.

My heart retreated to its home in my chest, and I knew this was my moment to leave. Landon had just started to cross the street when I darted down the pavement, dropping my half-full latte in the nearby trash can.

“Kira!” he sounded closer than I expected. “Kira, wait!”

Turning a corner, I prayed that I lost him. More importantly, I prayed that the nostalgic pang I felt at hearing him say my name went away.

A hand wrapped around my elbow, stopping me. “Kira Park?”

Okay, so those prayers were going unanswered today.

“Yeah,” I said because what else do you say when someone drops your full name like a bomb? It wasn’t exactly a hey, how’ve you been?—but then again, Landon and I never really needed that. We’d known each other too long, skipped right over the awkward small talk the first time around.

“I can’t believe I ran into you.” He sounded genuinely happy to see me.

Truthfully, I couldn’t believe it either.

Just a few days ago, Macey had practically crash-landed into our apartment, breathless and wild-eyed, shouting my name like the place was on fire.

She’d been gone for three months on a road trip with her boyfriend and his sister, so I figured she was just excited to see me.

But then she grabbed my hands, squeezed hard, and said, “Landon is in town.”

Once the nausea had left, I was able to explain the situation logically. Landon was born and raised in Chicago. He may have left when we were eighteen, but his parents never did. It was inevitable that he’d come home to visit them. In fact, he’d probably been home multiple times, and I never knew.

Thankfully, Chicago was big.

Not big enough.

Landon was clearly waiting for me to say something, but I had no idea what to respond with. Instead, I glanced at the hand still on my elbow, the one I used to love holding for hours on end. He noticed my stare and slowly released me.

“Yeah,” I said. Again.

You know, like a parrot.

I finally took a glance at his face, where his eyes were warm and wide open.

He studied me just as much as I studied him, and I wondered what he noticed.

That I finally learned how to do makeup besides a copious amount of pink blush?

My fashion style had evolved, and I loved staying ahead of trends?

Or maybe he noticed the things that haven’t changed.

The diamond watch around my wrist that my parents got me for my sixteenth birthday? The mole on the underside of my jaw?

“How have you been?”

I blinked, suddenly wishing I hadn’t thrown away my latte. Maybe that was the moment from the movies destined for me: throwing a drink in a dumb man’s face.

“Fine.” And, because I was polite to people who don’t deserve it, I added, “How have you been?”

He didn’t answer immediately, probably because this was an incomprehensible moment. How have you been since you abandoned me, Landon? You look like you’ve been happy. Like you sailed off into the abyss after breaking my heart.

That was the piece that was incomprehensible to me. How the man I loved for years could leave me behind and now act like we were two acquaintances catching up at the dessert bar during a high school reunion.

“I just moved back to Chicago,” he replied.

“Like…permanently?”

“Yes, that’s what moving implies.”

He laughed softly, and something stuttered in my chest.

“Why would you do that?”

My voice came out icier than I even knew was possible, and he winced. Good.

Landon took a small step forward, and I took one back. He glanced down, and I would say he deflated, but his shoulders looked too muscular to be capable of that.