I shake my head. “Wow. How long have you been this rich?”

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“Three years,” she says. “Marshall sold a few apps he developed to Apple for a lot of money. Every six months, he creates updates and sells those, too.”

The coffee transitions into a slow drip, so I grab a mug and fill it up. “You want anything in yours?” I ask. “Or do you have people for that?”

She laughs. “Yes. I have you, and I’d like sugar, please.”

I stir some sugar into her cup and walk it over to her, then pour myself a cup. It grows quiet for a while as I mix in creamer, waiting for her to say something about me and Ryle. The conversation is inevitable.

“Can we just get the awkwardness out of the way?” she says.

I sigh, relieved. “Please. I hate this.” I face her and take a sip of my coffee. She sets hers down beside her and then grips the countertop.

“How did that even happen?”

I shake my head, trying my best not to smile like I’m love-struck. I don’t want her to think I’m weak, or a fool for giving in to him. “We met before I knew you.”

She tilts her head. “Wait,” she says. “Before we got to know each other better or before we knew each other at all?”

“At all,” I say. “We had a moment one night, about six months before I met you.”

“A moment?” she says. “As in . . . a one-night stand?”

“No,” I say. “No, we never even kissed until last night. I don’t know, I can’t explain it. We just had this sort of flirtation thing going on for a really long time and it finally came to a head last night. That’s all.”

She picks up her coffee again and takes a slow drink from it. She stares down at the floor for a while and I can’t help but notice she looks a little sad.

“Allysa? You’re not mad at me, are you?”

She immediately shakes her head. “No, Lily. I just . . .” She sets down her coffee cup again. “I just know my brother. And I love him. I really do. But . . .”

“But what?”

Allysa and I both look in the direction of the voice. Ryle is standing in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. He’s wearing a https://books.yossr.com/en

pair of gray jogging pants that are barely hanging on to his hips. No shirt. I’ll be adding this outfit to all the other ones I’ve catalogued in my head.

Ryle pushes off the door and makes his way into the kitchen. He walks over to me and takes my cup of coffee out of my hands. He leans in and kisses me on the forehead, then takes a drink as he leans against the counter.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says to Allysa. “By all means, continue your conversation.”

Allysa rolls her eyes and says, “Stop.”

He hands me back my cup of coffee and turns around to grab his own mug. He begins to pour from the pot. “It sounded to me like you were about to give Lily a warning. I’m just curious as to what you have to say.”

Allysa hops off the counter and carries her mug to the sink. “She’s my friend, Ryle. You don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships.” She washes out the mug and then leans her hip into the sink, facing us. “As her friend, I have the right to give her my opinion when it comes to the guys she dates. That’s what friends do.”

I’m suddenly feeling uncomfortable as the tension grows thicker between the two of them. Ryle doesn’t even take a drink of his coffee.

He walks toward Allysa and pours it out in the sink. He’s standing right in front of her, but she won’t even look at him. “Well, as your brother, I would hope you had a little more faith in me than you do.

That’s what siblings do.”

He walks out of the kitchen, shoving the door open. When he’s gone, Allysa takes a deep breath. She shakes her head and pulls her hands up to her face. “Sorry about that,” she says, forcing a smile. “I need to shower.”

“You don’t have people for that?”

She laughs as she exits the kitchen. I wash my mug in the sink and head back to Ryle’s bedroom. When I open the door, he’s sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t look up at me when I walk in and for a second, I think he might be mad at me, too.

But then he tosses his phone aside and leans back into the couch.

“Come here,” he says.

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He grabs my hand and pulls me down on top of him so that I’m straddling him. He brings my mouth to his and kisses me so hard, it makes me wonder if he’s trying to prove his sister wrong.

Ryle pulls away from my mouth and slowly rakes his eyes down my body. “I like you in my clothes.”

I smile. “Well I have to get to work, so unfortunately, I can’t keep them on.”

He brushes the hair from my face and says, “I have a really important surgery coming up that I need to prepare for. Which means I probably won’t see you for a few days.”

I try to hide my disappointment, but I have to get used to it if he really wants to try and make something work between us. He’s already warned me that he works too much. “I’m busy, too. Grand opening is on Friday.”

He says, “Oh, I’ll see you before Friday. Promise.”

I don’t hide my grin this time. “Okay.”

He kisses me again, this time for a solid minute. He starts to lower me to the couch, but then he shoves away from me and says. “Nope. I like you too much to make out with you.”

I lie down on the couch and watch him get dressed for work.

To my enjoyment, he puts on scrubs.

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Chapter Eight

“We need to talk,” Lucy says.

She’s sitting on the couch, mascara streaked down her cheeks.

Oh, shit.

I drop my purse and rush over to her. As soon as I sit down next to her, she starts crying.

“What’s wrong? Did Alex break up with you?”

She starts shaking her head and then I really start freaking out.

Please don’t say cancer. I grab her hand, and that’s when I see it. “Lucy!

You’re engaged?”

She nods. “I’m sorry. I know we still have six months left on the lease, but he wants me to move in with him.”

I stare at her for a minute. Is that why she’s crying? Because she wants out of her lease? She reaches for a tissue and starts dabbing at her eyes.

“I feel awful, Lily. You’re going to be all alone. I’m moving and you won’t have anyone.”

What the . . .

“Lucy? Um . . . I’ll be fine. I promise.”

She looks up at me with hope in her expression. “Really?”

Why in the world does she have this impression of me? I nod again. “Yes.

I’m not mad, I’m happy for you.”

She throws her arms around me and hugs me. “Oh, thank you, Lily!” She starts giggling in between bouts of tears. When she releases me, she jumps up and says, “I have to go tell Alex! He was so worried you wouldn’t let me out of my lease!” She grabs her purse and shoes and disappears out the front door.

I lie back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling. Did she just play me? I start laughing, because until this moment, I had no idea how much I’ve been waiting for this to happen. The whole place to myself!

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What’s even better, is when I do decide to have sex with Ryle, we can have it over here all the time and not have to worry about being quiet.

The last time I spoke to Ryle was when I left his apartment on Saturday. We agreed on a trial run. No commitments yet. Just a relationship feeler to see if it’s something we both want. It’s now Monday night and I’m a little disappointed I haven’t heard from him.

I gave him my phone number before we parted Saturday, but I don’t really know texting etiquette, especially for trial runs.

Regardless, I’m not texting him first.

I decide to occupy my time with teenage angst and Ellen DeGeneres, instead. I’m not about to wait around to be beckoned by a guy I’m not even having sex with. But I don’t know why I assume that reading about the first guy I had sex with will somehow get my mind off the guy I’m not having sex with.

Dear Ellen,

My great-grandfather’s name is Ellis. My entire life, I thought that was a really cool name for such an old guy. After he died, I was reading the obituary.

Would you believe that Ellis wasn’t even his real name? His real name was Levi Sampson and I had no idea.

I asked my grandmother where the name Ellis came from. She said his initials were L.S. and everyone called him by his initials for so long, they just started sounding them out over the years.

Which is why they referred to him as Ellis.

I was looking at your name just now and it made me think of that. Ellen. Is that even your real name? You could be just like my great-grandfather and using your initials as a disguise.

L.N.

I’m onto you, “Ellen.”

Speaking of names, do you think Atlas is a weird name? It is, isn’t it?

Yesterday while I was watching your show with him, I asked him where he got his name from. He said he didn’t know. Without even thinking, I told him he should ask his mother why she named him that. He just looked over at me for a second and said, “It’s a little too late for that.”

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I don’t know what he meant by that. I don’t know if his mom died, or if she gave him up for adoption. We’ve been friends for a few weeks now and I still don’t really know anything about him or why he doesn’t have a place to live. I would just ask him, but I’m not sure if he really trusts me yet. He seems to have trust issues and I guess I can’t blame him.

I’m worried about him. It started getting really cold this week and it’s supposed to be even colder next week. If he doesn’t have electricity, that means he doesn’t have a heater. I hope he at least has blankets. Do you know how awful I would feel if he froze to death? Pretty freaking awful, Ellen.

I’ll find some blankets this week and give them to him.

—Lily

Dear Ellen,

It’s going to start snowing soon so I decided to harvest my garden today. I had already pulled the radishes so I just wanted to put some mulch and compost down, which wouldn’t have taken me long, but Atlas insisted on helping.

He asked me a lot of questions about gardening and I liked that he seemed interested in my interests. I showed him how to lay the compost and mulch to cover the ground so that the snow wouldn’t do too much damage. My garden is small compared to most gardens. Maybe ten feet by twelve feet. But it’s all my dad will let me use of the backyard.

Atlas covered the whole thing while I sat cross-legged in the grass and watched him. I wasn’t being lazy, he just took over and wanted to do it so I let him. I can tell he’s a hard worker. I wonder if maybe keeping himself busy takes his mind off of things and that’s why he always wants to help me so much.

When he was finished, he walked over and dropped down next to me on the grass.

“What made you want to grow things?” he asked.

I glanced over at him and he was sitting cross-legged, looking at me curiously. I realized in that moment that he’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had, and we barely know anything about each other. I have friends at school, but they’re never allowed to come over to my house for obvious reasons. My mother is always worried something might happen with my father and word might get out about his temper. I also never really get to go to other people’s houses but I’m not sure why. Maybe my father doesn’t want me staying over at https://books.yossr.com/en

friends’ houses because I might witness how a good husband is supposed to treat his wife. He probably wants me to believe the way he treats my mother is normal.

Atlas is the first friend I’ve ever had that’s ever been inside my house. He’s also the first friend to know how much I like to garden. And now he’s the first friend to ever ask me why I garden.

I reached down and pulled at a weed and started tearing it into little pieces while I thought about his question.

“When I was ten, my mother got me a subscription to a website called Seeds Anonymous,” I said. “Every month I would get an unmarked package of seeds in the mail with instructions on how to plant them and care for them. I wouldn’t know what I was growing until it came up out of the ground. Every day after school I’d run straight to the backyard to see the progress. It gave me something to look forward to. Growing things felt like a reward.”

I could feel Atlas staring at me when he asked, “A reward for what?”

I shrugged. “For loving my plants the right way. Plants reward you based on the amount of love you show them. If you’re cruel to them or neglect them, they give you nothing. But if you care for them and love them the right way, they reward you with gifts in the form of vegetables or fruits or flowers.” I looked down at the weed I was tearing apart in my hands and there was barely an inch left of it. I wadded it up between my fingers and flicked it.

I didn’t want to look over at Atlas because I could still feel him staring, so instead, I just stared out over my mulch-covered garden.

“We’re just alike,” he said.

My eyes flicked to his. “Me and you?”

He shook his head. “No. Plants and humans. Plants need to be loved the right way in order to survive. So do humans. We rely on our parents from birth to love us enough to keep us alive. And if our parents show us the right kind of love, we turn out as better humans overall. But if we’re neglected . . .”

His voice grew quiet. Almost sad. He wiped his hands on his knees, trying to get some of the dirt off. “If we’re neglected, we end up homeless and incapable of anything meaningful.”

His words made my heart feel like the mulch he had just laid out. I didn’t even know what to say to that. Does he really think that about himself?

He acted like he was about to get up, but before he did I said his name.

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He sat back down in the grass. I pointed at the row of trees that lined the fence to the left of the yard. “You see that tree over there?” In the middle of the row of trees was an oak tree that stood taller than all the rest of the trees.

Atlas glanced over at it and dragged his eyes all the way up to the top of the tree.“It grew on its own,” I said. “Most plants do need a lot of care to survive.

But some things, like trees, are strong enough to do it by just relying on themselves and nobody else.”

I had no idea if he knew what I was trying to say without me coming out and saying it. But I just wanted him to know that I thought he was strong enough to survive whatever was going on in his life. I didn’t know him well, but I could tell he was resilient. Way more than I would ever be if I were in his situation.

His eyes were glued to the tree. It was a long time before he even blinked.

When he finally did, he just nodded a little and looked down at the grass. I thought with the way his mouth twitched that he was about to frown, but instead he actually smiled a little.

Seeing that smile made my heart feel like I had just startled it right out of a dead sleep.

“We’re just alike,” he said, repeating himself from earlier.

“Plants and humans?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. Me and you.”

I gasped, Ellen. I hope he didn’t notice, but I definitely sucked in a rush of air. Because what the heck was I supposed to say to that?

I just sat there, really awkward and quiet until he stood up. He turned like he was about to walk home.

“Atlas, wait.”

He glanced back down at me. I pointed at his hands and said, “You might want to take a quick shower before you go back. Compost is made from cow manure.”

He lifted his hands and looked down at them and then he looked down at his compost-covered clothes.

“Cow manure? Seriously?”

I grinned and nodded. He laughed a little and then before I knew it, he was on the ground next to me, wiping his hands all over me. We were both https://books.yossr.com/en

laughing as he reached to the bag next to us and stuck his hand inside, then smeared it down my arms.

Ellen, I am confident that the next sentence I am about to write has never been written or spoken aloud before.

When he was wiping that cow shit on me, it was quite possibly the most turned-on I have ever been.

After a few minutes, we were both lying on the ground, breathing hard, still laughing. He finally stood up and pulled me to my feet, knowing he couldn’t waste minutes if he wanted a shower before my parents came home.

Once he was in the shower, I washed my hands in the sink and just stood there, wondering what he meant earlier when he said we were just alike.

Was it a compliment? It sure felt like one. Was he saying that he thought I was strong, too? Because I certainly didn’t feel strong most of the time. In that moment, just thinking about him made me feel weak. I wondered what I was going to do about the way I was starting to feel when I was around him.

I also wondered how long I can keep hiding him from my parents. And how long he’ll be staying at that house. Winters in Maine are unbearably cold and he won’t survive without a heater.

Or blankets.

I gathered myself and went in search of all the spare blankets I could find. I was going to give them to him when he got out of the shower, but it was already five and he left in a hurry.

I’ll give them to him tomorrow.

—Lily

Dear Ellen,

Harry Connick Jr. is freaking hilarious. I’m not sure if you’ve ever had him on your show, because I hate to admit I’ve probably missed an episode or two since you’ve been on the air, but if you’ve never had him, you should. Actually, have you ever watched Late Night with Conan O’Brien ? He has this guy named Andy who sits on the couch for every episode. I wish Harry could sit on your couch for every episode. He just has the best one-liners, and the two of you toget.her would be epic.

I just want to say thank you. I know that you don’t have a show on TV for the sole purpose of making me laugh, but sometimes it feels that way. Sometimes my life just makes me feel like I’ve lost the ability to laugh or smile, but then I https://books.yossr.com/en

turn on your show and no matter what mood I’m in when I turn on the TV, I always feel better by the time your show is over.

So yeah. Thanks for that.

I know you probably want an update on Atlas, and I’ll give you one in a second. But first I need to tell you about what happened yesterday.

My mother is a teaching assistant over at Brimer Elementary. It’s a bit of a drive and that’s why she never gets home until around five o’clock. My dad works two miles from here, so he’s always home right after five.

We have a garage, but only one car can fit in it because of all my dad’s stuff. My dad keeps his car in the garage and my mom keeps her car in the driveway.

Well, yesterday my mom got home a little bit early. Atlas was still at the house and we were almost finished watching your show when I heard the garage door start to open. He ran out the back door and I rushed around the living room cleaning up our soda cans and snacks.

It had started snowing really hard around lunchtime yesterday and my mother had a lot of stuff to carry in, so she pulled up in the garage so she could bring it all in through the kitchen door. It was work stuff and a few groceries. I was helping her bring everything inside when my dad pulled up in the driveway. He started honking his horn because he was mad that my mom was parked in the garage. I guess he didn’t want to have to get out of his car in the snow. That’s the only thing I can think of that would make him want her to move her car right then and there, instead of just waiting until she was finished unloading it. Come to think of it, why does my father always get the garage? You would think a man wouldn’t want the woman he loves to get the shittier parking spot.

Anyway, my mother got that real scared look in her eye when he started honking and she told me to take all her stuff to the table while she moved her car out.

I’m not sure what happened when she went back outside. I heard a crash, and then I heard her scream, so I ran to the garage thinking maybe she had slipped on ice.

Ellen . . . I don’t even want to describe what happened next. I’m still a little shocked by the whole thing.

I opened the garage door and didn’t see my mom. I just saw my dad behind the car doing something. I took a step closer and realized why I couldn’t see my https://books.yossr.com/en

mom. He had her pushed down on the hood with his hands around her throat.

He was choking her, Ellen!

I might cry just thinking about it. He was yelling at her, staring down at her with so much hatred. Something about not having respect for how hard he works. I don’t know why he was mad, really, because all I could hear was her silence while she struggled to breathe. The next few minutes are a blur, but I know I started screaming at him. I jumped on his back and I was hitting him on the side of his head.

Then I wasn’t.

I don’t really know what happened, but I’m guessing he threw me off of him.

I just remembered one second I was on his back and the next second I was on the ground and my forehead hurt like you wouldn’t believe. My mom was sitting next to me, holding my head and telling me she was sorry. I looked around for my dad, but he wasn’t there. He’d gotten into his car and drove off after I hit my head.

My mom gave me a rag and told me to hold it to my head because it was bleeding and then she helped me to her car and drove me to the hospital. On the way there she only said one thing to me.

“When they ask you what happened, tell them you slipped on the ice.”

When she said that, I just looked out my window and started crying.

Because I thought for sure this was the final straw. That she would leave him now that he had hurt me. That was the moment I realized that she’d never leave him. I felt so defeated, but I was too scared to say anything to her about it. I had to get nine stitches in my forehead. I’m still not sure what I hit my head on, but it doesn’t really matter. The fact is, my father was the reason I was hurt and he didn’t even stay and check on me. He just left us both there on the floor of the garage and left.

I got home really late last night and fell right to sleep because they had given me some kind of pain pill.

This morning when I walked to the bus, I tried not to look directly at Atlas so he wouldn’t see my forehead. I had fixed my hair so that you couldn’t really see it and he didn’t notice right away. When we sat down next to each other on the bus, our hands touched when we were putting our stuff on the floor.

His hands were like ice, Ellen. Ice.

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That’s when I realized that I forgot to give him the blankets I had pulled out for him yesterday because my mother got home sooner than I expected. The incident in the garage sort of took over all my thoughts and I completely forgot about him. It had snowed and iced all night and he had been over there at that house in the dark all by himself. And now he was so cold, I didn’t know how he was even functioning.

I grabbed both of his hands in mine and said, “Atlas. You’re freezing.”

He didn’t say anything. I just started rubbing his hands in mine to warm them up. I laid my head on his shoulder and then I did the most embarrassing thing. I just started to cry. I don’t cry very much, but I was still so upset by what happened yesterday and then I was feeling so guilty that I forgot to take him blankets and it all hit me right there on the ride to school. He didn’t say anything. He just pulled his hands from mine so I’d stop rubbing them and then he laid his hands on top of mine. We just sat there like that the whole ride to school with our heads leaned together and his hands on top of mine.

I might have thought it was sweet if it wasn’t so sad.

On the ride home from school is when he finally noticed my head.

Honestly, I had forgotten about it. No one at school even asked me about it and when he sat down next to me on the bus, I wasn’t even trying to hide it with my hair. He looked right at me and said, “What happened to your head?”

I didn’t know what to say to him. I just touched it with my fingers and then looked out the window. I’ve been trying to get him to trust me more in hopes he would tell me why he doesn’t have a place to live, so I didn’t want to lie to him.

I just didn’t want to tell him the truth, either.

When the bus started moving, he said, “Yesterday after I left your house, I heard something going on over there. I heard yelling. I heard you scream, and then I saw your father leave. I was going to come check on you to make sure everything was okay, but as I was walking over I saw you leaving in the car with your mother.”

He must have heard the fight in the garage and saw her leaving to take me to get the stitches. I couldn’t believe he came over to our house. Do you know what my dad would do to him if he saw him wearing his clothes? I got so worried for him because I don’t think he knows what my father is capable of.

I looked at him and said, “Atlas, you can’t do that! You can’t come to my house when my parents are home!”

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Atlas got real quiet and then said, “I heard you scream, Lily.” He said it like me being in danger trumped anything else.

I felt bad because I know he was just trying to help, but that would have made things so much worse.

“I fell,” I said to him. As soon as I said it, I felt bad for lying. And to be honest, he looked a little disappointed in me, because I think we both knew in that moment that it wasn’t as simple as a fall.

Then he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and held out his arm.

Ellen, my stomach dropped. It was so bad. All over his arm he had these small scars. Some of the scars looked just like someone had stuck a cigarette to his arm and held it there.

He twisted his arm around so I could see that it was on the other side, too.

“I used to fall a lot, too, Lily.” Then he pulled his shirtsleeve down and didn’t say anything else.

For a second I wanted to tell him it wasn’t like that—that my dad never hurts me and that he was just trying to get me off of him. But then I realized I’d be using the same excuses my mom uses.

I felt a little embarrassed that he knows what goes on at my house. I spent the whole rest of the bus ride looking out the window because I didn’t know what to say to him.

When we got home, my mom’s car was there. In the driveway, of course. Not the garage.

That meant Atlas couldn’t come over and watch your show with me. I was gonna tell him I would bring him blankets later, but when he got off the bus he didn’t even tell me bye. He just started walking down the street like he was mad.

It’s dark now and I’m waiting on my parents to go to sleep. But in a little while I’m gonna take him some blankets.

—Lily

Dear Ellen,

I’m in way over my head.

Do you ever do things you know are wrong, but are somehow also right? I don’t know how to put it in simpler terms than that.

I mean, I’m only fifteen and I certainly shouldn’t have boys spending the night in my bedroom. But if a person knows someone needs a place to stay, isn’t https://books.yossr.com/en

it that person’s responsibility as a human to help them?

Last night after my parents went to sleep, I snuck out the back door to take Atlas those blankets. I took a flashlight with me because it was dark. It was still snowing really hard, so by the time I made it to that house, I was freezing.

I beat on the back door and as soon as he opened it, I pushed past him to get out of the cold.

Only . . . I didn’t get out of the cold. Somehow, it felt even colder inside that old house. I still had my flashlight on and I shined it around the living room and kitchen. There wasn’t anything in there, Ellen!

No couch, no chair, no mattress. I handed the blankets off to him and kept looking around me. There was a big hole in the roof over the kitchen and wind and snow were just pouring in. When I shined my light around the living room, I saw his stuff in one of the corners. His backpack, plus the backpack I’d given him. There was a little pile of other stuff I’d given him, like some of my dad’s clothes. And then there were two towels on the floor. One I guess he laid on and one he covered up with.

I put my hand over my mouth because I was so horrified. He’d been there living like that for weeks!

Atlas put his hand on my back and tried to walk me back out the door. “You shouldn’t be over here, Lily,” he said. “You could get in trouble.”

That’s when I grabbed his hand and said, “You shouldn’t be here, either.” I started to pull him out the front door with me, but he yanked his hand back.

That’s when I said, “You can sleep on my floor tonight. I’ll keep my bedroom door locked. You can’t sleep here, Atlas. It’s too cold and you’ll get pneumonia and die.”

He looked like he didn’t know what to do. I’m sure the thought of being caught in my bedroom was just as scary as getting pneumonia and dying. He looked back at his spot in the living room and then he just nodded his head once and said, “Okay.”

So you tell me, Ellen. Was I wrong letting him sleep in my room last night?

It doesn’t feel wrong. It felt like the right thing to do. But I sure would get in a lot of trouble if we had been caught. He slept on the floor, so it’s not like it was anything more than me just giving him somewhere warm to sleep.

I did learn a little more about him last night. After I snuck him in the back door and to my room, I locked my door and made a pallet for him on the floor next to my bed. I set the alarm for 6 a.m. and told him he’d have to get up and https://books.yossr.com/en

leave before my parents woke up, since sometimes my mom wakes me up in the mornings.

I crawled in my bed and scooted over to the edge of it so I could look down at him while we talked for a little while. I asked him how long he thought he might stay there and he said he didn’t know. That’s when I asked him how he ended up there. My lamp was still on, and we were whispering, but he got real quiet when I said that. He just stared up at me with his hands behind his head for a moment. Then he said, “I don’t know my real dad. He never had anything to do with me. It’s always just been me and my mom, but she got remarried about five years ago to a guy who never really liked me much. We fought a lot. When I turned eighteen a few months ago, we got in a big fight and he kicked me out of the house.”

He took a deep breath like he didn’t want to tell me any more. But then he started talking again. “I’ve been staying with a friend of mine and his family since then, but his dad got a transfer to Colorado and they moved. They couldn’t take me with them, of course. His parents were just being nice by letting me stay with them and I knew that, so I told them I talked to my mom and that I was moving back home. The day they left, I didn’t have anywhere to go. So I went back home and told my mom I’d like to move back in until I graduated. She wouldn’t let me. Said it would upset my stepfather.”

He turned his head and looked at the wall. “So I just wandered around for a few days until I saw that house. Figured I would just stay there until something better came along or until I graduated. I’m signed up to go to the Marines come May, so I’m just trying to hang on until then.”

May is six months away, Ellen. Six.

I had tears in my eyes when he finished telling me all that. I asked him why he didn’t just ask someone if they could help him. He said he tried, but it’s harder for an adult than a kid, and he’s already eighteen. He said someone gave him a number for some shelters who might help him. There were three shelters in a twenty-mile radius of our town, but two of them were for battered women. The other one was a homeless shelter, but they only had a few beds and it was too far away for him to walk there if he wanted to go to school every day.

Plus, you have to wait in a long line to try and get a bed. He said he tried it once, but he feels safer in that old house than he did at the shelter.

Like the naïve girl I am when it comes to situations like his, I said, “But aren’t there other options? Can’t you just tell the school counselor what your https://books.yossr.com/en

mom did?”

He shook his head and said he’s too old for foster care. He’s eighteen, so his mother can’t get in trouble for not allowing him to go back home. He said he called about getting food stamps last week, but he didn’t have a ride or money to get to his appointment. Not to mention he doesn’t have a car, so he can’t very well find a job. He said he’s been looking, though. After he leaves my house in the afternoons he goes and applies at places, but he doesn’t have an address or a phone number to put down on the applications so that makes it harder for him.

I swear, Ellen, every question I threw at him, he had an answer for. It’s like he’s tried everything not to be stuck in the situation he’s in, but there isn’t enough help out there for people like him. I got so mad at his whole situation, I told him he was crazy for wanting to go into the military. I wasn’t so much whispering when I said, “Why in the heck would you want to serve a country that has allowed you to end up in this kind of situation?”

You know what he said next, Ellen? His eyes grew sad and he said, “It’s not this country’s fault my mother doesn’t give a shit about me.” Then he reached up and turned off my lamp. “Goodnight, Lily,” he said.

I didn’t sleep much after that. I was too mad. I’m not even sure who I’m mad at. I just kept thinking about our country and the whole world and how screwed up it is that people don’t do more for each other. I don’t know when humans started only looking out for themselves. Maybe it’s always been this way. It made me wonder how many people out there were just like Atlas. It made me wonder if there were other kids at our school who might be homeless.

I go to school every day and internally complain about it most of the time, but I’ve never once thought that school might be the only home some kids have.

It’s the only place Atlas can go and know he’ll have food.

I’ll never be able to respect rich people now, knowing they willingly choose to spend their money on materialistic things rather than using it to help other people.

No offense, Ellen. I know you’re rich, but I guess I’m not referring to people like you. I’ve seen all the stuff you’ve done for others on your show and all the charities you support. But I know there are a lot of rich people out there who are selfish. Hell, there are even selfish poor people. And selfish middle-class people.

Look at my parents. We aren’t rich, but we certainly aren’t too poor to help other people. Yet, I don’t think my dad has ever done anything for a charity.

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I remember one time we were walking into a grocery store and an old man was ringing a bell for the Salvation Army. I asked my dad if we could give him some money and he told me no, that he works hard for his money and he wasn’t about to let me give it away. He said it isn’t his fault that other people don’t want to work. He spent the whole time we were in the grocery store telling me about how people take advantage of the government and until the government stops helping those people by giving them handouts, the problem won’t ever go away.

Ellen, I believed him. That was three years ago and all this time I thought homeless people were homeless because they were lazy or drug addicts or just didn’t want to work like other people. But now I know that’s not true. Sure, some of what he said was true to an extent, but he was using the worst-case scenarios. Not everyone is homeless because they choose to be. They’re homeless because there isn’t enough help to go around.

And people like my father are the problem. Instead of helping others, people use the worst-case scenarios to excuse their own selfishness and greed.

I’ll never be like that. I swear to you, when I grow up, I’m going to do everything I can to help other people. I’ll be like you, Ellen. Just probably not as rich.—Lily

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Chapter Nine

I drop the journal on my chest. I’m surprised to feel tears running down my cheeks. Every time I pick up this journal I think I’ll be fine

—that it all happened so long ago and I won’t still feel what I felt back then.

I’m such a sap. It gives me this longing to hug so many people from my past. Especially my mother because for the past year, I haven’t really thought about everything she had to go through before my father died. I know it probably still hurts her.

I grab my phone to call her and look at the screen. There are four missed texts from Ryle. My heart immediately skips. I can’t believe I had it on silent! Then I roll my eyes, annoyed with myself, because I should not be this excited.

Ryle: Are you asleep?

Ryle: I guess so.

Ryle: Lily . . .

Ryle. : (

The sad face was sent ten minutes ago. I hit Reply and type, “Nope.

Not asleep.” About ten seconds later, I get another text.

Ryle: Good. I’m walking up your stairs right now. Be there in twenty seconds.

I grin and jump out of bed. I go to the bathroom and check my face. Good enough. I run to the front door and open it as soon as Ryle makes it up the stairwell. He practically drags himself up the top step, and then stops to rest when he finally reaches my door. He looks so tired. His eyes are red and there are dark circles under them. His arms slip around my waist and he pulls me to him, burying his face in my neck.

“You smell so good,” he says.

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I pull him inside the apartment. “Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat.”

He shakes his head as he wrestles out of his jacket, so I skip the kitchen and head for the bedroom. He follows me, and then throws his jacket over the back of the chair. He kicks off his shoes and pushes them against the wall.

He’s wearing scrubs.

“You look exhausted,” I say.

He smiles and puts his hands on my hips. “I am. I just assisted in an eighteen-hour surgery.” He bends down and kisses the heart tattoo on my collarbone.

No wonder he’s exhausted. “How is that even possible?” I say.

“Eighteen hours?”

He nods and then walks me to the side of the bed where he pulls me down next to him. We adjust ourselves until we’re facing each other, sharing a pillow. “Yeah, but it was amazing. Groundbreaking.

They’ll write about it in medical journals, and I got to be there, so I’m not complaining. I’m just really tired.”

I lean in and give him a peck on the mouth. He brings his hand to the side of my head and pulls back. “I know you’re probably ready to have hot, sweaty sex, but I don’t have the energy tonight. I’m sorry.

But I’ve missed you and for some reason I sleep better when I sleep next to you. Is it okay that I’m here?”

I smile. “It’s more than okay.”

He leans in and kisses my forehead. He grabs my hand and then holds it between us on the pillow. His eyes close, but I keep mine open and stare at him. He has the type of face that people shy away from, because you could get lost in it. And to think, I get to look at this face all the time. I don’t have to be modest and look away, because he’s mine.

Maybe.

This is a trial run. I have to remember that.

After a minute, he releases my hand and begins to flex his fingers. I look down at his hand and wonder what that must be like . . . to have to stand for so long and use your fine motor skills for eighteen hours https://books.yossr.com/en

straight. I can’t think of much else that would match that level of exhaustion.

I slide out of the bed and retrieve some lotion out of my bathroom.

I go back to the bed and sit cross-legged next to him. I squirt some lotion on my hand and then pull his arm to my lap. He opens his eyes and looks up at me.

“What are you doing?” he mumbles.

“Shh. Go back to sleep,” I say. I press my thumbs into the palm of his hand and rotate them upward and then out. His eyes fall shut and he groans into the pillow. I continue massaging his hand for about five minutes before switching to his other hand. He keeps his eyes closed the whole time. When I’m finished with his hands, I roll him onto his stomach and straddle his back. He assists me in pulling off his shirt, but his arms are like noodles.

I massage his shoulders and his neck and his back and his arms.

When I’m finished, I roll off of him and lie down beside him.

I’m running my fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp when he opens his eyes. “Lily?” he whispers, looking at me sincerely.

“You just might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Those words wrap around me like a warm blanket. I don’t know what to say in response. He lifts a hand and gently cups my cheek, and I feel his stare deep in my stomach. Slowly, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. I expect a peck, but he doesn’t pull back. The tip of his tongue slides across my lips, parting them softly. His mouth is so warm, I moan as his kiss grows deeper.

He rolls me onto my back and then drags his hand down my body, straight to my hip. He moves closer, sliding his hand down my thigh.

He pushes against me and a surge of heat shoots inside me. I grab a fistful of his hair and whisper against his mouth. “I think we’ve waited long enough. I would very much like for you to fuck me now.”

He practically growls with a renewed sense of energy and begins to pull my shirt off. It becomes an interlude of hands and moans and tongues and sweat. I feel like this is the first time I’ve ever been touched by a man. The few who came before him were all boys—

nervous hands and timid mouths. But Ryle is all confidence. He knows exactly where to touch me and exactly how to kiss me.

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The only time he’s not giving my body his undivided attention is when he reaches to the floor and fishes a condom out of his wallet.

Once he’s back under the covers and the condom is in place, he doesn’t even hesitate. He takes me brazenly in one swift thrust and I gasp into his mouth, every muscle in me tensing.

His mouth is fierce and needy, kissing me everywhere he can reach.

I grow so dizzy, I can do nothing but succumb to him. He’s unapologetic in the way he fucks me. His hand comes between my headboard and the top of my head as he pushes harder and harder, the bed crashing against the wall with every push.

My fingernails dig into the skin of his back as he buries his face against my neck.

“Ryle,” I whisper.

“Oh, God,” I say.

“Ryle!” I scream.

And then I bite down on his shoulder to muffle every sound that comes after it. My whole body feels it—from my head to my toes and back up again.

I’m afraid I might literally pass out for a moment, so I tighten my legs around him and he tenses. “Jesus, Lily.” His body ripples with tremors, and he shoves against me one last time. He groans, stilling himself on top of me. His body jerks with his release and my head falls back against the pillow.

It’s a full minute before either of us is able to move. And even then, we choose not to. He presses his face into the pillow and lets out a deep sigh. “I can’t . . .” He pulls back and looks down at me. His eyes are full of something . . . I don’t know what. He presses his lips to mine and then says, “You were so right.”

“About what?”

He slowly pulls out of me, coming down on his forearms. “You warned me. You said one time with you wouldn’t be enough. You said you were like a drug. But you failed to tell me you were the most addictive kind.”

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Chapter Ten

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Allysa nods as she perfects a bouquet of flowers about to go out for delivery. We’re three days away from our grand opening, and it just keeps getting busier by the day.

“What is it?” Allysa asks, facing me. She leans into the counter and starts picking at her fingernails.

“You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to,” I warn.

“Well I can’t answer it if you don’t ask it.”

That’s a good point. “Do you and Marshall donate to charity?”

Confusion crosses her face and she says, “Yeah. Why?”

I shrug. “I was just curious. I wouldn’t judge you or anything. I’ve just been thinking lately about how I might like to start a charity.”

“What kind of charity?” she asks. “We donate to a few different ones now that we have money, but my favorite is this one we got involved with last year. They build schools in other countries. We’ve funded three new constructions in the past year alone.”

I knew I liked her for a reason.

“I don’t have that kind of money, obviously, but I’d like to do something. I just don’t know what yet.”

“Let’s get through this grand opening first and then you can start thinking about philanthropy. One dream at a time, Lily.” She walks around the counter and grabs the trash can. I watch as she pulls the full bag out of it and ties it in a knot. It makes me wonder why—if she has people for everything—she would even want a job where she had to take out the trash and get her hands dirty.

“Why do you work here?” I ask her.

She glances up at me and smiles. “Because I like you,” she says. But then I notice the smile completely leave her eyes right before she https://books.yossr.com/en

turns and walks toward the back to throw out the trash. When she comes back, I’m still watching her curiously. I say it again.

“Allysa? Why do you work here?”

She stops what she’s doing and takes in a slow breath like maybe she’s contemplating being honest with me. She walks back to the counter and leans against it, crossing her feet at her ankles.

“Because,” she says, looking down at her feet. “I can’t get pregnant.

We’ve been trying for two years but nothing has worked. I was tired of sitting at home crying all the time, so I decided I should find something to keep my mind busy.” She stands up straight and wipes her hands across her jeans. “And you, Lily Bloom, are keeping me very busy.” She turns and starts messing with the same bouquet of flowers again. She’s been perfecting them for half an hour. She picks up a card and stuffs it in the flowers, and then turns around and hands me the vase. “These are for you, by the way.”

It’s obvious Allysa wants to change the subject, so I take the flowers from her. “What do you mean?”

She rolls her eyes and waves me off to my office. “It’s on the card.

Go read it.”

I can tell by her annoyed reaction that they’re from Ryle. I grin and run to my office. I take a seat at my desk and pull out the card.

Lily,I’m having serious withdrawals.

—Ryle

I smile and put the card back in the envelope. I grab my phone and snap a picture of me holding the flowers with my tongue sticking out. I text it to Ryle.

Me: I tried to warn you.

He immediately starts texting me back. I watch anxiously as the dots on my phone move back and forth.

Ryle: I need my next fix. I’ll be finished here in about thirty minutes. Can I take you to dinner?

Me: Can’t. Mom wants me to try a new restaurant with her tonight. She’s an obnoxious foodie. : (

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Ryle: I like food. I eat food. Where are you taking her?

Me: A place called Bib’s on Marketson.

Ryle: Is there room for one more?

I stare at his text for a moment. He wants to meet my mother? We aren’t even officially dating. I mean . . . I don’t care if he meets my mother. She would love him. But he went from not wanting anything to do with relationships, to possibly agreeing to test-drive one, to meeting the parents, all within five days? Good God. I really am a drug.

Me: Sure. Meet us there in half an hour.

I walk out of my office and straight up to Allysa. I hold my phone in front of her face. “He wants to meet my mother.”

“Who?”

“Ryle.”

“My brother?” she says, looking as shocked as I feel.

I nod. “Your brother. My mother.”

She grabs my phone and looks at the texts. “Huh. That’s so weird.”

I take my phone from her hands. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She laughs and says, “You know what I mean. It’s Ryle we’re talking about here. He’s never, in the history of being Ryle Kincaid, met a girl’s parents.”

Of course hearing her say that makes me smile, but then I wonder if maybe he’s doing this just to please me. If maybe he’s doing things he doesn’t really want to do just because he knows I want a relationship.

And then I smile even bigger, because isn’t that what it’s all about?

Sacrificing for the person you like so that you can see them happy?

“Your brother must really like me,” I say teasingly. I look back up at Allysa, expecting her to laugh, but there’s a solemn look on her face.

She nods and says, “Yeah. I’m afraid he does.” She grabs her purse from beneath the counter and says, “I’m gonna head out now. Let me know how it goes, okay?” She moves past me and I watch her as she makes her way out the door, and then I just stare at the door for a long time.

It bothers me that she doesn’t seem excited about the prospect of me dating Ryle. It makes me wonder if that has more to do with her https://books.yossr.com/en

feelings toward me or her feelings toward him.

• • •

Twenty minutes later, I flip the sign to closed. Just a few more days. I lock the door and walk to my car, but stop short when I see someone leaning against it. It takes me a moment to recognize him. He’s facing the other direction, talking on his cell phone.

I thought he was meeting me at the restaurant, but okay.

The horn beeps on my car when I hit the Unlock button, and Ryle spins around. He grins when he sees me. “Yes, I agree,” he says into the phone. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me against him, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he says. “Something really important just came up.”

He hangs up the phone and slides it into his pocket, then he kisses me. It’s not a hello kiss. It’s an I’ve-been-thinking-about-you-nonstop kiss. He wraps both arms around me and spins me until I’m backed up against my car, where he continues to kiss me until I start to feel dizzy again. When he pulls back, he’s looking down at me appreciatively.

“You know which part of you drives me the craziest?” He brings his fingers to my mouth and traces my smile. “These,” he says. “Your lips.

I love how they’re as red as your hair and you don’t even have to wear lipstick.”

I grin and kiss his fingers. “I better watch you around my mom, then, because everyone says we have the same mouth.”

He pauses his fingers against my lips and he stops smiling. “Lily.

Just . . . no.”

I laugh and open my door. “Are we taking separate cars?”

He pulls the door open for me the rest of the way and says, “I took an Uber here from work. We’ll ride together.”

• • •

My mother is already seated at a table when we arrive. Her back is to the door as I lead the way.

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I’m instantly impressed by the restaurant. My eyes are drawn to the warm, neutral colors painted on the walls and the almost full-sized tree in the middle of the restaurant. It looks like it’s growing straight out of the floor, almost as if the entire restaurant was designed around the tree. Ryle follows closely behind me with his hand on my lower back. Once we reach the table, I begin to pull off my jacket.

“Hey, Mom.”

She looks up from her phone and says, “Oh, hey, honey.” She drops her phone in her purse and waves her hand around the restaurant. “I already love it. Look at the lighting,” she says, pointing up. “The fixtures look like something you’d grow in one of your gardens.” That’s when she notices Ryle, who is standing patiently next to me as I slide into the booth. My mother smiles at him and says,

“We’ll take two waters for now, please.”

My eyes dart to Ryle and then back to my mother. “Mom. He’s with me. He’s not the waiter.”

She looks up at Ryle again with confusion. He just smiles and reaches out his hand. “Honest mistake, ma’am. I’m Ryle Kincaid.”

She returns the handshake, looking back and forth between us. He releases her hand and slides into the booth. She looks a little flustered when she finally says, “Jenny Bloom. Nice to meet you.” She places her attention back on me and raises an eyebrow. “A friend of yours, Lily?”

I can’t believe I’m not better prepared for this moment. What in the heck do I introduce him as? My trial run? I can’t say boyfriend, but I can’t very well say friend. Prospect seems a little dated.

Ryle notices my pause, so he puts his hand on my knee and squeezes reassuringly. “My sister works for Lily,” he says. “Have you met her? Allysa?”

My mother leans forward in her booth and says, “Oh! Yes! Of course. You two look so much alike now that you mention it,” she says.

“It’s the eyes, I think. And the mouth.”

He nods. “We both favor our mother.”

My mother smiles at me. “People always say they think Lily favors me.”

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“Yes,” he says. “Identical mouths. Uncanny.” Ryle squeezes my knee under the table again while I try and suppress my laughter. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I need to head to the gentlemen’s room.” He leans in and kisses me on the side of the head before standing. “If the waiter comes, I’ll just take water.”

My mother’s eyes follow Ryle as he walks away, and then she slowly turns back to me. She points at me and then to his empty seat. “How come I haven’t heard about this guy?”

I smile a little. “Things are kind of . . . it’s not really . . .” I have no idea how to explain our situation to my mother. “He works a lot, so we haven’t really spent that much time together. At all. This is actually the first time we’ve been to dinner together.”

My mother raises an eyebrow. “Really?” she says, leaning back in her seat. “He sure doesn’t treat it like that. I mean—he seems comfortably affectionate with you. Not normal behavior with someone you’ve just met.”

“We didn’t just meet,” I say. “It’s been almost a year since the first time I met him. And we’ve spent time together, just not on a date. He works a lot.”

“Where does he work?”

“Massachusetts General Hospital.”

My mother leans forward and her eyes practically bulge from her head. “Lily!” she hisses. “He’s a doctor?”

I nod, suppressing my grin. “A neurosurgeon.”

“Can I get you ladies something to drink?” a waiter asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll take three . . .”

And then I clamp my mouth shut.

I stare at the waiter and the waiter stares back at me. My heart is in my throat. I can’t remember how to speak.

“Lily?” my mother says. She flicks her hand toward the waiter. “He’s waiting for your drink order.”

I shake my head and begin to stutter. “I’ll . . . um . . .”

“Three waters,” my mother says, interrupting my fumbled words.

The waiter snaps out of his trance long enough to tap his pencil on his pad of paper.

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“Three waters,” he says. “Got it.” He turns and walks away, but I watch as he glances back at me before pushing through the doors to the kitchen.

My mother leans forward and says, “What in the world is wrong with you?”

I point over my shoulder. “The waiter,” I say, shaking my head. “He looked exactly like . . .”

I’m about to say, “Atlas Corrigan,” when Ryle walks up and slides back into the seat.

He glances back and forth between us. “What’d I miss?”

I swallow hard, shaking my head. Surely that wasn’t really Atlas. But those eyes—his mouth. I know it’s been years since I saw him, but I’ll never forget what he looked like. It had to be him. I know it was and I know he recognized me, too, because the second our eyes met . . . it looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Lily?” Ryle says, squeezing my hand. “You okay?”

I nod and force a smile, then clear my throat. “Yep. We were just talking about you,” I say, glancing back at my mother. “Ryle assisted in an eighteen-hour surgery this week.”

My mother leans forward with interest. Ryle begins to tell her all about the surgery. Our water arrives, but it’s a different waiter this time. He asks if we’ve had a chance to go over the menu and then tells us the chef’s specials. The three of us order our food and I’m doing everything I can to focus, but my attention is all over the restaurant looking for Atlas. I need to regroup. After a few minutes, I lean over to Ryle. “I need to run to the restroom.”

He stands up to let me out and my eyes are scanning the face of every waiter as I make my way across the room. I push through the door to the hallway that leads to the restrooms. As soon as I’m alone, my back meets the wall of the hallway. I lean forward and release a huge breath. I decide to take a moment and regain my composure before heading back out there. I bring my hands up to my forehead and close my eyes.

For nine years I’ve wondered what happened to him. Years.

“Lily?”

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I glance up and suck in a breath. He’s standing at the end of the hallway like a ghost straight out of the past. My eyes travel to his feet to make sure he’s not suspended in the air.

He isn’t. He’s real, and he’s standing right in front of me.

I stay pressed against the wall, not sure what to say to him. “Atlas?”

As soon as I say his name, he blows out a quick breath of relief and then takes three huge steps forward. I catch myself doing the same.

We meet in the middle and throw our arms around each other. “Holy shit,” he says, holding me in a tight embrace.

I nod. “Yeah. Holy shit.”

He puts his hands on my shoulders and takes a step back to look at me. “You haven’t changed at all.”

I cover my mouth with my hand, still in shock, and give him the once-over. His face looks the same, but he’s no longer the scrawny teenager I remember. “I can’t say the same for you.”

He looks down at himself and laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “Eight years in the military will do that to ya.”

We’re both in shock, so nothing is said right after that. We just keep shaking our heads in disbelief. He laughs and then I laugh.

Finally, he releases my shoulders and folds his arms over his chest.

“What brings you to Boston?” he asks.

He says it so casually, and I’m thankful for that. Maybe he doesn’t remember our conversation all those years ago about Boston, which would save me a lot of embarrassment.

“I live here,” I say, forcing my answer to sound as casual as his question. “I own a flower shop over on Park Plaza.”

He smiles knowingly, like it doesn’t at all surprise him. I glance toward the door, knowing I should get back out there. He notices and then takes another step back. He holds my gaze for a moment and it gets really quiet. Way too quiet. There’s so much to say but neither of us even knows where to start. The smile leaves his eyes for a moment and then he motions toward the door. “You should probably get back to your company,” he says. “I’ll look you up sometime. You said Park Plaza, right?”

I nod.

He nods.

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The door swings open and a woman walks in holding a toddler.

She moves between us, which puts even more distance between us. I take a step toward the door, but he remains in the same spot. Before I walk out, I turn back to him and smile. “It was really good to see you, Atlas.”

He smiles a little, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Yeah. You too, Lily.”

• • •

I’m mostly quiet for the rest of the meal. I’m not sure Ryle or my mother even notice, though, because she’s having no issue firing question after question at him. He takes it like a champ. He’s very charming with my mother in all the right ways.

Unexpectedly running into Atlas tonight put such a wrinkle in my emotions, but by the end of dinner, Ryle has smoothed them back out again.

My mother takes her napkin and wipes her mouth, then points at me. “New favorite restaurant,” she says. “Incredible.”

Ryle nods. “I agree. I need to bring Allysa here. She loves trying new restaurants.”

The food really is good, but the last thing I need is for either of these two to want to come back here. “It was okay,” I say.

He pays for our meals, of course, and then insists we walk my mother to her car. I can already tell she’ll be calling me about him tonight, simply by the prideful look on her face.

Once she’s gone, Ryle walks me to my car.

“I requested an Uber so you wouldn’t have to go out of your way to take me home. We have approximately . . .” He looks down at his phone. “One and a half minutes to make out.”

I laugh. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck first, and then my cheek. “I would invite myself over, but I have an early surgery tomorrow and I’m sure my patient would appreciate it if I didn’t spend the majority of the night inside you.”

I kiss him back, both disappointed and relieved he’s not coming over. “I have a grand opening in a few days. I should probably sleep, too.”

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“When’s your next day off?” he says.

“Never. When’s yours?”

“Never.”

I shake my head. “We’re doomed. There’s just too much drive and success between the two of us.”

“That means the honeymoon phase will last until we’re eighty,” he says. “I’ll come to your grand opening Friday and then the four of us will go out and celebrate.” A car pulls up beside us and he wraps his hand in my hair and kisses me goodbye. “Your mother is wonderful, by the way. Thank you for letting me come to dinner.”

He backs away and climbs inside the car. I watch as it pulls out of the parking lot.

I have a really good feeling about that man.

I smile and turn toward my car, but throw a hand up to my chest and gasp when I see him.

Atlas is standing at the rear of my car.

“Sorry. Wasn’t trying to scare you.”

I blow out a breath. “Well, you did.” I lean against the car and Atlas stays where he is, three feet away from me. He looks out at the street.

“So? Who’s the lucky guy?”

“He’s . . .” My voice falters. This is all so weird. My chest is still constricted and my stomach is flipping, and I can’t tell if it’s leftover nerves from kissing Ryle or if it’s the presence of Atlas. “His name is Ryle. We met about a year ago.”

I instantly regret saying we met that long ago. It makes it sound like Ryle and I have been dating that long and we aren’t even officially dating. “What about you? Married? Have a girlfriend?”

I’m not sure if I’m asking to extend the conversation he started, or if I’m genuinely curious.

“I do, actually. Her name is Cassie. We’ve been together almost a year now.”

Heartburn. I think I have heartburn. A year? I place my hand on my chest and nod. “That’s good. You seem happy.”

Does he seem happy? I have no idea.

“Yeah. Well . . . I’m really glad I got to see you, Lily.” He turns around to walk away, but then spins and faces me again, his hands https://books.yossr.com/en

shoved in his back pockets. “I will say . . . I kind of wish this could have happened a year ago.”

I wince at his words, trying not to let them penetrate. He turns and walks back toward the restaurant.

I fumble with my keys and hit the button to unlock the car. I slide in and pull the door shut, gripping the steering wheel. For whatever reason, a huge tear falls down my cheek. A huge, pathetic, what-the-hell-is-this-wetness tear. I swipe at it and push the button to start my car.I didn’t expect to feel this much hurt after seeing him.

But it’s good. This happened for a reason. My heart needed closure so I can give it to Ryle, but maybe I couldn’t do that until this happened.

This is good.

Yes, I’m crying.

But it’ll feel better. This is just human nature, healing an old wound to prepare for a fresh new layer.

That’s all.

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Chapter Eleven

I curl up in my bed and stare at it.

I’m almost finished with it. There aren’t very many more entries.

I pick up the journal and place it on the pillow beside me.

“I’m not going to read you,” I whisper.

Although, if I read what’s left, I’ll be finished. Having seen Atlas tonight and knowing he has a girlfriend and a job and more than likely a home is enough closure I need on that chapter. And if I just finish the damn journal, I can put it back in the shoebox and never have to open it again.

I finally pick it up and roll onto my back. “Ellen DeGeneres, you are such a bitch.”

Dear Ellen,

“Just keep swimming.”

Recognize that quote, Ellen? It’s what Dory says to Marlin in Finding Nemo.

“Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.”

I’m not a huge fan of cartoons, but I’ll give you props for that one. I like cartoons that can make you laugh, but also make you feel something. After today, I think that’s my favorite cartoon. Because I’ve been feeling like drowning lately, and sometimes people need a reminder that they just need to keep swimming.

Atlas got sick. Like really sick.

He’s been crawling through my window and sleeping on the floor for a few nights in a row now, but last night, I knew something was wrong as soon as I looked at him. It was a Sunday, so I hadn’t seen him since the night before, but he looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin was pale, and even though it was cold, his hair was sweaty. I didn’t even ask if he was feeling okay, I https://books.yossr.com/en

already knew he wasn’t. I put my hand on his forehead and he was so hot, I almost yelled for my mother.

He said, “I’ll be fine, Lily,” and then he started to make his pallet on the floor. I told him to wait there and then I went to the kitchen and poured him a glass of water. I found some medicine in the cabinet. It was flu medicine and I wasn’t even sure if that’s what was wrong with him, but I made him take some anyway.

He laid there on the floor, curled up into a ball, when, about half an hour later he said, “Lily? I think I’m gonna need a trash can.”

I jumped up and grabbed the trash can from under my desk and knelt down in front of him. As soon as I set it down, he hunched over it and started throwing up.

God, I felt bad for him. Being so sick and not having a bathroom or a bed or a house or a mother. All he had was me and I didn’t even know what to do for him.

When he was finished, I made him drink some water and then I told him to get on the bed. He refused, but I wasn’t having it. I put the trash can on the floor next to the bed and made him move to the bed.

He was so hot and shaking so bad I was just scared to leave him on the floor. I laid down next to him and every hour for the next six hours he continued getting sick. I kept having to take the trash can to the bathroom to empty it out. I’m not gonna lie, it was gross. The grossest night I’ve ever had, but what else could I do? He needed me to help him and I was all he had.

When it came time for him to leave my room this morning, I told him to go back to his house and I’d be over to check on him before school. I’m surprised he even had the energy to crawl out of my window. I left the trash can next to my bed and waited for my mom to come wake me up. When she did, she saw the trash can and immediately held her hand to my forehead. “Lily, are you okay?”

I groaned and shook my head. “No. I was up all night sick. I think it’s over now, but I haven’t slept.”

She picked up the trash can and told me to stay in bed, that she’d call the school and let them know I wasn’t coming. After she left for work, I went and got Atlas and told him he could stay with me at the house all day. He was still getting sick, so I let him use my room to sleep. I’d check on him every half hour or so and finally around lunch he stopped throwing up. He went and took a shower and then I made him some soup.

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He was too tired to even eat it. I got a blanket and we both sat down on the couch and covered up together. I don’t know when I started feeling comfortable enough to snuggle up to him, but it just felt right. A few minutes later, he leaned over a little and pressed his lips against my collarbone, right between my shoulder and my neck. It was a quick kiss and I don’t think he meant for it to be romantic. It was more like a thank-you gesture, without using actual words.

But it made me feel all kinds of things. It’s been a few hours now and I keep touching that spot with my fingers because I can still feel it.

I know it was probably the worst day of his life, Ellen. But it was one of my favorites.

I feel really bad about that.

We watched Finding Nemo and when that part came up where Marlin was looking for Nemo and he was feeling really defeated, Dory said to him,

“When life gets you down do you wanna know what you’ve gotta do? . . . Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.”

Atlas grabbed my hand when Dory said that. He didn’t hold it like a boyfriend holds his girlfriend’s hand. He squeezed it, like he was saying that was us. He was Marlin and I was Dory, and I was helping him swim.

“Just keep swimming,” I whispered to him.

—Lily

Dear Ellen,

I’m scared. So scared.

I like him a lot. He’s all I think about when we’re together and I feel worried sick about him when we’re not. My life is beginning to revolve around him and that’s not good, I know. But I can’t help it and I don’t know what to do about it, and now he might leave.

He left after we finished watching Finding Nemo yesterday and then when my parents went to bed, he crawled in my window last night. He had slept in my bed the night before because he was sick, and I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I put his blankets in the washing machine right before I went to bed. He asked where his pallet was and I told him he’d have to sleep on the bed again because I wanted to wash his blankets and make sure they were clean so he wouldn’t get sick again.

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For a minute, it looked like he was going to go back out the window. But then he shut it and took off his shoes and crawled in the bed with me.

He wasn’t sick anymore, but when he laid down I thought maybe I had gotten sick because my stomach felt queasy. But I wasn’t sick. I just always feel queasy when he’s that close to me.

We were facing each other on the bed when he said, “When do you turn sixteen?”

“Two more months,” I whispered. We just kept staring at each other, and my heart was beating faster and faster. “When do you turn nineteen?” I asked, just trying to make conversation so he couldn’t hear how hard I was breathing.

“Not until October,” he said.

I nodded. I wondered why he was curious about my age and it made me wonder what he thought about fifteen-year-olds. Did he look at me like I was just a little kid? Like a little sister? I was almost sixteen, and two and a half years apart in age isn’t that bad. Maybe when two people are fifteen and eighteen, it might seem a little too far apart. But once I turn sixteen, I bet no one would even think twice about a two-and-a-half-year age difference.

“I need to tell you something,” he said.

I held my breath, not knowing what he was going to say.

“I got in touch with my uncle today. My mom and I used to live with him in Boston. He told me once he gets back from his work trip I can stay with him.”

I should have been so happy for him in that moment. I should have smiled and told him congratulations. But I felt all of the immaturity of my age when I closed my eyes and felt sorry for myself.

“Are you going?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

He was so close to me on the bed, I could feel the warmth of his breath. I also noticed he smelled like mint, and it made me wonder if he uses bottled water to brush his teeth before he comes over here. I always send him home every day with lots of water.

I brought my hand up to the pillow and started pulling at a feather sticking out of it. When I got it all the way out, I twisted it between my fingers. “I don’t know what to say, Atlas. I’m happy you have a place to stay. But what about school?”

“I could finish down there,” he said.

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I nodded. It sounded like he already made up his mind. “When are you leaving?”

I wondered how far away Boston is. It’s probably a few hours, but that’s a whole world away when you don’t own a car.

“I don’t know for sure that I am.”

I dropped the feather back onto the pillow and brought my hand to my side.

“What’s stopping you? Your uncle is offering you a place to stay. That’s good, right?”

He tightened his lips together and nodded. Then he picked up the feather I’d been playing with and he started twisting it between his fingers. He laid it back down on the pillow and then he did something I wasn’t expecting. He moved his fingers to my lips and he touched them.

God, Ellen. I thought I was gonna die right then and there. It was the most I’d ever felt inside my body at one time. He kept his fingers there for a few seconds, and he said, “Thank you, Lily. For everything.” He moved his fingers up and through my hair, and then he leaned forward and planted a kiss on my forehead. I was breathing so hard, I had to open my mouth to catch more air. I could see his chest moving just as hard as mine was. He looked down at me and I watched as his eyes went right to my mouth. “Have you ever been kissed, Lily?”

I shook my head no and tilted my face up to his because I needed him to change that right then and there or I wasn’t gonna be able to breathe.

Then—almost as if I were made of eggshells—he lowered his mouth to mine and just rested it there. I didn’t know what to do next, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care if we just stayed like that all night and never even moved our mouths, it was everything.

His lips closed over mine and I could kind of feel his hand shaking. I did what he was doing and started to move my lips like he was. I felt the tip of his tongue brush across my lips once and I thought my eyes were about to roll back in my head. He did it again, and then a third time, so I finally did it, too.

When our tongues touched for the first time, I kind of smiled a little, because I’d thought about my first kiss a lot. Where it would be, who it would be with.

Never in a million years did I imagine it would feel like this.

He pushed me on my back and pressed his hand against my cheek and kept kissing me. It just got better and better as I grew more comfortable. My favorite https://books.yossr.com/en

moment was when he pulled back for a second and looked down at me, then came back even harder.

I don’t know how long we kissed. A long time. So long, my mouth started to hurt and my eyes couldn’t stay open. When we fell asleep, I’m pretty sure his mouth was still touching mine.

We didn’t talk about Boston again.

I still don’t know if he’s leaving.

—Lily

• • •

Dear Ellen,

I need to apologize to you.

It’s been a week since I’ve written to you and a week since I’ve watched your show. Don’t worry, I still record it so you’ll get the ratings, but every day we get off the bus, Atlas takes a quick shower and then we make out.

Every day.

It’s awesome.

I don’t know what it is about him, but I feel so comfortable with him. He’s so sweet and thoughtful. He never does anything I don’t feel comfortable with, but so far he hasn’t tried anything I don’t feel comfortable with.

I’m not sure how much I should divulge here, since you and I have never met in person. But let me just say that if he’s ever wondered what my boobs feel like . . .

Now he knows.

I can’t for the life of me figure out how people function from day to day when they like someone this much. If it were up to me, we would kiss all day and all night and do nothing in between except maybe talk a little. He tells funny stories. I love it when he’s in a talkative mood because it doesn’t happen very often, but he uses his hands a lot. He smiles a lot, too, and I love his smile even more than I love his kiss. And sometimes I just tell him to shut up and stop smiling or kissing or talking so I can stare at him. I like looking at his eyes. They’re so blue that he could be standing across a room and a person could tell how blue his eyes were. The only thing I don’t like about kissing him sometimes is when he closes his eyes.

And no. We still haven’t talked about Boston.

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—Lily

Dear Ellen,

Yesterday afternoon when we were riding the bus, Atlas kissed me. It wasn’t anything new to us because we had kissed a lot by this point, but it’s the first time he ever did it in public. When we’re together everything else just seems to fade away, so I don’t think he even thought about other people noticing. But Katie noticed. She was sitting in the seat behind us and I heard her say,

“Gross,” as soon as he leaned over and kissed me.

She was talking to the girl next to her when she said, “I can’t believe Lily lets him touch her. He wears the same clothes almost every day.”

Ellen, I was so mad. I also felt awful for Atlas. He pulled away from me and I could tell what she said bothered him. I started to turn around to yell at her for judging someone she doesn’t even know, but he grabbed my hand and shook his head no.

“Don’t, Lily,” he said.

So I didn’t.

But for the rest of the bus ride, I was so angry. I was angry that Katie would say something so ignorant just to hurt someone she thought was beneath her. I was also hurt that Atlas appeared to be used to comments like that.

I didn’t want him to think I was embarrassed that anyone saw him kiss me.

I know Atlas better than any of them do, and I know what a good person he is, no matter what his clothes look like or that he used to smell before he started using my shower.

I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and then rested my head on his shoulder.

“You know what?” I said to him.

He slid his fingers through mine and squeezed my hand. “What?”

“You’re my favorite person.”

I felt him laugh a little and it made me smile.

“Out of how many people?” he asked.

“All of them.”

He kissed the top of my head and said, “You’re my favorite person, too, Lily.

By a long shot.”

When the bus came to a stop on my street, he didn’t let go of my hand when we started to walk off. He was in front of me in the aisle and I was walking https://books.yossr.com/en

behind him, so he didn’t see it when I turned around and flipped off Katie.

I probably shouldn’t have done it, but the look on her face made it worth it.

When we got to my house, he took the house key out of my hand and unlocked my front door. It was weird, seeing how comfortable he is at my house now. He walked in and locked the door behind us. That’s when we noticed the electricity in the house wasn’t working. I looked out the window and saw a utility truck down the street working on the power lines, so that meant we couldn’t watch your show. I wasn’t too upset because it meant we would probably just make out for an hour and a half.

“Does your oven run off gas or electricity?” he asked.

“Gas,” I said, a little confused that he was asking about our oven.

He kicked off his shoes (which were really just a pair of my father’s old shoes) and he started walking toward the kitchen. “I’m going to make you something,” he said.

“You know how to cook?”

He opened the refrigerator and started moving things around. “Yep. I probably love to cook as much as you love to grow things.” He took a few things out of the refrigerator and preheated the oven. I leaned against the counter and watched him. He wasn’t even looking at a recipe. He was just pouring things into bowls and mixing them without even using a measuring cup.

I had never seen my father lift a finger in the kitchen. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t even know how to preheat our oven. I kind of thought most men were like that, but watching Atlas work his way around my kitchen proved me wrong.

“What are you making?” I asked him. I pushed my hands on the island and hoisted myself onto it.

“Cookies,” he said. He walked the bowl over to me and stuck a spoon in the mixture. He brought the spoon up to my mouth and I tasted it. One of my weaknesses is cookie dough, and this was the best I’d ever tasted.

“Oh, wow,” I said, licking my lips.

He set the bowl down beside me and then leaned in and kissed me. Cookie dough and Atlas’s mouth mixed together is like heaven, in case you’re wondering. I made a noise deep in my throat that let him know how much I liked the combination, and it made him laugh. But he didn’t stop kissing me.

He just laughed through the kiss and it completely melted my heart. A happy https://books.yossr.com/en

Atlas was near mind-blowing. It made me want to uncover every single thing about this world that he likes and give it all to him.

When he was kissing me, I wondered if I loved him. I’ve never had a boyfriend before and have nothing to compare my feelings to. In fact, I’ve never really wanted a boyfriend or a relationship until Atlas. I’m not growing up in a household with a great example of how a man should treat someone he loves, so I’ve always held on to an unhealthy amount of distrust when it comes to relationships and other people.

There have been times I’ve wondered if I could ever allow myself to trust a guy. For the most part, I hate men because the only example I have is my father.

But spending all this time with Atlas is changing me. Not in a huge way, I don’t think. I still distrust most people. But Atlas is changing me enough to believe that maybe he’s an exception to the norm.

He stopped kissing me and picked up the bowl again. He walked it over to the opposite counter and started spooning dough onto two cookie sheets.

“You want to know a trick to cooking with a gas oven?” he asked.

I’m not sure I really ever cared about cooking before, but he somehow made me want to know everything he knew. It might have been how happy he looked when he talked about it.

“Gas ovens have hot spots,” he said as he opened the oven door and put the cookie sheets inside. “You have to be sure and rotate the pans so they’ll cook evenly.” He closed the door and pulled the oven mitt off his hand. He tossed it on the counter. “A pizza stone helps, too. If you just keep it in the oven, even when you aren’t baking pizza, it helps eliminate the hot spots.”

He walked over to me and placed his hands on either side of me. The electricity kicked on right as he was pulling down the collar of my shirt. He kissed the spot on my shoulder he always loves kissing and slowly slid his hands up my back. I swear, sometimes when he’s not even here I can still feel his lips on my collarbone.

He was about to kiss me on the mouth when we heard a car pull into the driveway and the garage door start to open. I jumped off the island, looking around the kitchen frantically. His hands went up to my cheeks and he made me look at him.

“Keep an eye on the cookies. They’ll be finished in about twenty minutes.”

He pressed his lips to mine and then released me, rushing to the living room to https://books.yossr.com/en

grab his backpack. He made it out the back door right when I heard the engine to my father’s car shut off.

I started gathering all the ingredients together when my father walked into the kitchen from the garage. He looked around and then saw the light on in the oven.

“Are you cooking?” he asked.

I nodded because my heart was beating so fast, I was scared he’d hear the trembling in my voice if I responded out loud. I scrubbed for a moment at a spot on the counter that was perfectly clean. I cleared my throat and said,

“Cookies. I’m baking cookies.”

He set his briefcase down on the kitchen table and then walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer.

“The electricity has been out,” I said. “I was bored so I decided to bake while I waited for it to come back on.”

My father sat down at the table and spent the next ten minutes asking me questions about school and if I’d thought about going to college. Occasionally when it was just the two of us, I saw glimpses of a how a normal relationship with a father could be. Sitting at the kitchen table with him discussing colleges and career choices and high school. As much as I hated him most of the time, I still longed for more of these moments with him. If he could just always be the guy he was capable of being in these moments, things would be so much different. For all of us.

I rotated the cookies like Atlas had said to do and when they were finished, I pulled them out of the oven. I took one off the cookie sheet and handed it to my father. I hated that I was being nice to him. It almost felt like I was wasting one of Atlas’s cookies.

“Wow,” my father said. “These are great, Lily.”

I forced a thank-you, even though I didn’t make them. I couldn’t very well tell him that, though.

“They’re for school so you can only have one,” I lied. I waited until the rest of them cooled and then I put them in a Tupperware container and took them to my room. I didn’t even want to try one without Atlas, so I waited until later last night when he came over.

“You should have tried one when they were hot,” he said. “That’s when they’re the best.”

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“I didn’t want to eat them without you,” I said. We sat on the bed with our backs against the wall and proceeded to eat half the bowl of cookies. I told him they were delicious, but failed to tell him they were by far the greatest cookies I’d ever eaten. I didn’t want to inflate his ego. I kind of liked how humble he was.

I tried to grab at another one, but he pulled the bowl away and put the lid back on it. “If you eat too many you’ll make yourself sick and you won’t like my cookies anymore.”

I laughed. “Impossible.”

He took a drink of water and then stood up, facing the bed. “I made you something,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“More cookies?” I asked.

He smiled and shook his head, then held out a fist. I lifted my hand and he dropped something hard in the palm of my hand. It was a small, flat outline of a heart, about two inches long, carved out of wood.

I rubbed my thumb over it, trying not to smile too big. It wasn’t an anatomically correct heart, but it also didn’t look like the hand-drawn hearts.

It was uneven and hollow in the middle.

“You made this?” I asked, looking up at him.

He nodded. “I carved it with an old whittling knife I found at the house.”

The ends of the heart weren’t connected. They just curved in a little, leaving a little space at the top of the heart. I didn’t even know what to say. I felt him sit back down on the bed but I couldn’t stop looking at it long enough to even thank him.

“I carved it out of a branch,” he said, whispering. “From the oak tree in your backyard.”

I swear, Ellen. I never thought I could love something so much. Or maybe what I was feeling wasn’t for the gift, but for him. I closed my fist around the heart and then leaned over and kissed him so hard, he fell back onto the bed. I threw my leg over him and straddled him and he grabbed my waist and grinned against my mouth.

“I’m gonna carve you a damn house out of that oak tree if this is the reward I get,” he whispered.

I laughed. “You have to stop being so perfect,” I told him. “You’re already my favorite person but now you’re making it really unfair to all the other humans because no one will ever be able to catch up to you.”

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He brought his hand to the back of my head and rolled me until I was on my back and he was the one on top. “Then my plan is working,” he said, right before kissing me again.

I held on to the heart while we kissed, wanting to believe it was a gift for no reason at all. But part of me was scared it was a gift to remember him by when he leaves for Boston.

I didn’t want to remember him. If I had to remember him, it would mean he wasn’t a part of my life anymore.

I don’t want him to move to Boston, Ellen. I know that’s selfish of me because he can’t keep living in that house. I don’t know what I’m more afraid might happen. Watching him leave or selfishly begging him not to go.

I know we need to talk about it. I’ll ask him about Boston tonight when he comes over. I just didn’t want to ask him last night because it was a really perfect day.

—Lily

Dear Ellen,

Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.

He’s moving to Boston.

I don’t really feel like talking about it.

—Lily

Dear Ellen,

This is going to be a big one for my mother to hide.

My father is usually pretty cognizant of hitting her where it won’t leave a visible bruise. The last thing he probably wants is for people in the town to know what he does to her. I’ve seen him kick her a few times, choke her, hit her on the back and the stomach, pull her hair. The few times he’s hit her on the face, it’s always just been a slap, so the marks wouldn’t stay for long.

But never have I seen him do what he did last night.

It was really late when they got home. It was a weekend, so he and my mom went to some community function. My father has a real estate company and he’s also the town mayor, so they have to do things in the public a lot like go to charity dinners. Which is ironic, since my father hates charities. But I guess he has to save face.

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Atlas was already in my room when they got home. I could hear them fighting as soon as they walked through the front door. A lot of the conversation was muffled, but for the most part, it sounded like my father was accusing her of flirting with some man.

Now I know my mother, Ellen. She would never do something like that. If anything, a guy probably looked at her and it made my father jealous. My mother is really beautiful.

I heard him call her a whore and then I heard the first blow. I started to climb out of my bed but Atlas pulled me back and told me not to go in there, that I might get hurt. I told him it actually helps sometimes. That when I go in there, my father backs off.

Atlas tried to talk me out of it, but finally I got up and went out into the living room.

Ellen.

I just . . .

He was on top of her.

They were on the couch and he had his hand around her throat, but his other hand was pulling up her dress. She was trying to fight him off and I just stood there, frozen. She kept begging him to get off her and then he hit her right across the face and told her to shut up. I’ll never forget his words when he said,

“You want attention? I’ll give you some fucking attention.” And that’s when she got real still and stopped fighting him. I heard her crying, and then she said, “Please be quiet. Lily is here.”

She said, “Please be quiet.”

Please be quiet while you rape me, dear.

Ellen, I didn’t know one human was capable of feeling so much hate inside one heart. And I’m not even talking about my father. I’m talking about me.

I walked straight to the kitchen and I opened a drawer. I grabbed the biggest knife I could find and . . . I don’t know how to explain it. It was like I wasn’t even in my own body. I could see myself walking across the kitchen with the knife in my hand, and I knew I wasn’t going to use it. I just wanted something bigger than myself that could scare him away from her. But right before I made it out of the kitchen, two arms went around my waist and picked me up from behind. I dropped the knife, and my father didn’t hear it but my mother did.

We locked eyes as Atlas carried me back to my bedroom. When we were back inside my room, I just started hitting him in the chest, trying to get back out https://books.yossr.com/en

there to her. I was crying and doing everything I could to get him out of my way, but he wouldn’t move.

He just wrapped his arms around me and said, “Lily, calm down.” He kept saying it over and over, and he held me there for a long time until I accepted that he wasn’t gonna let me go back out there. He wasn’t gonna let me have that knife.

He walked over to the bed and grabbed his jacket and started putting on his shoes. “We’ll go next door,” he said. “We’ll call the police.”

The police.

My mother had warned me not to call the police in the past. She said it could jeopardize my father’s career. But in all honesty, I didn’t care at that point. I didn’t care that he was the mayor or that everyone who loved him didn’t know the awful side of him. The only thing I cared about was helping my mother, so I pulled on my jacket and went to the closet for a pair of shoes.

When I stepped out of my closet, Atlas was staring at my bedroom door.

It was opening.

My mother stepped inside and quickly shut it, locking it behind her. I’ll never forget what she looked like. She had blood coming down from her lip. Her eye was already starting to swell, and she had a clump of hair just resting on her shoulder. She looked at Atlas and then me.

I didn’t even take a moment to feel scared that she caught me in my room with a boy. I didn’t care about that. I was just worried about her. I walked over to her and grabbed her hands and walked her to my bed. I brushed the hair off her shoulder and then from her forehead.

“He’s gonna go call the police, Mom. Okay?”

Her eyes grew real wide and she started shaking her head. “No,” she said.

She looked over at Atlas and said, “You can’t. No.”

He was already at the window about to leave, so he stopped and looked at me.“He’s drunk, Lily,” she said. “He heard your door shut, so he went to our bedroom. He stopped. If you call the police, it’ll just make it worse, believe me.

Just let him sleep it off, it’ll be better tomorrow.”

I shook my head and could feel the tears stinging my eyes. “Mom, he was trying to rape you!”

She ducked her head and winced when I said that. She shook her head again and said, “It’s not like that, Lily. We’re married, and sometimes https://books.yossr.com/en

marriage is just . . . you’re too young to understand it.”

It got really quiet for a minute, and then I said. “I hope to hell I never do.”

That’s when she started to cry. She just held her head in her hands and she started to sob and all I could do was wrap my arms around her and cry with her. I’d never seen her this upset. Or this hurt. Or this scared. It broke my heart, Ellen.

It broke me.

When she was finished crying, I looked around the room and Atlas had left.

We went to the kitchen and I helped her clean up her lip and her eye. She never did say anything about him being there. Not one thing. I waited for her to tell me I was grounded, but she never did. I realized that maybe she didn’t acknowledge it because that’s what she does. Things that hurt her just get swept under the rug, never to be brought up again.

—Lily

Dear Ellen,

I think I’m ready to talk about Boston now.

He left today.

I’ve shuffled my deck of cards so many times, my hands hurt. I’m scared if I don’t get out how I feel on paper, I’ll go crazy holding it all in.

Our last night didn’t go over so well. We kissed a lot at first, but we were both too sad to really care about it. For the second time in two days, he told me he changed his mind and that he wasn’t leaving. He didn’t want to leave me alone in this house. But I’ve lived with these parents for almost sixteen years. It was silly of him to turn down a home in favor of being homeless, just because of me. We both knew that, but it still hurt.

I tried to not be so sad about it, so when we were lying there, I asked him to tell me about Boston. I told him maybe one day when I got out of school, I could go there.

He got this look in his eye when he started talking about it. A look I’d never seen. Sort of like he was talking about heaven. He told me about how everyone has the greatest accents there. Instead of car, they say cah. He must not realize that he sometimes says his r’s like that, too. He said he lived there from the ages of nine until he was fourteen, so I guess maybe he picked up a little bit of the accent.

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He told me about how his uncle lives in an apartment building with the coolest rooftop deck.

“A lot of apartments have them,” he said. “Some even have pools.”

Plethora, Maine, probably didn’t even have a building that was tall enough for a rooftop deck. I wondered what it would feel like to be that high up. I asked him if he ever went up there and he said yes. That when he was younger, sometimes he would go to the roof and just sit up there and think while he looked out over the city.

He told me about the food. I already knew he liked to cook but I had no idea how much passion he had for it. I guess because he doesn’t have a stove or a kitchen, so other than the cookies he baked me, he’s never really talked about cooking before.

He told me about the harbor and how, before his mother remarried, she used to take him fishing out there. “I mean, Boston isn’t any different from any other big city, I guess,” he said. “There’s not a lot that makes it stand out. It’s just . . . I don’t know. There’s a vibe. A really good energy. When people say they live in Boston, they’re proud of it. I miss that sometimes.”

I ran my fingers through his hair and said, “Well, you make it sound like the best place in the world. Like everything is better in Boston.”

He looked at me and his eyes were sad when he said. “Everything is almost better in Boston. Except the girls. Boston doesn’t have you.”

That made me blush. He kissed me real sweet and then I said to him,

“Boston doesn’t have me yet. Someday I’ll move there and I’ll find you.”

He made me promise. Said if I moved to Boston, everything really would be better there and it would be the best city in the world.

We kissed some more. And did other things that I won’t bore you with.

Although, that’s not to say they were boring.

They were not.

But then this morning I had to tell him goodbye. And he held me and kissed me so much, I thought I might die if he let go.

But I didn’t die. Because he let go and here I am. Still living. Still breathing.

Just barely.

—Lily

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I flip to the next page, but then slam the book shut. There’s only one more entry and I don’t know that I really feel like reading it right now. Or ever. I put the journal back in my closet, knowing that my chapter with Atlas is over. He’s happy now.

I’m happy now.

Time can definitely heal all wounds.

Or at least most of them.

I turn off my lamp and then pick up my phone to plug it in. I have two missed text messages from Ryle and one from my mother.

Ryle: Hey. Naked Truth commencing in 3 . . . 2 . . .

Ryle: I was worried that being in a relationship would add to my responsibilities. That’s why I’ve avoided them my whole life. I already have enough on my plate, and seeing the stress my parents’ marriage seemed to cause them, and the failed marriages of some of my friends, I wanted no part in something like that. But after tonight, I realized that maybe a lot of people are just doing it wrong. Because what’s happening between us doesn’t feel like a responsibility. It feels like a reward. And I’ll fall asleep wondering what I did to deserve it.

I pull my phone to my chest and smile. Then I screenshot the text because I’m keeping it forever. I open up the third text message.

Mom: A doctor, Lily? AND your own business? I want to be you when I grow up.

I screen-shot that one, too.

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Chapter Twelve

“What are you doing to those poor flowers?” Allysa asks from behind me.I clamp another silver washer closed and slide it down the stem.

“Steampunk.”

We both stand back and admire the bouquet. At least . . . I hope she’s looking at it with admiration. It turned out better than I thought it would. I used florist dip dye to turn some white roses a deep purple.

Then I decorated the stems with different steampunk elements, like tiny metal washers and gears, and even super-glued a small clock to the brown leather strap that’s holding the bouquet together.

Steampunk?”

“It’s a trend. Kind of a subgenre of fiction, but it’s catching on in other areas. Art. Music.” I turn around and smile, holding up the bouquet. “And now . . . flowers.”

Allysa takes the flowers from me and holds them up in front of her.

“They’re so . . . weird. I love them so much.” She hugs them. “Can I have them?”

I pull them away from her. “No, they’re our grand opening display.

Not for sale.” I take the flowers from her and grab the vase I made yesterday. I found a pair of old button-up women’s boots at a flea market last week. They reminded me of the steampunk style, and the boots are actually where I got the idea for the flowers. I washed the boots last week, dried them, and then super-glued pieces of metal to them. Once I brushed them with Mod Podge, I was able to line the inside with a vase to hold water for the flowers.

“Allysa?” I place the flowers on the center display table. “I’m pretty sure this is exactly what I was supposed to do with my life.”

“Steampunk?” she asks.

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I laugh and spin around. “Create!” I say. And then I flip the sign to open, fifteen minutes early.

We both spend the day busier than we thought we’d be. Between phone orders, Internet orders, and walk-ins, neither of us even has time to take a lunch break.

“You need more employees,” Allysa says as she passes me, holding two bouquets of flowers. That is at one o’clock.

“You need more employees,” she says to me at two o’clock, holding the phone to her ear and writing down an order while ringing someone up at the register.

Marshall stops by after three o’clock and asks how it’s going. Allysa says, “She needs more employees.”

I help a woman take a bouquet to her car at four o’clock, and as I’m walking back inside, Allysa is walking out, holding another bouquet. “You need more employees,” she says, exasperated.

At six o’clock, she locks the door and flips the sign. She falls against the door and slides to the floor, looking up at me.

“I know,” I tell her. “I need more employees.”

She just nods.

And then we laugh. I walk over to where she’s seated and I sit next to her. We lean our heads together and look at the store. The steampunk flowers are front and center, and although I refused to sell this particular bouquet, we had eight preorders for more of them.

“I’m proud of you, Lily,” she says.

I smile. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Issa.”

We sit there for several minutes, enjoying the rest we’re finally giving our feet. This was honestly one of the best days I’ve ever had, but I can’t help but feel a nagging sadness that Ryle never stopped by.

He also never texted.

“Have you heard from your brother today?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, but I’m sure he’s just busy.”

I nod. I know he’s busy.

We both look up when someone knocks on the door. I smile when I see him cupping his hands around his eyes with his face pressed to the window. He finally looks down and sees us sitting on the floor.

“Speak of the devil,” Allysa says.

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I jump up and unlock the door to let him in. As soon as I open it, he’s pushing his way inside. “I missed it? I did. I missed it.” He hugs me. “I’m sorry, I tried to get here as soon as I could.”

I hug him back and say, “It’s fine. You’re here. It was perfect.” I’m giddy with excitement that he made it at all.

You’re perfect,” he says, kissing me.

Allysa brushes past us. “You’re perfect,” she mimics. “Hey Ryle, guess what?”

Ryle releases me. “What?”

Allysa grabs the trash can and drops it on the counter. “Lily needs to hire more employees.”

I laugh at her constant repetition. Ryle squeezes my hand and says,

“Sounds like business was good.”

I shrug. “I can’t complain. I mean . . . I’m no brain surgeon, but I’m pretty good at what I do.”

Ryle laughs. “You guys need any help cleaning up?”

Allysa and I put him to work, helping us clean up after the big day.

We get everything finished and prepped for tomorrow, and then Marshall arrives just as we’re finishing up. He’s carrying a bag when he walks inside and drops it on the counter. He begins to pull out huge lumps of some kind of material and tosses them at each of us. I catch mine and unfold it.

It’s a onesie.

With kittens all over it.

“Bruins game. Free beer. Suit up, team!”

Allysa groans and says, “Marshall, you made six million dollars this year. Do we really need free beer?”

He shoves a finger against her lips, pushing them in opposite directions. “Shh! Don’t speak like a rich girl, Issa. Blasphemy.”

She laughs and Marshall grabs the onesie out of her hand. He unzips it and helps her into it. Once we’re all suited up, we lock the door and head to the bar.

I’ve never in my life seen so many men in onesies. Allysa and I are the only women wearing them, but I kind of like that. It’s loud. So loud, and each time the Bruins make a good play, Allysa and I have to https://books.yossr.com/en

cover our ears from the screams. After about half an hour, a booth on the top floor opens up and we all run upstairs to claim it.

“Much better,” Allysa says as we slide in. It’s much quieter up here, although still loud compared to normal standards.

A waitress comes over to take our drink order. I order red wine, and as soon as I do, Marshall practically jumps out of his seat. “Wine?”

he yells. “You’re in a onesie! You don’t get free wine with a onesie!”

He tells the waitress to bring me a beer, instead. Ryle tells her to bring me wine. Allysa wants water, and this upsets Marshall even more. He tells the waitress to bring four bottles of beer and then Ryle says, “Two beers, red wine, and a water.” The waitress is very confused by the time she leaves our table.

Marshall throws his arm around Allysa and kisses her. “How am I supposed to try and knock you up tonight if you aren’t a little wasted?”

The look on Allysa’s face changes, and I feel instantly bad for her. I know Marshall only said that in fun, but it has to bother her. She was just telling me a few days ago how depressed she is that she can’t get pregnant.

“I can’t have beer, Marshall.”

“Then drink wine, at least. You like me more when you’re tipsy.”

He laughs at himself, but Allysa doesn’t.

“I can’t have wine, either. I can’t have any alcohol, actually.”

Marshall stops laughing.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Marshall turns in the booth and grabs her shoulders, making her face him straight-on. “Allysa?”

She just starts nodding and I don’t know who starts crying first. Me or Marshall or Allysa. “I’m gonna be a dad?” he yells.

She’s still nodding, and I’m just bawling like an idiot. Marshall jumps up in the booth and yells, “I’m gonna be a dad!”

I can’t even explain what this moment is like. A grown man in a onesie, standing up in a booth at a bar, yelling to whoever will listen that he’s gonna be a dad. He pulls her up and they’re both standing in the booth now. He kisses her and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

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Until I look at Ryle and catch him chewing on his bottom lip like he’s trying to blink back a potential tear. He glances at me and sees me staring, so he looks away. “Shut up,” he says. “She’s my sister.”

I smile and lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “Congratulations, Uncle Ryle.”

Once the parents-to-be stop making out in the booth, Ryle and I both stand up and congratulate them. Allysa said she’s been feeling sick for a while, but just took a test this morning before our grand opening. She was going to wait and tell Marshall tonight when they got home, but she couldn’t hold it in for another second.

Our drinks come and we order food. Once the waitress walks away, I look at Marshall. “How did you two meet?”

He says, “Allysa tells the story better than I do.”

Allysa perks up and leans forward. “I hated him,” she says. “He was Ryle’s best friend and he was always at the house. I thought he was so annoying. He had just moved to Ohio from Boston and he had that Boston accent. He thought it made him so cool but I just wanted to slap him every time he spoke.”

“She’s so sweet,” Marshall says, sarcastically.

“You were an idiot,” Allysa replies, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, one day Ryle and I had a few friends over. Nothing big, but our parents were out of town, so of course we had a little get-together.”

“There were thirty people there,” Ryle says. “It was a party.”

“Okay, a party,” Allysa says. “I walked into the kitchen and Marshall was standing there pressed up against some floozy.”

“She wasn’t a floozy,” he says. “She was a nice girl. Tasted like Cheetos, but . . .”

Allysa glares at him so he shuts up. She turns back to me. “I lost it,”

she says. “I started yelling at him to take his whores to his own house.

The girl was literally so terrified of me, she ran for the door and didn’t come back.”

“Cock blocker,” Marshall says.

Allysa punches him in the shoulder. “Anyway. After I cock blocked him, I ran to my room, embarrassed that I did that. It was out of pure jealousy, and I didn’t even realize I liked him that way until I saw his hands on some other girl’s ass. I threw myself on my bed and started https://books.yossr.com/en

crying. A few minutes later, he walked into my room and asked me if I was okay. I rolled over and yelled, ‘I like you, you stupid fuck-face!’ ”

“And the rest is history . . .” Marshall says.

I laugh. “Awe. Stupid fuck-face. How sweet.”

Ryle holds up a finger and says, “You’re leaving out the best part.”

Allysa shrugs. “Oh yeah. So Marshall walked over to me, pulled me off the bed, kissed me with the same mouth he was just kissing the floozy with, and we made out for half an hour. Ryle walked in on us and started screaming at Marshall. Then Marshall pushed Ryle out of my bedroom, locked the door, and made out with me for another hour.”

Ryle is shaking his head. “Betrayed by my best friend.”

Marshall pulls Allysa to him. “I like her, you stupid fuck-face.”

I laugh, but Ryle turns to me with a serious look on his face. “I didn’t speak to him for an entire month, I was so mad. I eventually got over it. We were eighteen, she was seventeen. Wasn’t much I could do in the way of keeping them apart.”

“Wow,” I say. “I sometimes forget how close in age you two are.”

Allysa smiles and says, “Three kids in three years. I feel so sorry for my parents.”

The table grows quiet. I see an apologetic look pass from Allysa to Ryle.

“Three?” I ask. “You have another sibling?”

Ryle straightens up and takes a sip of his beer. He sets it back down on the table and says, “We had an older brother. He passed away when we were kids.”

Such a great night, ruined by a simple question. Luckily, Marshall redirects the conversation like a pro.

I spend the rest of the evening listening to stories about them growing up. I’m not sure I’ve ever laughed as hard as I have tonight.

When the game is over, we all walk back to the shop to retrieve our cars. Ryle said he caught an Uber over earlier, so he’ll just ride with me. Before Allysa and Marshall leave, I tell her to hold on. I run inside the store and grab the steampunk flowers and run them back to their car. Her face lights up when I hand them to her.

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“I’m happy you’re pregnant but that’s not why I’m giving you these flowers. I just want you to have them. Because you’re my best friend.”

Allysa squeezes me and whispers in my ear. “I hope he marries you someday. We’ll be even better sisters.”

She climbs inside the car and they leave, and I just stand there watching them because I don’t know that I’ve ever had a friend like her in my whole life. Maybe it’s the wine. I don’t know, but I love today. Everything about it. I especially love how Ryle looks, leaning against my car, watching me.

“You’re really beautiful when you’re happy.”

Ugh! This day! Perfect!

• • •

We’re making our way up the stairs to my apartment when Ryle grabs my waist and pushes me against the wall. He just starts kissing me, right there in the stairwell.

“Impatient,” I mutter.

He laughs and cups my ass with both of his hands. “Nope. It’s this onesie. You really should consider making this your business attire.”

He kisses me again and doesn’t stop kissing me until someone passes us, heading down the stairs.

The guy mumbles, “Nice onesies,” as he squeezes past us. “Did the Bruins win?”

Ryle nods. “Three to one,” he responds, without looking up at the guy.“Nice,” the guy says.

Once he’s gone, I step away from Ryle. “What is this onesie thing?

Does every male in Boston know about this?”

He laughs and says, “Free beer, Lily. It’s free beer.” He pulls me up the stairs, and when we walk in the door, Lucy is standing at the kitchen table taping up a box of her stuff. There’s another box she hasn’t taped up yet and I could swear I see a bowl that I bought at HomeGoods sticking out of the top. She said she’d have all her stuff out by next week, but I have a feeling she’ll conveniently have some of my stuff out, too.

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“Who are you?” she asks, looking Ryle up and down.

“Ryle Kincaid. I’m Lily’s boyfriend.”

Lily’s boyfriend.

Did you hear that?

Boyfriend.

It’s the first time he’s confirmed it, and he said it so confidently.

“My boyfriend, huh?” I walk into the kitchen and grab a bottle of wine and two wineglasses.

Ryle comes up behind me as I’m pouring the wine and snakes his arms around my waist. “Yep. Your boyfriend.”

I hand him a glass of wine and say, “So I’m a girlfriend?”

He holds up his glass and clinks it against mine. “To the end of trial runs and the beginning of sure things.”

We’re both smiling as we take a drink of our wine.

Lucy stacks the boxes together and walks toward the front door.

“Looks like I got out right in time,” she says.

The door closes behind her and Ryle raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think your roommate likes me very much.”

“You’d be surprised. I didn’t think she liked me, either, but yesterday she asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. I think she’s just hoping for free flowers, though. She’s very opportunistic.”

Ryle laughs and leans against the refrigerator. His eyes fall to a magnet that says “Boston” on it. He pulls it off the refrigerator and raises an eyebrow. “You’ll never get out of Boston purgatory if you keep souvenirs of Boston on your fridge like a tourist.”

I laugh and grab the magnet, slapping it back on the fridge. I like that he remembers so much about the first night we met. “It was a gift. It only counts as touristy if I bought it myself.”

He steps over to me and takes my glass of wine from my hands. He sets both of our glasses on the countertop, and then leans in and gives me a deep, passionate, drunken kiss. I can taste the tart fruitiness of the wine on his tongue and I like it. His hands go to the zipper on my onesie. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

He pulls me toward the bedroom, kissing me while we both struggle out of our clothes. By the time we make it to my bedroom, I’m down to my bra and panties.

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He shoves me against the door, and I gasp at the unexpectedness of it.

“Don’t move,” he says. He presses his lips to my chest, then begins to kiss me slowly as he makes his way down my body.

Oh, Lord. Can this day seriously get any better?

I run my hands through his hair, but he grabs my wrists and presses them against the door. He climbs back up my body, squeezing my wrists tightly. He raises an eyebrow in warning. “I said . . . don’t move.”

I try not to smile, but it’s hard to disguise. He drags his mouth back down my body. He slowly lowers my panties to my ankles, but he told me not to move, so I don’t kick them off.

His mouth slides up my thigh until . . .

Yeah.

Best.

Day.

Ever.

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Chapter Thirteen

Ryle: Are you at home or still at work?

Me: Work. Should be done in about an hour.

Ryle: Can I come see you?

Me: You know how people say there is no such thing as a stupid question?

They’re wrong. That was a stupid question.

Ryle: :)

Half an hour later, he’s knocking at the front door of the floral shop.

I closed the shop almost three hours ago, but I’m still here, trying to get caught up on the chaos that was the first month. The store is still too new to get an accurate projection of how well or how bad it’s doing. Some days are great and some are so slow I send Allysa home.

But overall, I’m happy with how it’s gone so far.

And happy with how things are going with Ryle.

I unlock the door to let him in. He’s in light blue scrubs again, and he still has a stethoscope around his neck. Fresh from work. Very nice touch. I swear, every time I see him straight off a shift, I have to hide the stupid grin on my face. I give him a quick kiss and then turn back toward my office. “I have a few things to finish up and then we can go back to my place.”

He follows me into my office and closes the door. “You got a couch?” he asks, looking around my office.

I’ve spent some of this week putting the finishing touches on it. I bought a couple of lamps so I don’t have to turn on the overpowering fluorescent lights. The lamps give the room a soft glow. I also bought a few plants to keep here permanently. It’s no garden, but it’s as close as it gets. It’s come a long way since this room was being used as storage for vegetable crates.

Ryle walks over to the couch and falls down onto it, face-first. “Take your time,” he mumbles into the pillow. “I’ll just nap until you’re https://books.yossr.com/en

finished.”

I sometimes worry about how hard he pushes himself with work, but I don’t say anything. I’ve been sitting in my office going on twelve hours now, so I don’t have much room to talk when it comes to being too ambitious.

I spend the next fifteen or so minutes finalizing orders. When I’m finished, I close my laptop and look over at Ryle.

I thought he’d be asleep, but instead he’s on his side with his head propped up on his hand. He’s been watching me this whole time, and seeing the smile on his face makes me blush. I push my chair back and stand up.

“Lily, I think I like you too much,” he says as I make my way over to him.

I scrunch up my nose as he sits up on the couch and pulls me onto his lap. “Too much? That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“That’s because I don’t know if it is,” he says. He adjusts my legs on either side of him and then wraps his arms around my waist. “This is my first real relationship. I don’t know if I’m supposed to like you this much yet. I don’t want to scare you away.”

I laugh. “Like that could ever happen. You work way too much to smother me.”

He rubs his hands up my back. “Does it bother you that I work too much?”

I shake my head. “No. I worry about you sometimes because I don’t want you to burn yourself out. But I don’t mind that I have to share you with your passion. I actually really like how ambitious you are. It’s kind of sexy. It might even be my favorite thing about you.”

“You know what I like the most about you?”

“I already know this answer,” I say, smiling. “My mouth.”

He leans his head back against the couch. “Oh yeah. That does come first. But do you know what my second favorite thing about you is?”I shake my head.

“You don’t put pressure on me to be something I’m incapable of being. You accept me exactly how I am.”

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I smile. “Well, in all fairness, you’re a little different from when I first met you. You aren’t so anti-girlfriend anymore.”

“That’s because you make it easy,” he says, sliding a hand inside the back of my shirt. “It’s easy being with you. I can still have the career I’ve always wanted, but you make it ten times better with the way you support me. When I’m with you, I feel like I get to have my cake and eat it, too.”

Now both of his hands are beneath my shirt, pressed against my back. He pulls me toward him and kisses me. I grin against his mouth and whisper, “Is it the best cake you’ve ever tasted?”

One of his hands moves to the back of my bra and he unfastens it with ease. “I’m pretty sure, but maybe I need another taste of it to be positive.” He pulls my shirt and bra over my head. I begin to push myself off of him so I can pull off my jeans, but he pulls me back onto his lap. He grabs his stethoscope and puts it in his ears, then presses the diaphragm against my chest, right over my heart.

“What’s got your heart so worked up, Lily?”

I shrug innocently. “It might have a little to do with you, Dr.

Kincaid.”

He drops the end of the stethoscope and then lifts me off of him, pushing me back onto the couch. He spreads my legs and kneels down on the couch between them, placing the stethoscope against my chest again. He uses his other hand to hold himself up as he continues listening to my heart.

“I’d say you’re at about ninety beats per minute,” he says.

“Is that good or bad?”

He grins and lowers himself on top of me. “I’ll be satisfied when it reaches one forty.”

Yeah. If it reaches 140, I’m thinking I’ll be satisfied, too.

He lowers his mouth to my chest and my eyes fall shut when I feel his tongue slide across my breast. He takes me in his mouth, keeping the stethoscope pressed against my chest the entire time. “You’re at about one hundred now,” he says. He wraps the stethoscope around his neck again and then pulls back, unbuttoning my jeans. Once he slides them off of me, he turns me over until I’m on my stomach, my arms draped over the arm of the couch.

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“Get on your knees,” he says.

I do what he says and before I’m even adjusted, I feel the cold metal of the stethoscope meet my chest again, this time with his arm snaked around me from behind. I remain still as he listens to my heartbeat. His other hand slowly begins to find its way between my legs and then inside my panties and then inside of me. I grip the couch but try to keep the noises to a minimum while he listens to my heart.

“One hundred and ten,” he says, still unsatisfied.

He pulls my hips back to meet him and then I can feel him freeing himself from his scrubs. He grips my hip with one hand while shoving my panties aside with the other. Then he pushes forward until he’s all the way inside of me.

I’m grasping the couch with two desperate fists when he pauses to listen to my heart again. “Lily,” he says with mock disappointment.

“One twenty. Not quite where I want you.”

The stethoscope disappears again and his arm curls around my waist. His hand slides down my stomach and settles between my legs. I can no longer keep up with his rhythm. I can barely even stay on my knees. He’s somehow holding me up with one hand and destroying me in the best possible way with his other hand. Right when I start to tremble, he pulls me upright until my back meets his chest. He’s still inside me, but now he’s focused on my heart again as he moves his stethoscope around to the front of my chest.

I let out a moan and he presses his lips to my ear. “Shh. No noises.”

I have no idea how I make it through the next thirty seconds without making another sound. One of his arms is wrapped around me with the stethoscope pressed to my chest. His other arm is tight against my stomach as his hand continues its magic between my legs.

He’s still somehow deep inside me and I’m trying to move against him, but he’s rock solid as the tremors begin to rush through me. My legs are shaking and my hands are at my sides, gripping the tops of his thighs as it takes every ounce of my strength not to scream out his name.

I’m still shaking when he lifts my hand and places the diaphragm against my wrist. After several seconds, he pulls the stethoscope away https://books.yossr.com/en

and tosses it to the floor. “One fifty,” he says with satisfaction. He pulls out of me and flips me onto my back and then his mouth is on mine and he’s inside me again.

My body is too weak to move and I can’t even open my eyes and watch him. He thrusts against me several times and then holds still, groaning into my mouth. He drops on top of me, tense, yet shaking.

He kisses my neck and then his lips meet the tattoo of the heart on my collarbone. He finally settles against my neck and sighs.

“Have I already mentioned tonight how much I like you?” he asks.

I laugh. “Once or twice.”

“Consider this the third time,” he says. “I like you. Everything about you, Lily. Being inside of you. Being outside of you. Being near you. I like it all.”

I smile, loving how his words feel against my skin. Inside my heart.

I open my mouth to tell him I like him, too, but my voice is cut off by the sound of his phone.

He groans against my neck and then pulls out of me and reaches for his phone. He pulls his scrubs back into place and laughs as he looks at his caller ID.

“It’s my mother,” he says, leaning over and kissing the top of my knee that’s resting against the back of the couch. He tosses the phone aside and then stands and walks over to my desk, grabbing a box of tissues.

This is always awkward, having to clean up after sex. But I can’t say it’s ever been this awkward before, knowing his mother is on the other end of that ring.

Once all my clothes are back in place, he pulls me against him on the couch and I lie down on top of him, resting my head on his chest.

It’s after ten now and I’m so comfortable I debate just sleeping here for the night. Ryle’s phone makes another noise, alerting him to a new voice mail. The thought of seeing him interact with his mother makes me smile. Allysa talks about their parents some, but I’ve never really talked to Ryle about them before.

“Do you get along with your parents?”

His arm is stroking mine gently. “Yeah, I do. They’re good people.

We hit a rough patch when I was a teenager, but we worked through https://books.yossr.com/en

it. I talk to my mother almost daily now.”

I fold my arms over his chest and rest my chin on them, looking up at him. “Will you tell me more about your mother? Allysa told me they moved to England a few years ago. And that they were in Australia on vacation, but that was like a month ago.”

He laughs. “My mother? Well . . . my mother is very overbearing.

Very judgmental, especially of the people she loves the most. She’s never missed a single church service. And I have never heard her refer to my father as anything other than Dr. Kincaid.”

Despite the warnings, he smiles the whole time he talks about her.

“Your father is a doctor, too?”

He nods. “Psychiatrist. He chose a field that also allowed him to have a normal life. Smart man.”

“Do they ever visit you in Boston?”

“Not really. My mother hates flying, so Allysa and I fly to England a couple of times a year. She does want to meet you, though, so you might be going with us on the next trip.”

I grin. “You’ve told your mother about me?”

“Of course,” he says. “This is kind of a monumental thing, you know. Me having a girlfriend. She calls me every day to make sure I haven’t screwed it up somehow.”

I laugh, which makes him reach for his phone. “You think I’m kidding? I guarantee she somehow brought you up in the voice mail she just left.” He presses a few keys and then begins to play the voice mail.

“Hey, sweetheart! It’s your mom. Haven’t spoken to you since yesterday.

Miss you. Give Lily a hug for me. You do still see her, right? Allysa says you can’t stop talking about her. She is still your girlfriend, right? Okay. Gretchen’s here, we’re having high tea. Love you. Kiss kiss.”

I press my face against his chest and laugh. “We’ve only been dating a few months. How much do you talk about me?”

He pulls my hand up between us and kisses it. “Too much, Lily.

Way too much.”

I smile. “I can’t wait to meet them. Not only did they raise an incredible daughter, but they made you. That’s pretty impressive.”

His arms tighten around me and he kisses the top of my head.

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“What was your brother’s name?” I ask him.

I can feel a slight stiffness in him after I ask that. I regret bringing it up, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Emerson.”

I can tell by his voice that it’s not something he wants to talk about right now. Instead of pressing it further, I lift my head and scoot forward, pressing my mouth to his.

I should know better. Kisses can’t seem to stop at just kisses when it comes to me and Ryle. In a matter of minutes, he’s inside of me again, but this time it’s everything the other time wasn’t.

This time we make love.

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Chapter Fourteen

My phone rings. I pick it up to see who it is and I’m a little taken aback. It’s the first time Ryle has ever called me. We always just text.

How odd to have a boyfriend for over three months that I’ve never once spoken to on the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girlfriend,” he says.

I smile cheesily at the sound of his voice. “Hey, boyfriend.”

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m taking the day off tomorrow. Your floral shop doesn’t open until one o’clock on Sundays. I’m on my way to your apartment with two bottles of wine. You want to have a sleepover with your boyfriend and have drunken sex all night and sleep until noon?”

It’s really embarrassing what his words do to me. I smile and say,

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m cooking you dinner. And I’m wearing an apron.”

“Oh yeah?” he says.

Just an apron.” And then I hang up.

A few seconds later, I get a text message.

Ryle: Pic, please.

Me: Get over here and you can take the picture yourself.

I’m almost finished preparing the casserole mixture when the door opens. I pour it into the glass pan and don’t turn around when I hear him walk into the kitchen. When I said I was just wearing an apron, I meant it. I’m not even wearing panties.

I can hear him suck in a rush of air when I reach over to the oven and stick the casserole inside. I might reach a little too far for show when I do it. When I close the oven, I don’t face him. I grab a rag and https://books.yossr.com/en

start wiping down the oven, making sure to sway my hips as much as possible. I squeal when I feel a piercing sting on my right butt cheek. I spin around and Ryle is grinning, holding two bottles of wine.

“Did you just bite me?”

He gives me an innocent look. “Don’t tempt the scorpion if you don’t want to get stung.” He eyes me up and down while he opens one of the bottles. He holds it up before he pours us a glass and says,

“It’s vintage.”

Vintage,” I say with mock impression. “What’s the special occasion?”

He hands me a glass and says, “I’m going to be an uncle. I have a smoking hot girlfriend. And I get to perform a very rare, possibly once-in-a-lifetime craniopagus separation on Monday.”

“A cranio- what?”

He finishes off his glass of wine and pours himself another one.

“Craniopagus separation. Conjoined twins,” he says. He points to a spot on the top of his head and taps it. “Attached right here. We’ve been studying them since they were born. It’s a very rare surgery. Very rare.”

For the first time, I think I’m genuinely turned on by him as a doctor. I mean, I admire his drive. I admire his dedication. But seeing how excited he is about what he’s doing for a living is seriously sexy.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Not sure. They’re young, so being under general anesthesia for too long is a concern.” He holds up his right hand and wiggles his fingers. “But this is a very special hand that has been through almost half a million dollars’ worth of specialty education. I have a lot of faith in this hand.”

I walk over to him and press my lips to his palm. “I’m a little fond of this hand, too.”

He slides the hand down to my neck and then spins me so that I’m flush against the counter. I gasp, because I wasn’t expecting that.

He pushes himself against me from behind and slowly slides his hand down the side of my body. I press my palms into the granite and close my eyes, already feeling the rush of the wine.

“This hand,” he whispers, “is the steadiest hand in all of Boston.”

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He pushes on the back of my neck, bending me further over the counter. His hand meets the inside of my knee and he glides it upward. Slowly. Jesus.

He pushes my legs apart, and then his fingers are inside me. I moan and try to find something to hold on to. I grip the faucet, just as he begins to work magic.

And then, just like a magician, his hand disappears.

I hear him walking out of the kitchen. I watch as he passes the front of the counter. He winks at me, downs the rest of his glass of wine and says, “I’m gonna take a quick shower.”

What a tease.

“You asshole!” I yell after him.

“I’m not an asshole!” he yells from my bedroom. “I’m a highly trained neurosurgeon!”

I laugh and pour myself another glass of wine.

I’ll show him who the tease really is.

• • •

I’m on my third glass of wine when he walks out of my bedroom.

I’m on the phone with my mother, so I watch him from the couch as he makes his way to the kitchen and pours himself another glass.

That is some seriously good wine.

“What are you doing tonight?” my mother asks.

I have her on speakerphone. Ryle is leaning against a wall, watching me talk to her. “Not much. Helping Ryle study.”

“That sounds . . . not very interesting,” she says.

Ryle winks at me.

“It’s actually very interesting,” I say to her. “I help him study a lot.

Mostly reviewing fine-motor control of the hands. In fact, we’ll probably be up all night studying.”

The three glasses of wine has made me frisky. I can’t believe I’m flirting with him while I’m on the phone with my mother. Gross.

“I gotta go,” I tell her. “We’re taking Allysa and Marshall out to dinner tomorrow night, so I’ll call you on Monday.”

“Oh, where are you taking them?”

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I roll my eyes. The woman can’t take a hint. “I don’t know. Ryle, where are we taking them?”

“That place we went to that one time with your mom,” he says.

“Bib’s? I made reservations for six o’clock.”

My heart feels like it slinks down my chest. My mother says, “Oh, good choice.”

“Yeah. If you like stale bread. Bye, Mom.” I hang up and look at Ryle. “I don’t want to go back there. I didn’t like it. Let’s try something new.”

I fail to tell him why I really don’t want to go back there. But how do you tell your brand-new boyfriend that you’re trying to avoid your first love?

Ryle pushes off the wall. “You’ll be fine,” he says. “Allysa’s excited to eat there, I told her all about it.”

Maybe I’ll get lucky and Atlas won’t be working.

“Speaking of food,” Ryle says. “I’m starving.”

The casserole!

“Oh shit!” I say, laughing.

Ryle rushes to the kitchen and I stand up and follow him in there. I walk in just as he pulls the oven door open and waves away the smoke.

Ruined.

I get dizzy all of a sudden from standing up too fast after having three glasses of wine. I grab the counter beside him to steady myself, just as he reaches in to pull the burnt casserole out.

“Ryle! You need a . . .”

“Shit!” he yells.

“Pot holder.”

The casserole falls from his hand and lands on the floor, shattering everywhere. I lift up my feet to avoid broken glass and mushroom chicken splatter. I start laughing as soon as I realize he didn’t even think to use a pot holder.

Must be the wine. This is some seriously strong wine.

He slams the oven shut and moves to the faucet, shoving his hand under the cold water, muttering curse words. I’m trying to suppress my laughter, but the wine and the ridiculousness of the last few seconds are making it hard. I look at the floor—at the mess we’re https://books.yossr.com/en

about to have to clean up—and the laughter bursts from me. I’m still laughing as I lean over to get a look at Ryle’s hand. I hope he didn’t hurt it too bad.

I’m instantly not laughing anymore. I’m on the floor, my hand pressed against the corner of my eye.

In a matter of one second, Ryle’s arm came out of nowhere and slammed against me, knocking me backward. There was enough force behind it to knock me off balance. When I lost my footing, I hit my face on one of the cabinet door handles as I came down.

Pain shoots through the corner of my eye, right near my temple.

And then I feel the weight.

Heaviness follows and it presses down on every part of me. So much gravity, pushing down on my emotions. Everything shatters.

My tears, my heart, my laughter, my soul. Shattered like broken glass, raining down around me.

I wrap my arms over my head and try to wish away the last ten seconds.

“Goddammit, Lily,” I hear him say. “It’s not funny. This hand is my fucking career.”

I don’t look up at him. His voice doesn’t penetrate through my body this time. It feels like it’s stabbing me now, the sharpness of each of his words coming at me like swords. Then I feel him next to me, his goddamn hand on my back.

Rubbing.

“Lily,” he says. “Oh, God. Lily.” He tries to pull my arms from my head, but I refuse to budge. I start shaking my head, wanting the last fifteen seconds to go away. Fifteen seconds. That’s all it takes to completely change everything about a person.