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  I attempt to stop her from saying anything, but words are already falling from her mouth. “You’re Campbell Potter, August Wyatt’s ex-girlfriend. I haven’t seen you in ages!” She points, her eyes animated, and my heart sinks into my stomach with a sickening plop. She must see my expression fade into something terrified because she puts her hand over her heart. “Oh, honey,” she says, sympathy rolling off her. “Bless your heart.”

  I groan and turn toward Beau, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

  Damn that Samantha Welsh!

  “I…” I sputter, my tone falling flat. “I…”

  Ah, hell. Samantha just opened an entire can of worms I’m not ready to clean up.

  Samantha moves her eyes to Beau and I know she sees his bewilderment. “Bless your heart,” she says, again and I wish she’d stop. She steps back, moving away like I’m some sort of frightening animal.

  Beau rubs the back of his neck.

  His puzzled expression and my guilt are too much. “I…I’m sorry. I’m going to go.”

  I rise from the table and I bolt out of there like a bat out of hell.

  Bless my damn heart.

  Slap Me Silly

  Barreling through the door, I throw my purse on the floor and rush to my copy of Somewhere Only We Know. Curling my legs underneath me, I sit down at the end of the couch, opening the book to the last two pages.

  “We’re too young,” Brooke whispered against my ear, a tear trembling down her cheek. I felt the moisture on my chest and my heart ached. I wasn’t willing to give her up, or willing to let her ruin what we had because she was scared.

  I kissed her forehead. “That doesn’t mean what I’m feeling isn’t real.”

  The dorm rooms were quiet that night despite a party happening a few rooms down. Deafening silence filled the gap between us and I desperately wished I could do something to change her mind.

  “What if we’re running on borrowed time?”

  She was questioning everything I’d ever promised. I knew the fight we’d just had hurt her, but was I losing her? Was she ready to give up?

  “There’s no such thing as borrowed time in a world where love is concerned. Sure, there could be obstacles, but life happens. Sometimes we have to suffer through misery to find what’s real.”

  Brooke stayed quiet, thinking on my words. We’d gone through too much. Seen too many things. Lived through too many tragedies to just walk away. If she wasn’t going to fight, I was. No matter the time she needed, we were going to find our way to each other.

  She cried on my chest for incalculable minutes, sobs ripping through her chest as she worked her way through her emotions.

  In those moments, I could feel her slipping away.

  “I can’t marry you, Rush,” she said, speaking so softly I almost didn’t hear.

  I gulped and squeezed her, the last remaining piece of my heart falling away. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it – live life without her – but, I knew, for now, I had to. If we were going to win this battle, if we were going to make it in the long run, I knew in that moment I had to make a sacrifice.

  “Listen,” I breathed, feeling the weight of what I’d been trying to tell her all weekend crushing my chest. If anything was going to keep her with me, my news would be it.

  It was my last ditch effort to keep her – if my news didn’t make her see, nothing would. At least, not now.

  The call had happened early Thursday morning. I hadn’t even written the ending yet, but a publishing house wanted to buy the rights to my book.

  “Harris Publishing wants the book, Brooke. Our book. They made an offer this week. They’re flying me out to New York first thing Monday morning,” I continue, hoping this is what will pull her from the edge. To come with me. To marry me. To start this new leg of our adventure. To help me finish the conclusion to our story.

  She couldn’t marry a twenty-year-old with nothing to offer but maybe she’d stay if she knew I was going to make something of myself. For her. For me. For us.

  I somehow got a publishing contract and our journey was just beginning. I could finally offer her more than an empty dorm room with cheap food and a crappy car.

  “You’re…you’re leaving?”

  The word struck me like a baseball bat to the stomach. You’re? No, we’re.

  “I was hoping you’d come with me.”

  “You can’t just run out of the restaurant like that!” Beau shouts at me as he storms into my apartment, his eyes wild and his breathing erratic.

  I close the book and set it down on the coffee table, wiping the tears from my eyes that I didn’t realize I was leaking. I don’t even attempt to hide the book. There’s no point now. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I just…I needed,” I stop to correct myself. “I need time.”

  I look down at my knotted hands on my lap. Samantha recognizing me scrambled my brain. No one has made the connection in years. I’d been able to walk around this town with ease for so long. Unfortunately, now that the movie is being made, it’s stirring up a big mess.

  “Time,” Beau sighs. “I can give you time.” He takes a couple of steps, the anger in his demeanor dispersing the closer he gets to me. “But, I don’t want to. Don’t push me away, Cam.” His eyes are pleading now and he kneels in front of me.

  Don’t push him away? He sounds like August…

  The book on the coffee table lights up, reminding me of all the pain I endured and I shudder. Beau isn’t August. August left and Beau’s here.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, deflating.

  A smile creeps onto Beau’s face, his white teeth a wonderful contrast to his creamy, olive skin. “What are you sorry for?”

  I huff. My face crinkles and I look down at the book again. “For not telling you,” I begin. “Everything with August is complicated and I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “So, you do know him?”

  Know him is a little bit of an understatement.

  Tremors quake just under my skin but I force myself to ignore them. “I’m…I’m the girl from the book. I’m Brooke.” Even saying my August-given fictitious name made me hurt a little.

  Beau’s mouth drops open and his eyes bulge to the size of an anime character’s. He rises from the floor and takes a seat next to me.

  I flinch a little. Not because I’m embarrassed, but more because of how he’s looking at me and touching my leg. Like, I’m this anomaly he’s found. I’m Santa Claus. Only, I’m not nearly as jolly or obsessed with the color red. I begin to get up from my seat. I need another shot of Bourbon.

  “Wait.” Beau gently grabs my arm, guiding me back down to the couch. “So, you’re Brooke. That’s not a huge deal.”

  I deflate and his thumb strokes my skin.

  I wasn’t expecting that.

  “What I am angry about is you keeping such a huge secret from me. I know I didn’t ask you point-blank if you were her, but you pretended you didn’t even know August. I’d hope that whatever it is that’s going on between us, we can at least be honest with each other.”

  Dragging my fingers through my hair, I shake my head. “I know, and you’re right. It’s just my coping mechanism. It’s not you. People say ‘August’ and I run in the opposite direction.”

  “Because he hurt you.” He doesn’t say it like a question, it’s more of an obvious observation. I think he always suspected something happened in my past, he just never asked, and I was more than happy to keep my mouth shut.

  I sort of want to punch myself for being so vulnerable. I also want to hug him for being so perceptive.

  “I can’t take that away. He’s a part of your past, but if you let me, I’ll try to be a part of your future.”

  I swallow and move my eyes to his, so concerned and caring. A future? Can I do that? I’ve never been one hundred percent on board with dating let alone allowing myself to have a real future with anyone.

  Was it because I was hoping August would come back and confess his undying love for me? Perh
aps. Maybe I just wanted to tell August to go screw himself so I could finally move on. I’ve been holding onto a lost cause for so long, it muddled my sane thinking.

  This could be my new beginning. Beau is a great guy, accepting and kind. I’d be stupid to let him go.

  I can, at least, try and have a relationship with him. I’m probably not any good at it, though.

  “You still want this even after what you know? Our world is about to implode. The movie is only going to make it worse. Most people here in Bradshaw know the book is about me, or at least they suspect.”

  I can see my life turning into this non-stop roller coaster of August-madness.

  “So we’ll stay in while they film,” Beau says off-hand like living in my apartment for the next few months isn’t a big deal.

  I laugh and wipe at my nose, muttering, “That doesn’t sound very fun.”

  He shrugs. “It wouldn’t be ideal. Really, though, you can’t let your fear of the past haunt your present. So, you’re Brooke from the book,” he stops to laugh. “Ha, Brooke from the book, that’s funny.”

  I roll my eyes and shove at his shoulder playfully. He’s cheesy – always able to lend a little levity to rough situations.

  “It’s your story. Maybe it’s not your story right now, but you should be proud. Don’t be scared to be noticed, it’s cool that there’s an epic love story out there for everyone to read and wish they had, too.” He takes my hands, placing them in his lap, looking up at me like some sort of signal of hope.

  “You want to wait out this August book-slash-movie storm? Together?”

  “Yep,” he says simply.

  Chewing on the inside of my lip, I look at our hands, so different, yet fitting so well. “O…okay.”

  “Yeah? We’re going to do this?”

  I laugh and take one of my hands, combing it through his lush, coal hair. “I’m going to try. Get ready for the real Cam. She can be kind of a pain in the butt.”

  Beau snickers and moves his hand to the top of my thigh. “Yeah, well I can be kind of a jerk, too.”

  I pull my mouth to the side. “Well, I’ve yet to see that.”

  “I’ve yet to see you be moody.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Don’t act like the Christmas party last year didn’t happen.”

  I can see him recalling how I got a tad angry and yelled at a co-worker who threw up on me. I mean – she threw up on me – I had a good excuse, but nonetheless, it wasn’t nice. Curses were shouted and names were called. It wasn’t pretty.

  I’m not usually a harsh or rash person. I hardly ever overreact, but add in some disgusting vomit and my entire persona changes.

  “Yeah, well, she doesn’t work at the museum anymore, so it shouldn’t count.”

  I lift my body off the couch and offer my hand to Beau. “Come on. I’m tired, and we have to get up early in the morning if we want to beat the movie madness.”

  Beau follows closely behind me, his arms around my waist. “Mmm,” he mutters into my ear, sending goose bumps all over my body. “Sleep might have to wait. We just had our first fight. If we’re doing this – if we’re really going to try to be together – I say we need to make it official.”

  I giggle, turning in his arms, feeling so much better with everything out in the open. His playful eyes and dimples aren’t hurting, either. “Official relationship sex?”

  His eyebrows bounce up and down and a proud smile pulls on his lips.

  Grabbing his shirt, I pull him to the bed, planning to make sure he relationships the hell out of my body.

  I’m overcome with weightlessness the moment my eyes open, but it’s short lived when I realize someone is texting me at two in the morning. I groan, not wanting to move, the soreness from our night warming my body.

  Beau’s arm is wrapped around my waist and he’s snuggled up close against my back. I do my best to reach for my phone without disturbing him. My outstretched arm falls a few inches short, so I move close to the edge of the bed, causing Beau to rollover and lay on his back.

  I sit up and grab my phone, but set it down again, a big smile on my face. Beau’s slap-me-with-a-stick handsome. The moonlight from outside provides enough light for me to see his full lips pout as he dreams. His eyelashes bounce slightly against the apple of his high cheekbones. I didn’t think having a relationship with someone would make me so content, but it oddly does. Being with Beau, knowing that he’s into me despite my past, is quite wonderful. Had I known it would feel this way, I probably would have agreed a long time ago.

  My phone buzzes again with another text message and I figure it’s from Lily. If she’s got juicy gossip to share, even in the wee hours of the morning, she’ll text me.

  After entering my passcode, I don’t recognize the number.

  New Text Message: It’s August. I’m in town. Can we do dinner?

  New Text Message: We should talk.

  My heart sinks into my feet and the phone falls to my chest.

  When Pigs Fly

  My knee-jerk reaction is to save August’s number in my phone. Which is ludicrous. I definitely shouldn’t do it.

  Rotating my head, I see Beau breathing heavily, the harsh light of my phone not affecting him.

  My finger hovers over the screen, anxious to even begin typing back. He’ll see those three little dots and know I saw it.

  Screw it.

  Me: Hey. I think it’s best we…DELETE, DELETE, DELETE.

  Holy crapkittens, Batman. Nope. That sucks.

  I try again.

  Me: August, I don’t know if we should…DELETE, DELETE, DELETE.

  Grinding my teeth, I shut off my phone, slamming it on the bed next to my body. I close my eyes and clutch my stomach. How am I supposed to see August when I can’t even write him a text message? I’m opening an old wound that has never healed.

  Biting my fingernail, my heart thuds in my chest, beating unpredictably for the first time in God-knows-how-long. I hate that just a text message from him does that to me. I always promised myself that if I ever saw him again, I’d be strong. There was nothing left for us to do. We’d had our time together but it ended a long time ago. The possibility of being in each other’s lives wasn’t smart, no matter how much I hated to admit that I still felt for him.

  As my blood continues to rush, August’s face flashes in my mind, vivid and movie-like. Long, dirty blonde hair, curled at the ends of his ears and eyes I could lose myself in. Such a beautiful blue, I always thought they were more of a turquoise color. Mesmerizing and hypnotizing, I’d spend hours just watching him read. Creepy, I know, but he’d play out the entire novel on his face. His eyes would light up, his mouth would drop, his eyebrows would furrow. I couldn’t get enough.

  Compared to my small build, his tall, lanky body towered over mine. He played football, which kept him in shape. I was the Belle to his Beast.

  A jock who was also a nerd?

  Good Lord, he was the ultimate real-life book boyfriend.

  Like an addict snapping a rubber band on their wrist, I remind myself that he left me – he just up and left. I was young and naïve, and he didn’t give me enough time to process everything he was offering. He just…he left.

  I gulp and bite the inside of my lip. The possibility of seeing him was terrifying yet also kind of thrilling. I toyed with the options in my head. Of course I still care for him and of course I wish things were different. There wasn’t an easy answer.

  I debate my reply. How much harm can come from seeing him one last time? We didn’t get closure. Maybe this can be it for me and I can finally move on with Beau. Maybe Mama’s right.

  Throwing the past five years of anger and loneliness out the window, I grab my phone, unlock it and read his text messages again. He wants to talk. I guess talking would be okay if it meant easing my mind.

  Determined with a new plan, my fingers quickly type out a response.

  Me: I’m off tomorrow. Meet me at our spot at three.

  Immedi
ately those three little dots appear, taunting me. My hands begin to shake.

  New Text Message: See you then.

  I save his number in my phone…

  The dust particles flurry around like the first remnants of a snow storm as I make my way down the long corridor of books in the Bradshaw Library. My shoes make tiny tapping noises against the hardwood floor and I pull my cardigan tighter around my body. It’s always cold here.

  Mrs. Grady waves as I pass the circulation desk. It’s not totally out of the norm for me to come here. No one knows, but I visit mine and August’s spot often. I mean – it’s not his spot anymore – he left it a long time ago. It’s just mine now, but potato, patato.

  The knot in my stomach grows with each bookshelf I pass. I make my way past the five rows of fiction, forcing myself to keep moving – to not look for August’s book.

  Biographies, I sigh.

  Cookbooks, my legs feel a little wobbly underneath me.

  Self-help, I keep on walking. I don’t think I want to open that can of confusion.

  Children’s books.

  Teen.

  Twelfth row from the front, in the architecture section, I turn right to see the space is empty, but I got here early. I knew I’d need a few minutes to myself. Walking to the back of the shelves, where the wall meets the bookcase, I slide down, sitting on the ground.

  When I come here alone, it’s mostly just to think. I find clarity in our space.

  Leaning my head against one of the books, I close my eyes and envision myself somewhere else.

  Disneyland.

  The irony isn’t lost on me. August and I always wanted to visit – never got the chance to – but when I need a moment to myself, I close my eyes and transport myself there. I’ve only ever seen pictures online, but those images always do my imagination justice.

  I picture myself walking through the grand entrance, a huge smile on my face. My feet immediately hit the narrow streets of Downtown USA, all the shops open with bright, smiling workers there to greet me. Mickey Mouse stops for a picture as I walk toward Sleeping Beauty’s castle.