Again, But Better(118)

I study him in silence for a minute. My lips purse. “Did you mean what you and Taylor said in those songs, literally?”

“Yeah, I think I really, really like you a lot, Shane Primaveri. Like, even more than the kitchen chairs.”

I inhale sharply. “I might like you more than the shawarma.”

“Damn. Shawarma was basically why you wanted to come back and study abroad again in the first place.”

“I mean, yeah, basically.”

“I’m honored.” He shifts closer, but I pull back and suck in a breath.

“Pies, I was about to push the reset button. Like, my finger was on it.” His expression falls.

I sit up and bring my clenched left hand forward to reveal the silver artifact. “I’m pretty sure my parents aren’t going to let me live with them unless I revert back to their life plan. I might not be able to go back to school. I’ll have no place to live. I didn’t find a writing job. I have no computer. I have no money! I used it all traveling … I don’t know—”

“Hey.” He sits up next to me. “Wait, what, no computer?”

“It broke,” I mumble sadly.

Pilot tucks my hair behind my ear; his touch sparks through me. He smiles ever so slightly. “Is that why you’ve been using notebooks again?”

I reach up and catch his fingers in my hand. “How the hell do you know that?”

“I told you, Primaveri, if you’re in sight, I see you.

“I know how much Sawyer meant to you, I can’t imagine how hard these past two months have been without a laptop. But … whatever happens, you’ll get through it. Future Shane is going to be an amazingly successful author.”

“Pies, I’m serious.” I roll my eyes and shake my head, sending tears running down my face. “Becoming a doctor? It’s so solid. There’s a blueprint; there’s a set path to follow.” I swallow. “Becoming a writer is like … being lost and just having to hope to god you stumble to your destination.”

He coaxes my face back toward his and looks me right in the eyes. “I am an avid French Watermelon fan. I believe in you, one thousand percent, and everything else … I’d like to be there to help you figure it out.”

A close-mouthed grin wobbles onto my face. “Seriously, you really want to do this? 2011 and onward all over again? With me?”

“I’m in if you’re in.”

I fidget, nerves flickering in my gut. “But it’s going to be really hard, Pilot. We’ve changed the timeline … so many things can go wrong.”

He guides my fingers closed around the locket. “But think how many things could go right.”

I suck in a breath and gaze out at Edinburgh. What would life be like if things went right? If I mended things with Leo? Kept working things through with my parents? Changed my major? Never went to med school? Never moved to California? Kept working on my book? Dated Pilot?

I scoot over until I’m right in front of him on my knees, and study his eyes. “You’re sure?”

His smiles at 100 percent. It sends my heart sprinting. “I’m scarily sure.”

A grin creeps up my cheeks. “Like, forty-two percent sure?”

“Like, a hundred and eight percent sure.”

I pull him into a hug. His arms wrap tight around me.

“I’m scared shitless,” I whisper over his ear.

“It’s all part of the vulnerable idiot experience.”

I pull back. “What about you? What about the divorce? You’re going to have to deal with that all over again.”

“I’m better equipped to deal with it now.”

“How are your sisters?”

“They’re working through it. We’ve been talking once a week. You can meet them on the next Skype call if you want.”

“I’d like that.”

“I uploaded our video yesterday.”

My face lights up. “What? ‘Wrecking Ball’? Really?”

He moves to stand and helps me to my feet. “Really.”

“Oh, man, I am so proud.” I squeeze his hands. “I hope Usher’s waiting to sign you on Monday.”

He scoffs, leaning forward so our foreheads meet. Our noses brush. I watch his eyelashes flutter.

“I think I love you,” he says softly.

My mouth goes slack, a rush of glitter hurtling into my chest. I pull back a few inches and give in to the goofy smile itching at my lips. “Well … I love shawarma so, like, by definition…”

His eyes light up, but he doesn’t smile. He bites his lip. “It’s so hot when you compare me to shawarma.”

“I love you too.” I grab a fistful of his shirt and close the gap between us.



* * *



We’re trekking down the crag, hand in hand, when my purse pulses against my hip.

I raise my eyebrows. “Did you finally text me back?”

“You texted me?”

“Yeah, before.” I let go of his hand to dig the phone from my purse. It’s a text, but not from Pilot.

Donna: Finally heard back from my friend at Seventeen. You have an interview on Monday. xx





Epilogue