You Are Here(66)

And before he could overthink or overanalyze it—

before he could begin to worry or calculate or consider all the things that could possibly go wrong—Peter closed his eyes and leaned in and kissed her. And much to his surprise—without bumping heads or getting tripped up by any of the other thousand or so catastrophes that might have occurred—he found that she kissed him right back. Her hair smelled of pine needles, subtle and sweet, and for the first time in his life Peter understood what the opposite of lost was: that it had nothing to do with maps or directions or staying on course; that it was, in fact, nothing more than being found.

But sooner than he would have liked, Emma took a step backward. “I’m sorry,” she said without looking at him, and Peter felt his stomach drop.

“I guess I’m the one who should be apologizing then,” he muttered, shaking his head and trying not to feel disappointed. “ I kissed you.”

“No,” she said with a frown. “Not about that. That was okay.”

Peter grinned. “It was?”

She nodded impatiently. “I meant that I’m sorry about everything else. You came on this trip without asking any questions, and you were so great about everything, and I should’ve been a better friend to you.”

“It’s fine—”

“No,” she said. “It’s not. You’ve been so good to me. Not just this past week, but always. Nobody’s ever really taken the time to …”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Get to know me, I guess.”

“I know you,” he said with a smile. “I’ve always known you.”

Emma blinked a few times, and Peter could see that her eyes were damp. He raised a hand to brush away a stray tear with his thumb—thinking this would be both incredibly considerate and exceedingly romantic—but somehow managed to step on her toe in the process, tripping forward and poking her in the eye instead.

Emma gave a little yelp, clapping a hand over the left side of her face, and Peter stared at her in horror. “I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush. “I was only trying to—”

“It’s okay,” she said, and he was relieved to see she was half laughing at him, sniffling a bit as she took her hand away from her face and blinked a few times.

“I guess I shouldn’t have pressed my luck.”

Emma shook her head. “It’s fine, really.”

The dog ambled over, stepping gingerly on his bad paw, and Emma kneeled down and took his face in her hands as he shoved his nose into her neck, slobbering and drooling and wiggling all over.

“He’s feeling better today.”

“I’m glad,” Emma said, beaming at the dog. “And I’m glad you both came.”

She stood up and walked over to the blue convertible, popping open the trunk and rummaging through until she found a box of candles. “You guys are the last to arrive, actually. My whole family showed up yesterday, every single one of them. And since they were all down here already, I thought this would be a nice place to celebrate my birthday.”

“It is,” Peter said. “I’m glad you invited me.”

“Yeah, well, I know what a sucker you are for birthday parties,” she teased, handing him the candles and slipping the keys back in her pocket.

He laughed as he reached over to close the trunk for her. “I guess I can make an exception for this one.”

“Good,” she said. “Because everyone’s waiting for us.”

He flipped the box of candles around in his palm, then held it up. “So,” he said. “Think your brother would’ve liked birthday cake?”

She hesitated, but just for a moment, before reaching for his hand. “I do,” she said, looking at him intently. “And what about your mom?”

“I don’t know about that,” Peter told her, closing his fingers around hers as they began to walk. “But I do know she liked waterfalls.”

“Waterfalls?”

He nodded.

“That’s almost as weird as battlefields.”

“It is,” he said with a grin. “It’s exactly as weird as battlefields.”

When they rounded the corner, Peter could see that there was a small table set up near her brother’s grave, right there among the tall grass and the fallen crab apples. There were flowers and gifts and balloons, and there was a cake in the center of it all, around which Emma’s entire family stood, waiting for her. The dog skipped out ahead of them, loping along with a funny little gait, his tail streaming behind him and his ears pricked forward. He reached the group first and took a seat in their midst, waiting as Emma and Peter approached—hand in hand as they crossed the lawn, tired and happy as any two survivors of a great expedition—and then he lifted his head and let out a deep, echoing bark to welcome them home.