Waiting

18

Summer POV

I had no idea how I made it upstairs without floating.

One moment, I was standing beneath the porch light with my father beside me, watching Arie remain in the driveway long after I had kissed his cheek and said good night.

The next, I was inside my bedroom with my back pressed against the closed door and both hands covering the ridiculous smile stretching across my face.

My heart would not slow down.

It fluttered against my ribs in wild, uneven bursts, as though something inside me had grown wings and was determined to escape.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

It did not help.

I could still see him.

The stunned expression that had crossed his face when I wrapped my arms around his neck.

The warmth of his hand holding mine.

The way his eyes had followed me as I walked toward the porch, as though he had not been ready for the evening to end any more than I was.

I pushed away from the door and crossed my room, only to turn around and walk back again.

Then I did it once more.

Apparently, pacing was all my body knew how to do with this much energy trapped inside it.

“What is wrong with me?” I whispered.

Nothing answered.

Unless the violent swarm of butterflies inside my stomach counted.

I pressed one hand against them and laughed beneath my breath.

This was ridiculous.

I had spent only a few hours with him.

A drive.

A conversation.

A sunset on the beach.

Yet somehow, the entire evening felt too large to fit into something as ordinary as a few hours.

I moved toward the window and pulled the curtain aside.

Arie’s vehicle was no longer in the driveway.

A small, unreasonable disappointment settled inside me.

I had known he would leave. He had driven me home. That was how the evening was supposed to end.

Still, some part of me had hoped he might remain there a little longer.

Maybe I would catch him looking back at the house.

Maybe he would see me standing at the window.

Maybe we would find some excuse to keep talking, even with my father planted on the porch like a guard determined to destroy every romantic possibility in existence.

I let the curtain fall and leaned my forehead against the cool glass.

Arie had only been gone a few minutes, and already his absence felt too noticeable.

That could not be normal.

I barely knew him.

At least, I thought I barely knew him.

That was the strange part.

Being with Arie had not felt like meeting someone new. There had been no uncomfortable search for words or pressure to become a more interesting version of myself. Even when silence settled between us, it had not felt awkward.

It had felt full.

Familiar.

As though some hidden part of me had recognized him long before the rest of me had caught up.

I turned from the window and sank onto the edge of my bed.

Immediately, the beach returned to me.

The fading warmth of the sand beneath my legs.

The distant rush of the waves.

The salt carried on the wind.

Arie sitting beside me, close enough that I had been aware of every small movement without ever feeling crowded by him.

I remembered the way the evening light had touched his face. The shadows beneath his eyes. The careful way he had watched me whenever I smiled.

No one had ever looked at me like that.

Not as though I were merely beautiful.

People had told me that before, usually because they wanted something or believed the words were expected.

Arie had looked at me as though I were something unexpected.

Something rare.

Something he had been searching for without knowing whether it existed.

The thought sent another rush of warmth through me.

“Oh my God.”

I dropped backward across the bed and covered my face with both hands.

I was in trouble.

Deep, embarrassing trouble.

I could still hear his voice.

Low.

Measured.

Far too serious for some of the things I had said to him.

Then I would catch the smallest shift at the corner of his mouth—almost a smile—as though he had forgotten how to make one and I had somehow reminded him.

That might have been my favorite part.

No.

His eyes were my favorite.

Or his voice.

Or the way he seemed confused whenever I teased him, only to answer with something so unintentionally charming that I forgot whatever clever response I had prepared.

I groaned and rolled onto my stomach, burying my face in my pillow.

This was pathetic.

I had never felt this way before.

I had liked people.

I had experienced attraction. Curiosity. The temporary thrill of someone new paying attention to me.

This was not that.

This felt frighteningly alive.

It was not only butterflies. It was warmth spreading through places inside me that I had not realized were cold. It was the strange certainty that something important had happened, even though I could not explain what it was.

As though my life had quietly divided itself into two parts.

Before the beach.

And after.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling.

Then the drive home returned to me.

The road passing beyond the windows.

The quiet hum of the engine.

Arie beside me, one hand steady on the wheel while silence gathered between us, charged with everything neither of us seemed brave enough to say.

Every so often, I had glanced toward him.

Only briefly.

Just long enough to catch the hard line of his jaw, the concentration in his eyes, and the restraint that seemed to tighten through him whenever we stopped at a light.

I had wondered whether he could feel it too.

That invisible pull.

That nervous, electric awareness of how close we were within the confined space.

The entire drive, I had been painfully aware that the night was ending.

Every street carried me closer to home.

Every turn shortened the time I had left with him.

I had wanted to ask him to keep driving.

Anywhere.

Nowhere.

Just not toward the moment when I would have to get out.

Then we reached my house.

My father was already standing on the porch.

Of course he was.

Arie pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine.

For one suspended moment, neither of us moved.

The sudden silence inside the vehicle seemed louder than the road had been.

I could feel my father watching from the porch, but I could not bring myself to open the door.

Not yet.

I thanked Arie, though the words felt painfully inadequate.

Thank you for the beach.

Thank you for listening.

Thank you for looking at me as though I mattered.

Thank you for making me feel something I had never felt before.

None of that made it out.

Instead, I said something ordinary and safe.

Arie stepped out first and came around the vehicle before I had fully convinced my legs to work.

He opened my door for me.

Of course he did.

That small, careful gesture had done something ridiculous to my heart.

I climbed out, and we stood together in the driveway, close enough to feel the pull between us but far enough apart to remain painfully proper beneath my father’s watchful stare.

Neither of us seemed ready to end the evening.

I shifted my weight.

Arie looked toward the porch, then back at me.

The corner of his mouth moved.

Almost a smile.

“Good night, Summer.”

My name in his voice had sounded intimate.

Personal.

Almost reluctant.

“Good night, Arie.”

Then I had done something I had not planned.

Something I had not even considered until my body was already moving.

I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around his neck.

Arie went completely still.

For half a second, I wondered whether I had made a terrible mistake.

Then his arms came around me.

Carefully.

Almost reverently.

As though he were holding something fragile despite the fact that he was the one who felt powerful enough to break me without trying.

My heart nearly stopped.

I pulled back before I lost every ounce of courage I possessed.

Then I kissed his cheek.

His expression afterward was something I knew I would replay for the rest of the night.

Maybe for the rest of my life.

Surprise.

Wonder.

Something deeper that I could not name but wanted desperately to understand.

I squeezed his hand once before forcing myself to let go.

Then I walked toward the porch.

My father’s mouth twitched when I reached him, clearly entertained by whatever ridiculous attempt at formal conversation Arie and I had made beneath his scrutiny.

I looked back.

Arie was still standing beside his vehicle.

Watching me.

And when my father made some comment that sent me into helpless laughter, Arie smiled too.

Not the almost-smile I had been collecting all evening.

A real one.

Because of me.

I pressed my fingertips against my lips now, even though they had only touched his cheek.

Nothing truly dramatic had happened.

He had not kissed me.

He had barely touched me throughout the evening.

So why did I feel as though he had left fingerprints everywhere?

I sat up abruptly.

My phone rested beside me on the bed.

I stared at it.

No.

Absolutely not.

I was not going to text him the second I reached my room.

I had dignity.

Self-control.

Enough experience with the world to understand that appearing too eager was rarely a good idea.

I would wait.

At least twenty minutes.

Maybe thirty.

I checked the time.

Three minutes had passed since I came upstairs.

“That cannot be right.”

I checked again.

Still three minutes.

Time had apparently stopped moving merely to torment me.

I placed the phone facedown.

Then picked it up again.

I opened our messages.

His name sat at the top of the screen, somehow capable of sending another rush of excitement through my stomach.

Arie.

I stared at the empty message field.

What was I supposed to say?

Thank you for tonight.

Too formal.

I had fun.

Too casual.

I cannot stop thinking about you, and I am fairly certain you have permanently damaged my ability to behave like a normal person.

Honest, but possibly alarming.

I typed a message.

Deleted it.

Typed another.

Deleted that one too.

Then I laughed at myself and dropped backward onto the bed.

This was absurd.

He had spent the evening with me because he wanted to.

He had driven me home.

He had held me when I hugged him.

And unless I had imagined everything, he had looked just as reluctant to say goodbye as I had felt.

Maybe he was somewhere thinking about me too.

That possibility dissolved what remained of my restraint.

I began typing again.

This time, I did not delete it.

S: Still awake?

My thumb hovered over the arrow for one final second.

Then I pressed send.

The message left the screen.

Instant regret crashed into me.

“Oh no.”

I threw the phone onto the mattress as though it had betrayed me.

Then immediately snatched it back up.

Delivered.

My pulse jumped.

There was no response.

Of course there was no response. It had been approximately half a second.

I watched the screen anyway.

One second passed.

Then another.

My mind began offering every possible explanation.

He was asleep.

He regretted the evening.

He had seen the message and was trying to determine the gentlest possible way to tell me never to contact him again.

Then the screen changed.

A: Yes. I could not sleep. Why are you still awake?

The butterflies inside me erupted.

He could not sleep either.

I stared at the words, far too pleased by them.

Maybe that did not mean he had been thinking about me.

Maybe he simply had insomnia.

Still, hope had already taken hold.

I began typing.

Because I have replayed you looking at me approximately eighty times.

Delete.

Because apparently one sunset with you has destroyed my nervous system.

Delete.

Because I cannot stop thinking about tonight.

My thumb hovered.

Too honest.

I changed it.

S: I tried to sleep, but my brain apparently has other plans.

I sent it before I could reconsider.

His response came quickly.

A: What plans?

“Oh, he is going to make me say it.”

I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face against the mattress.

He wanted certainty.

Of course he did.

I typed several answers.

Deleted all of them.

Finally, I forced myself to be brave.

S: Mostly replaying tonight and making it impossible for me to act like a normal person.

I held my breath.

A: I do not believe there was anything abnormal about you tonight.

A laugh escaped me.

If only he knew.

I had spent half the evening internally panicking because he kept looking at me like that.

S: That is because I was doing an excellent job pretending to be calm.

His response appeared almost immediately.

A: You were not as convincing as you believe.

I sat upright.

“Excuse me?”

I typed the words exactly as I said them.

S: Excuse me?

A: You appeared nervous.

I narrowed my eyes at the screen.

S: I was not nervous.

A: You were.

I stared at his reply.

There was something infuriatingly attractive about his confidence.

S: Maybe a little.

I sent it.

Then, before courage abandoned me, I typed the truth.

S: You made me nervous.

The second I sent it, I stopped breathing.

That was too much.

Too direct.

I should delete it.

Could messages be pulled back after sending?

Before I could investigate, his response appeared.

A: Did I frighten you?

My heart softened immediately.

Of course that was where his mind had gone.

Not arrogance.

Concern.

S: No. Not like that.

I hesitated.

Then added:

S: The good kind of nervous.

There.

Now he would either understand or think I was completely insane.

His reply took longer this time.

A: I did not know there was a good kind.

I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt.

“That is so unbelievably adorable.”

I began typing before I lost my nerve.

S: There is. It’s accompanied by - Butterflies. Racing heart. Forgetting what you were about to say because someone keeps looking at you, so you ramble like an i***t.

The message looked far too revealing once it was sent.

Then his response arrived.

A: Someone?

I groaned.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

S: Don’t make me spell it out.

A: I would prefer certainty.

I covered my face.

He really was going to make me say it.

Fine.

S: You.

I stared at the single word.

Then added before I lost my courage completely:

S: You kept looking at me.

His reply came.

A: I found it difficult not to.

Every coherent thought left my mind.

I reread it.

Then again.

Then one more time, because apparently I enjoyed torturing myself.

I dropped the phone against my chest and stared at the ceiling.

He found it difficult not to look at me.

No one should be allowed to say things like that so calmly.

I picked the phone back up.

Typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Deleted again.

Finally:

S: You really cannot say things like that when I’m trying to calm down.

A: Why?

“Why?”

I laughed into my pillow.

S: Because it is not helping.

A: I apologize.

I stared at the message.

No, he did not.

S: No, you don’t.

His response came quickly.

A: No. I do not.

A breathless laugh escaped me.

There he was.

That quiet, unexpected confidence beneath all his solemn seriousness.

I pressed the phone to my chest and kicked my feet once against the mattress before forcing myself to stop behaving like a twelve-year-old.

Several seconds passed.

Then reality intruded.

It was late.

He might have things to do.

A life I knew almost nothing about.

S: Are you busy?

His reply came.

A: no, it’s just late.

I immediately felt guilty.

S: Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you up.

For one horrible second, I wondered whether I had misread everything.

Maybe he was tired.

Maybe I was keeping him awake.

Maybe he had only answered because he was too polite not to.

Then his next message appeared.

A: You’re not. I’m happy you’re awake thinking of me.

I froze.

Then slowly covered my mouth with one hand.

He was happy I was thinking of him.

My heart did something impossible inside my chest.

I reread the message until the words blurred slightly.

Then I typed the only honest response I had left.

S: I’m smiling like an i***t right now.

A: Why?

I laughed softly.

He truly had no idea what he sounded like.

S: You really have no idea how you sound, do you?

A: Apparently not.

That only made it worse.

S: It’s kind of adorable.

His response came almost immediately.

A: Adorable?

I could practically hear the offense in his voice.

S: Yes. Adorable.

A: I have never been described that way. It’s kind of emasculating.

I burst out laughing.

There was something so strangely normal about the reply that it made him feel closer.

Less untouchable.

More real.

S: Fine. Intimidatingly adorable.

A: That appears contradictory.

S: Somehow, you make it work.

A: You are teasing me.

S: A little.

A: I noticed.

I smiled down at the screen.

S: Good. I was worried the immortal-level seriousness might make you immune.

The moment I sent it, the typing indicator disappeared.

I frowned.

Had that been strange?

Too strange?

Then his message appeared.

A: immortal?

“Oh.”

I had accidentally made him nervous.

That was almost as adorable as everything else.

S: You just have very old-soul energy. Don’t panic. I’m not calling you old or anything.

A: I was not panicking.

“Sure.”

S: Sure.

A: I do not panic.

I thought of the way his entire body had stiffened when my father appeared on the porch.

S: You were definitely panicking when my dad came onto the porch.

There was a pause before he responded.

A: I was assessing the danger.

A laugh burst out of me.

S: My dad is not dangerous.

A: He appeared unconvinced of my intentions.

That made me pause.

What were Arie’s intentions?

I had been wondering the same thing all evening.

S: He is unconvinced of everyone’s intentions.

A: Sensible.

I frowned.

S: Wait. Are you agreeing with him?

A: He loves you very much and wants to protect you.

Something warm settled inside my chest.

Arie understood.

He had not been irritated by my father’s presence. He had recognized it for what it was.

Love.

Protection.

Then a question formed before I had time to decide whether I should ask it.

My thumbs moved.

S: And what do you want?

The message sent.

Immediately, my courage disappeared.

That was too direct.

Far too direct.

I stared at the screen as the seconds stretched.

No typing indicator.

Nothing.

My pulse began racing for an entirely different reason.

Then the three dots appeared.

Vanished.

Returned.

Finally:

A: To see you again.

My entire body softened.

That was all I needed.

Not some enormous declaration.

Not promises neither of us was ready to make.

He wanted to see me again.

S: Good.

A: Good?

I smiled.

S: Because I want to see you again too.

His answer came immediately.

A: When?

I laughed.

No hesitation.

No game.

Straight to the point.

S: Wow. Straight to it huh?

A: Is that wrong?

S: No. I like it

A: Tomorrow then.

Tomorrow.

My stomach fluttered all over again.

I stared at the word as though it contained an entire future.

S: Tomorrow sounds good.

A: tomorrow then. I’ll pick you up at 8

Eight?

I grinned.

S: Why so early! jk - it’s a date!

The moment I sent it, I went still.

A date.

I had called it a date.

Not spending time together.

Not hanging out.

A date.

The typing indicator appeared.

A: Yes.

One word.

But somehow, it made the entire thing official.

Tomorrow, Arie and I were going on a date.

I fell backward across the bed, unable to contain the smile spreading across my face.

He had to be smiling too.

There was no possibility that I was the only one losing my mind over this.

S: You’re smiling, aren’t you?

A: Perhaps.

I laughed.

S: I knew it.

A: Are you?

I bit my lip, considering whether to admit it.

S: Maybe.

A: That means yes.

He was catching on.

S: You’re learning.

I stared at the screen, still smiling, while warmth spread through every part of me.

Then his next message appeared.

A: I should let you sleep, you have an early day tomorrow.

A small ache of disappointment moved through me.

I did not want the conversation to end.

Not yet.

S: You do not have to.

His response followed.

A: I probably should before I keep you up all night.

I wanted to tell him that I would happily stay awake until morning.

That sleep felt completely unimportant compared with this.

Instead, I forced myself to be reasonable.

S: ok Good night, Arie.

The message sat on the screen.

It felt too final.

Too ordinary after everything that had passed between us.

Then his response arrived.

A: Good night, Summer.

My name looked different when it came from him.

Warmer.

As though even through a screen, I could hear the way his voice wrapped around it.

Another message appeared.

A: I am glad you messaged me.

My heart squeezed.

So was I.

More than he could possibly know.

S: Me too.

I hesitated, then added one final truth.

S: And just so you know, I’m still smiling.

His answer came.

A: So am I.

I pressed the phone to my chest.

For several seconds, I simply lay there, holding those words against my heart as though I could somehow absorb them.

Then I typed one final message.

S: Tomorrow, then.

A: Tomorrow.

The screen went still.

I continued staring at it, waiting for another message even though we had already said good night several times.

None came.

Still, I could not stop smiling.

I set the phone carefully beside my pillow and pulled the blanket around myself.

Tomorrow.

Arie was going to pick me up at eight.

It was a date.

An actual date.

I closed my eyes, but the evening continued moving behind them.

The sunset.

His eyes.

His hand around mine.

His arms closing carefully around me.

The stunned warmth on his face when I kissed his cheek.

Then his words appeared again in my mind.

I found it difficult not to.

To see you again.

I am glad you messaged me.

So am I.

I pressed my face into the pillow, trying to contain the happiness threatening to spill out of me.

I had never felt anything like this.

Not even close.

It felt too new to call love.

Too fragile to name.

But something had begun.

Something warm and bright had opened quietly inside me on that beach, and every message from Arie had made it blossom a little more.

For once, I did not try to understand it.

I did not question whether it was too soon or too intense or whether I was being foolish.

I simply let myself feel it.

Tomorrow waited for me.

And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I could not wait for the night to end.