Page 69 of The Summer Song

Falling for you without fear.

I’m dancing with you at high tide

Nobody knows that I’m here.

You woke me up like a summer song

And taught me to be true

You put the right into everything wrong

I’m so in love with you.”

I could barely breathe as the song played, a true whirlwind. Between the soft glow of the torches and the backdrop of the sea, the summer song drifted in the air between us. I was touched. I was changed. I kept listening, making sure I hadn’t misheard the chorus.

“I’m so in love with you.” I heard it again. My heart swelled. And then, my heart admitted the truth I’d known for the past few weeks but hadn’t said aloud. Perhaps what I’d known before I recognized it for what it was on that first day when I woke up to Leo in the hospital.

I was in love.

I was in love in a way I hadn’t been before. I was in love with a man full of complications but who I wanted to be around anyway. I was in love with a man who was fun and whimsical, who supported my dreams at the core.

I was in love with a popstar—but mostly, I was in love with a sweet, fun man who brought me back to life again. I was love against all odds—a broken heart, our different lives, and the short time we’d spent together. But when your heart knew, it really just knew, as cheesy as that sounded.

When he strummed the last chord and it resonated in the breeze, I sat stunned for a while. I didn’t know if I should clap, attempt an awkward standing ovation on crutches—or marry him right there.

Wiping tears from my eyes, I asked him, “Did you say you’re in love with me?”

He nodded, catching my eye. Color rose to his cheeks, but he didn’t move his gaze from mine.

I exhaled through a smile. “Okay, then,” I said stupidly, nodding.

“Okay then,” he said back, shaking his head with a grin. He crossed the distance between us, putting his guitar down. He kneeled beside my chair, put his hand on my cheek, and pulled me gently in. It was in that moment I realized our “I love yous” had come before a single kiss—but it didn’t matter. Our love had formed out of something different than physical connection. It had been forged out of friendship, circumstance, and the dreams we both had on our hearts.

Our lips met, and the kiss between us was also pure magic. It solidified the feelings and ascertained what we already knew to be true. My heart leaped in my chest as the soft kiss grew intense, a moment of admission, of passion, of love.

“I’m in love with you, Leo Turner. And I’m in love with that song.”

“Thank goodness. Because I’ve never been so nervous to sing a song in my life.”

We kissed again, the novelty still lingering. I thought if he kissed me every day for the rest of my life, the novelty would still exist.

“What’s it called?” I asked when we pulled apart once more.

“‘The Summer Song,’” he said.

“It’s perfect,” I said. “Can I hear it again?”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You can hear it as many times as you want,” he replied.

“I might just take you up on that.”

And then he crossed back to his guitar, sat down, and played the song again. The nerves had melted away now, and he stared into my eyes during most of it. I could have stayed on that beach with the tiki torches and chilly air billowing through my hair forever.

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