Page 77 of Summer After Summer

“Morning, birthday girl.” His hair is mussed, and there’s a trace of stubble on his chin. I like him like this in the morning. Rumpled, sleepy.

“Morning.”

He kisses my arm. “Twenty-one.”

“That’s right.”

“Legal for everything.”

I laugh. “I guess.”

“What does the birthday girl want for her birthday?”

“Honestly? I’d love a big pancake breakfast.”

“That’s what you’d love?”

“Hmm.” We’ve started doing this. Tossing the word love into conversations about everything but each other. I assume it means we’re about to say, “I love you,” but I’ve never said that to a person I’m not related to, so I’m not one hundred percent sure.

“I would.”

“You want me to make these pancakes?”

“Aunt Tracy will make them.”

“Am I at least invited to this breakfast?”

I kiss him. “Yes.”

He smiles against my mouth. “I assume I shouldn’t arrive from up here for that?”

“Definitely not.”

“All right, then.” He starts to sit up, but I pull him back down.

“Breakfast isn’t until eight.”

“Oh yeah?”

“There’s something else I’d love before you go.”

“Hmm?”

I run my hand along his stomach. I love its ridges and warmth. I love how it feels against mine, how it fits when we come together. “You know.”

“Do I?”

“I hope so.”

He presses his mouth to mine, and I want to say it, I want to say that I love this, I love him, I want this and him and us forever.

But I don’t. Instead, I let our bodies say it for us, and hope we have enough time later for the words.

After Fred leaves, I take a long shower, then trip down the stairs, feeling light and happy. I kiss Aunt Tracy in the kitchen and put in my order and tell her there will be one more for breakfast.

“This boy who’s been sneaking into the house every night?”

“How did you know about that?”

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