Page 61 of Can We Just Be Happy Now?

Gold glitter explosions cover the sky above us–at least ten in a row. “Those are my favorite ones,” I say, distracting myself.

“Mine too,” Cooper agrees as his finger toys with the edge of the fabric. Luckily the crack of a firework hides the hitch of my breath in anticipation of having Cooper touch me.

“How’s the fraternity?”

“It’s good.”

“But . . .”

“It’s nice having brothers who always have your back. I was worried how things would be without football.” His vulnerability isn’t something I take for granted. I’m the one he’ll admit defeat to after a bad game, when he’s just angry around anyone else. I’m the one he came to when he was worried about getting into the fraternity in the first place. And when he didn’t feel confident enough to ask his dad for responsibility helping his business. I know he is open with his mom and Troy but never in the way he is with me. At least that’s how it used to be. Maybe it still is. “That part is great. It’s just a full time job–all the events and parties.”

“They aren’t fun?”

“They are. It was just a lot to manage my first year. We hosted a big philanthropic event that took a lot of planning and a few smaller ones.” I flashback to Ethan telling me to bring my yellow bikini to their annual car wash. A twinge of sadness for missing so much of Cooper’s life hits my heart. “We go to every event the other fraternities and sororities organize. Plus our required community service each quarter. It would be fine, but it’s a lot with how much I’ve been trying to work with Dad. I talked him into not hiring another agent and letting me help more instead.”

“You did?! That’s great! I’m proud of you.” He gives me a half smile in the flicker of silver light above us. “I know it’s hard for you to ask.”

“Thanks, Soph. It was just easier to do all the things in high school, you know? And I was good at it naturally.”

“I’m sure you’re doing better than you think, Coop. Don’t underestimate yourself.” His mood has fallen a bit, and for some reason, I’ve always taken responsibility when it comes to making him feel better. “What do you love about college?”

“That I can sleep in and skip class without getting in trouble.”

“Shut up. You do not do that.” I laugh, realizing too late that it’s bold to make an assumption about someone I can’t claim to know anymore. But I’ll always know Cooper. Right?

He chuckles, his touch unwavering as his fingers whisper across my skin along the line I’m not sure he’ll cross. “I know. But it’s nice that I could.”

“What else?”

“That there’s no one to tell Troy and me we can’t eat spaghetti five nights a week or have ice cream for dinner.”

“Your mom misses cooking for you.” I can hardly keep my thoughts focused on what he’s saying.

“Does she?” he asks, but I’m not convinced he’s invested in the answer. His hand ascends, further from the part of me aching for him. His thumb brushes across my stomach, his fingers softly digging into my side.

“Yeah. It’s okay, though. She has me. We go to the Saturday market together every week. On top of when I volunteer for story time at her library on Wednesdays. Sometimes I see her when I’m there to help the few middle schoolers I tutor. It’s nice, especially since Mom and Dad work a lot.”

His hand freezes. “You hang out with my mom every week?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t know that? “You know I work with her at the library, right?”

He shakes his head. “When we broke up, I asked her to stop talking about you for a while. I guess she never picked it back up.”

“Oh. Well, is that okay?”

“What’s mine is yours.”

Without responding, I stare into the hazy night sky, the firework finale beginning, the boom of each successive burst vibrating through me.

Cooper resumes his movement, his finger now drawing small, soft circles on my skin. It’s slow and lazy like it’s second nature to touch me in a way he hasn’t in a year, like he’s comfortable. The thought of our automatic connection no matter how long we spend apart sparks a fire of doubt in me, wondering again if I made the wrong decision last year.

The sky is suddenly so bright it nearly takes me out of the escape I’ve been in with Cooper for the past fifteen minutes. He tugs on my hip and the instinct shooting through me says he’s not going to give me what I want. He shouldn’t–he knows better than me, anyway. Repositioning myself, I turn, giving in to his unspoken request and curling into his chest. He adjusts his arm around me, his fingers finding a new place in the strands of my ponytail.

“You’re right,” Cooper whispers. “This is the best view.” Somewhere in between the explosions above us, he adds, “Too bad it always has to end.”

Chapter thirty-seven

SOPHIE

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