Page 146 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“Makes sense.”

I rise at the same time as him. We dust off our pants—my ass, his knee—in an awkward pulse of silence. When our gazes meet again, his eyes are soft, the gray diluted. They reflect the orange and pink sky back to me; a perfect mirror.

“Now close your eyes.”

“Not a chance.” If this is the only time I’ll ever get to kiss Truett, I want to see him coming.

His hands slap against his thighs. “You can’t kiss with your eyes open, Delilah!”

I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the thrill that courses through me when his gaze drops to my nonexistent cleavage, even if it only lasts a second. “If you’re such an expert, then I guess you don’t need my help.”

“So difficult,” he groans.

And he’s right, but what he doesn’t realize is that I’m only ever difficult with him. Never with my parents, my teachers, or other friends like Alicia. Only Truett.

I give him hell because he can take it. Because he won’t think less of me for it.

I shrug. “Those are my terms. Take it or leave it.”

He rolls his eyes, capturing a panorama of the sky in one fluid motion. “Whatever. Eyes open, and only once?”

“Eyes open. Only once.” My breath is choppy now, my words a kaleidoscope of splintered sounds. It’s settling in. Truett Parker is going to kiss me. Me. It’s a fever dream come to life.

Except for the part where it’s for some other girl. But I can compartmentalize with the best of them.

He steps forward, slipping his hands around my waist. My skin jumps at the sensation, even through the thin fabric of my lightweight sweater. His arms are muscled and firm against all my soft. I melt into them without meaning to.

Our gazes meet, frantic in the fading light. I’ve never seen him so close. I could count the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, the one darker beneath the corner of his right eye. Memorize the thousand shades of gold that make up his hair. The purest gray-blue stones that are his irises.

I could, if I had the time.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers. His breath brushes my lips. It’s Big Red gum and minty toothpaste, like he knew this was happening all along. “I’ll take care of you.”

And then he kisses me. Our lips meet, two strangers that somehow know each other already, like they met in another lifetime. It’s my very first. And my second. And my third.

My eyes drift closed. Strong, fumbling hands roam my back. I forget my rules. He forgets them, too. We kiss until our lips are bruised and our breath is quick. Until the sun finally disappears and leaves us blanketed in darkness.

The only promise he keeps is his last. He takes care of me. Truett always does.

I shut off the car, letting the engine go dead around us. Dad wastes no time releasing his seat belt and opening his door. When he’s out, he stretches his arms above his head and groans like it was a long road trip rather than a short drive from the Grille.

I, however, linger in the quiet. The calm before the storm in Truett’s eyes. He’s sitting on the front porch steps, a faded Alabama baseball cap cradled in his hands. When he glances up, there’s pain in his gaze. Anger, too. And who could blame him? The man who was once the boy I kissed beneath the shade of a willow tree, who promised to take care of me, is trying to do so still. And I’ve done everything in my power to stop him.

As I pull myself from the car, I’m struck by how similar this feels to the day I arrived home. Trepidation quakes in my belly, filling me with a sharp-winged breed of butterflies. But there’s determination, too, steeling my spine. I always planned to do the right thing. It just took me until today to finally understand what that truly means. All I can do is hope that I’m not too late.

Dad smiles when he spots Tru, and his arms fly wide. “Truett! Haven’t seen you in a minute.”

Tru stands, wipes his hands on his jeans, and embraces my dad when he steps within reach. “Missed you, old man. Whatcha been up to?”

I purposely slow my steps, not wanting to intrude on their moment. Besides, Truett is intentionally avoiding my gaze as I approach, and I’m tempted to forget my plan and instead attempt to melt into the ground beneath me.

“Oh you know, checking out my new digs,” Dad says, laughing. He seems so much like himself today. Whether because of the chance to play or the weight off his shoulders, I’m not sure. All I know is if his speech wasn’t slow, I’d never know anything was wrong. He rolls his lips, grasping for the next word, and smiles when he finds it. “Did Delilah tell you? I’m blowing this popsicle stand!”

This gets Truett to look at me, and oh, how I wish he wouldn’t. There’s an accusation in his gaze. Something like fear hides beneath it.

Tru’s eyes cut right through me as he asks, “What do you mean?”

I cup my elbow with one hand, the other dangling limp at my side. I study a small dirt stain on Tru’s T-shirt, fresh from the looks of it, so I don’t have to meet his gaze. “Edgewood Assisted Living. We toured it today.”

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