Page 96 of Tell Me It’s Right

Having you around is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.

Happy Birthday.

Liam

I gently opened the tissue paper, revealing a new strap for my camera. It was bright and colorful—all pinks and blues and purples, like watercolors. As I ran it between my hands, I realized smaller designs were interspersed among the colors—ocean waves, seagulls, hearts, stacks of books, and in the corner, almost too faint to see, were Liam’s initials.

I should’ve recognized it from the style of art immediately.

He designed it. He drew the whole thing. Like one of those complex sleeves he tattoos on his clients, all of the images complemented each other and blended seamlessly together, all individually detailed and stunning, but when you zoomed out, it was a perfect, coherent picture.

How long had he been working on this?

“Gracieeeee. You’re not spiraling right now, are you?”

I blink back to the car—or, well, the darkness of my blindfold. “Of course not. Just because I don’t need to talk as much as I breathe like you do.”

She chokes out a laugh. “Okay, birthday girl. I’ll let you have that shot. But only that one. Did Leo do something for you this morning? He better have.”

“He took me out for brunch.”

“Oooo, yum. Waffles and mimosas?”

“Obviously. Are we almost there?”

“Mom, are we there yet?” she teases.

“I’m starting to think you don’t have plans for us at all and this is an actual kidnapping.”

“Take a breath, Chicken Little, we’re here.” The car slows to a stop as she says it, and beyond the hum of the radio, I pick up the distinct crunch of gravel beneath her tires.

“Can I take this off?” I reach for the blindfold, but she swats my hand away again.

“Not yet!”

“My makeup is probably all smeared now,” I mumble as she opens my door for me.

“It’s silk. You’re fine.”

She helps me down from the car, then loops an arm around me as she guides me forward. My high heels sink into what is definitely gravel beneath us, and the cool night air raises a chill on my bare legs.

Carson insisted on a dress, so wherever she’s taking me, it must be nicer than the usual bars around here. I lost track of time in the car, but it felt like we were driving for at least twenty minutes, plenty of time to get out of town.

The air smells like it’s going to rain, but it’s less salty here, like we’re farther away from the water. It’s also quiet. No music, no voices, no cars. So not at a bar or a restaurant.

Carson keeps one hand on my elbow, the other on my back, as she leads me forward. “Step up,” she instructs. “Just two steps.”

Whatever I climb onto—a porch?—groans under our weight.

I stop walking.

“Almost there,” she says.

I cock my head to the side. That groan sounded awfully familiar.

I had a feeling the second she pulled that blindfold out this was a surprise party situation. My parents were a littletooencouraging about me spending today with friends instead of them.

Carson hurries me forward like she can tell I’m figuring it out.

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