Page 49 of The Hometown Legend

He neededsomething.

And Rory’s list felt like something. Rory felt like something.

He was going to grab hold of it. Because why the hell not?

SHE’DLEFTHERlist down at the creek, but when she went back to get it, it was gone. And that filled her with a sense of dread.

So much dread.

Because that list was embarrassing.

And it was giving her major middle-school-trauma flashbacks to think about him finding it. Would he wallpaper something with her list?

Get a kiss.

Maybe with a stranger.

That moment when he’d felt like he might be that stranger popped into her head and she nearly died of humiliation then and there.

No, no, no, no.

He wouldn’t wallpaper anything with it. She knew that.

Of course, just because he found the notebook didn’t mean he read it. But for some reason, she just had a feeling. Because it felt like her. Because it felt like school. Because it felt like something that would happen to a girl who was just such a loser.

Who was not now and never had been the cool kid.

Oh, because it had happened to her. And she still wanted to melt into the floor whenever she thought about it.

Great. Just great.

She drove up to his house, her heart thundering hard.

She didn’t know if she was angry or worried... She didn’t even know.

She sighed heavily and gripped her steering wheel. Bracing herself. Then she got out of the car and walked up to the front door, knocking firmly. He opened it.

“Did I leave my notebook?” she asked.

His face was completely neutral. “Yes.”

“Did you read it?”

His expression didn’t shift. “Yes.”

She felt everything inside her crumple up. He’d seen her...her deepest shame in that list. All the things she wasn’t. All the things she wasn’t brave enough to be.

He’d seen she needed a list to gather the courage to go on a hike and kiss a man.

“Great. So. You know now that I am sad.” She closed her eyes and put her hands on her head. “If you’re going to make fun of me, just go ahead and do it.”

He said nothing. And she finally screwed up the courage to look at him.

His blue gaze had gone serious, and the way he looked at her—into her—felt far too intimate.

“No,” he said. “Because I’m not in middle school. And what you wrote isn’t funny.”

“Oh...”

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