Page 14 of My Star-Crossed Summer

“I told you, these are fine,” she insists.

“Fine for running around in the grass,” I say. “Maybe. But if you go hiking in those, it’s a safety hazard and I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger. Plus, the amount of paperwork we have to fill out for an injury would make your head explode.”

She narrows those big blue eyes at me, and I know she wants to argue because she always hated it when I tried to boss her around—even when I so obviously knew better, in times such as now. But then she sighs and says, “Point taken. You win.”

Not yet, but I’m working on it.

Inside the store, I lead her to the aisle with the hiking boots. There are only a dozen styles to choose from, but these are quality brands that will do the job.

She pulls a boot from the rack with soles thick enough to walk through lava. When she looks at the price sticker, her face scrunches up like she’s bitten into a lemon.

“A good pair will last you for years,” I tell her.

She frowns. “The next three weeks will likely be the most wear they ever get.”

I point to a few that are tough and not too expensive, and she tries them on with minimal complaint.

At last, she settles on a tan pair with green laces and says, “These aren’t terrible.”

“Hang on.” I can tell by the way the toes bend as she walks that the fit’s not right. The snap in each step says they’re too big. I pull another pair from the shelf and motion for her to sit in the chair at the end of the aisle. “Humor me.”

She slips off the too-large pair, and I undo the laces of the smaller boot. When she reaches for it, I kneel in front of her and reach for her foot.

As I cup her heel in my hand, she sucks in a breath. When her teeth sink into her full bottom lip, it sends a tingle from my chest all the way to my hairline. Being on my knees in front of Vic is waking up a whole bunch of feelings that I thought were gone forever.

Willing all my tingly parts to stand down, I force my gaze away from her perfect lips and back to the boots.

“You have to lace them up the right way so you get the support,” I say, holding the shoe as she slips her foot inside. I place her foot on my thigh and tug the laces tight, starting near the toes. When I get to her ankle, I pull the laces gently, showing her how to tighten them just right. “If they slip too much, you’ll get blisters,” I tell her. “And you want them snug enough to support your ankle. I’ll do this one looser so you see what I mean.”

As I tie the other one, I try hard to ignore the heat that washes through me when her foot presses against my thigh. When she stands to test them, her gaze falls so heavy on mine that I feel it deep in my belly. It would be so easy to close this space between us—two steps would do it—and then I could slide my hands along her cheeks and kiss her the way I should have all those years ago.

But I can’t. Because I have to earn her trust again.

After taking a few steps, she nods—though the furrow in her brow tells me she doesn’t want to drop a hundred and fifty dollars on them.

“You’ll thank me when you’re still upright after a full day of walking and your toes are warm and dry, Vic.”

She considers that for a moment and then says, “Fair enough,” with a tight little smile that nearly unravels me. She stumbles a little as she pulls them off and grabs my shoulder to right herself. A current zips along my skin, up to my ears and down to my toes. So much for those old feelings going away, because my body has decided that it very much likes being in close proximity to Victoria. Like a reflex, I drop my hand on her hip to steady her.

That was us back then—our relationship in a nutshell. Something about her was always drawing me closer, and it never occurred to me that I was flying too close to the sun.

Her eyes widen for a split second, and she yanks her hand from my shoulder like she’s touched a hot stovetop.

I try to swallow those feelings because I cannot feel this way about Victoria Griffin. I cannot feel all of thiswant. She broke my heart once, and she can do it again.

If we’re going to survive the next three weeks together, I need to not fall apart at the seams every time she looks at me. I need to hold myself together.

On the drive back,Victoria’s quiet, as if deep in thought. The moon is nearly full, but it still feels like we’re inside an ink bottle because the thirty-foot evergreens block out the light. That’s what I love about this place, though—it feels like you’re on theedge of the world, yet somehow connected to everything. The forest seems ancient, the sky above infinite, and it feels like even though I’m a tiny, insignificant human, I can make a difference with these kids for just a little while and know that what I do matters.

That’s the feeling that’s most important to me. But tonight, a little voice inside my head comes out of the depths to ask:But is it? Is that what’s most important to you right now?

When Victoria finally speaks again, it’s to ask me more about what to expect from the kids this week. She seems uncomfortable in the silence between us, which makes me wonder exactly what’s rolling around in her head. Usually, her face is a dead giveaway for her feelings—she used to joke that she had no control over her expressions and was incapable of hiding her emotions. But she’s wrong about that. Eighty percent of the time, her face is easy to read. Other times, she’s completely stone-faced. When I first met her, I thought she hated me—but then she cracked a smile as wide as the ocean, and I knew right then that she was someone I needed in my life.

I just didn’t realize how much.

Gravel crunches under the tires as we wend our way up the narrow road to the institute, and each turn winds something in my chest tighter and tighter. It feels so strange being this close to her again—like my heart’s pulling me closer to her and my head’s pushing us apart. She’s doing her friendly chatter now, which she always did when she was extra nervous with other people, but never with me. It makes me feel like a stranger, and that feeling is way worse than the knot that’s been in my stomach since this afternoon.

When I park next to the office, I switch off the engine and turn toward her. I can’t keep up this charade any longer, pretending that our history isn’t lurking around us like a storm cloud.

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