Page 31 of Born in the Spring

“Done what?”

“Acted like I was seeing her for the first time.”

I watch the idea dawn on him, the visual of me dropping from the balcony travel over his face one section at a time before he laughs, and I laugh too, shaking my head as the kid I was cringes at the man I am now, pulling such a stunt.

“I should’ve been there to cockblock you,” Court says, and a silence fills the space, from both of us, too thick to ignore as any random silence. His eyes soften with an apology, and a bit of wistfulness that puts a twinge back in my chest.

He chucks his can at me and I catch it before giving it a sideways toss into the trash behind the island. Abuzzgoes off from his pants, and he tugs his phone from his pocket. “Shit, Ihave to get back.” He walks backward for the door, then stops, that soft apology still in his stare. “It’s all gonna be all right. All right?”

It’s okay.

Elara’s voice comes back into my head, and I make an eager push forward toward Court as he turns for the door. “Hey.” He stops and faces me, and I try to pace my steps against another racing thought that’s been whispering to me the moment Elara said it as I meet him halfway. “So, I’m your best friend.”

He blinks. “Yeah. . .”

“And you’re my best friend.”

He blinks again, eyeing me like I’m being weird. Because I am. Again. Then he laughs. “Yeah, we’re best friends, man.”

“Do you think about me all the time?”

Court’s smile falls flat. “Who told you?”

I groan at his lack of seriousness now, then I groan at myself. “I know this sounds weird, but just humor me.” Now, saying that, I really do want tolaughat myself too. What am I trying to do? What am I trying to confirm? And what for?

I didn’t used to look into how Elara was or wasn’t with me as much as I’ve started to, because there was no point. But now…so much has just been flooding me, with no barrier to keep my mind from looking intoeverythinglike I don’t want to miss a single possible thing.

And I can’t feel like an asshole for it. Not about that, when I still feel like an asshole about enough.

“No,” Court finally answers, through more amusement, like it should be obvious that he doesn’t, as I don’t, either, and my heart jumps in my chest. Until he brings me back to solid ground with a teasing, “Do you think aboutmeall the time? Because we might need to talk about some thingsif—”

“Keep walking,” I cut in with a chuckle, moving my own feet to the couch for my clothes. “Never mind.”

“Hey,” he says now, the chill from the outside rushing back in through the opened door, and I shift my clothes around in my hands a moment before facing him. “Shepherd never hated you, either. And he wouldn’t.” His look is knowing. Supportive.

I muster a slight smile and give him a wave with the hand filled with clothes, and he smiles back before leaving me with his thoughts, and mine.

It’s okay.

Elara wantsus.

We’re being us, I tell myself as I hurry to the bathroom so I can hurry out the door.

Thirteen

Elara

Ipush two pieces of bread into the toaster, then face the island with the fruit waiting to be housed inside their bowl. I didn’t even realize I had added the fruit to my cart—or the strawberry jam—until Angela was ringing me up, and Amie was sneaking her card across the register. She insisted I let her pay as a Welcome Home gift, since I gave her a gift by coming back, and I couldn’t refuse her.

She also sneaked some more items into my cart, and now, the kitchen is stocked with more than I’ll need at once.

My throat aches with my swallow as I approach the bowl, starting with the apples, then piling on the pears, then the mangoes, then a couple kiwis. The mangoes and kiwis were Shepherd’s favorite—next to strawberries—and the apples and pears are mine. I used to toss one to him, whichever I could grab first, when he’d walk through the door and I was near the island.

There’s a skip in my pulse as I can almost hear the slap of the fruitagainst his palm as he’d catch it. And his laugh after when he’d rush over to me.

I can almost feel his hug from behind, his warmth at my back, his chin on my shoulder. . .

I jolt against the island as the toast pops up, the last kiwi slipping from my hand. I dust off the fuzzy feeling before transferring my toast from that jump scare of an appliance to my waiting plate. I haven’t used a toaster since I was probably a teenager, and now I remember why.

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