Page 182 of We Can't Be Friends

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Cal sheds his coat, draping it over the arm not occupied with holding me. He’s always holding me now. I’m not sand, I won’t slip through his fingers, but I can tell by the way his hand is in mine, he might believe I am—and I thought I was the one with abandonment issues.

“Do you want me to take your coat?”

He drops my hand, helping me slip out of the sleeves, laying it on top of his. I readjust my purse on my shoulder and flatten my sweater.

Cal finds my hand again, interlocking our fingers.

I’ve always thought life was one big puzzle, with the people you meet and the experiences you have all being pieces. You can spend your whole life collecting them and organizing them to see what fits where. I’ve tried a lot of pieces to find the one that fits perfectly. Piece after piece, they were all wrong.

Rubbing my thumb over Cal’s knuckles, I glance up at him—he wore his glasses tonight and I feel as if I’m out with the blond Clark Kent. He’s so handsome—and it settles over me that he’s the right piece.

Walking into the next exhibit, we stop at the different card markers to learn about the species of plants. I know I told him no more surprises, but a perfectly planned and executed date doesn’t count.

We took the train two blocks from our place to Garfield Station and then walked hand in hand to Garfield Park Conservatory. I wanted to tell everyone we passed that Callum is my boyfriend. They’re hosting an adults only Plants After Dark.

Cal and I made our way through the outside grounds. They were lit up with string lights and glowing art displays. I’ve been here a few times, but never at night. My pace slowed from inside, coats returning to our bodies, but Cal never complained. He let me take my time, and I never saw him appearbored once.

Every so often, I’d peek over my shoulder or up at him and find him watching me. It was as if I was on display, the exhibit he’d pay an infinite amount of money to see. On the date alone, I knew he saw through me, who I am at my core, but standing there under his watchful gaze. . .

I’m seen.

I’m appreciated.

I’m understood.

I’m loved.

Tugging on his wrist, I pull him to me, my back resting on the side of a pavilion. A breeze dances through my hair, blowing the dark strands across my face. Cal pushes them behind my ear before putting his hand above my head. Rising on my toes, I softly kiss his lips, murmuring, “Thank you,” against them.

“What for?”

“For being you. You’re the best person I know.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He pulls my bottom lip into his. Pushing us further into the side and kiss. He takes advantage of the small gap between my lips, colliding his tongue with mine. Cal kisses me and it feels like a thank you. He’s kissed me before as if he could take away my pain, heal my scars, but this kiss is as if he’s thanking me for doing that. That somehow, together, as we’ve threaded ourselves to one another, we’ve stitched each other back together.

We finish strolling around the gardens and head out when an announcement rings that the conservatory is closing.

“We will have to come back in April when flowers bloom outside.”

“I’d like that.”

We take the opposite train back into The Loop.

“This isn’t too casual for you?” he asks as the guy hands us our hot dogs wrapped in paper.

It brought me back to the end of last summer when we attended Dime a Dog Night with Liam and Emerson. Cal told me he’d never had a hot dog before. I thought he was lying, trying to pull one over on me, but he wasn’t.

Who has never had a hot dog before?

At the concession stand, Emerson and I picked up ten. Bringing them back to our seats, she about dropped the tray, trying to climb over the stadium seats.

The three of us watched as Cal took his first bite. He gave it a five out of ten.

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