Page 90 of The Escape Plan

Because love can enter your life in different ways, at different times. And maybe the answer isn’t how love begins or ends, but the journey on which it takes you. How it shapes you and molds you and makes you grow. Changes you, for the better.

And after spending this summer with Beckett, I will always have that piece of magic with me, no matter what the future holds.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Keeley

“Mmmpf,”I mutter as I roll my head against a warm, firm surface that smells like clean laundry and Irish Spring.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Becks replies, and my eyes flutter open to see that I must have dozed off plastered to his chest. Leaving behind a drool line, apparently.

With this mortifying realization, I shoot up to a seated position on the couch, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “How long was I asleep?”

It can’t have been too long. It’s still light outside, and the end credits ofLeap Year—he had never seen it, and I obviously needed to right that terrible wrong—are rolling on the TV.

I’m not usually a napper, but I guess all the late nights on the fire escape are catching up with me. The rest of August has flown by, with Beckett recording more music and squeezing in some last lessons around spending as much time together as we can.

We’ve been pretty much inseparable—going for dinners and walks and watching movies and feeding the cranky ducks at Oldford Park before we retreat to the fire escape every night and sit under the stars together.

But every single day, I fight letting myself feel sad about a new reminder that our time is coming to a close. A few days back, he took the truck to get detailed as a thank you to Mr. P for letting him use it. Yesterday, I walked into his apartment to find that he’d moved Mr. P’s couch back to its original position. This morning, I spotted an open suitcase on his bedroom floor, closet doors open like he’s beginning to pack up his life here.

Like I always knew he would.

Now, Beckett shifts in his seat, stretching his chest and the arm that was around me. It hits me that he must have been sitting stock still while I used him as a pillow, bearing through being uncomfortable so as to not wake me.

The realization of this is… well, nothing short of butterfly-inducing.

Seriously, I think I might be obsessed with this guy. I’m not sure what they put in the water in Ireland, but let me tell you, that country produced a man who should be the prototype for all men in the world. MIT should be studying Beckett McCarthy for potential cloning purposes.

But then, he has to go and spoil all my thoughts of cloning him by grinning at me wickedly. “You were snoring soundly for, oh, about an hour.”

“Snoring?!” I demand, a blush rising to my cheeks.

He smirks. “Yeah, you should get that checked out. Real guttural stuff, like a bulldozer at work. Or a jackhammer. The walls were practically shaking, and then you started talking in your sleep…”

“Did not!” I squeak, my face crimson.

“Did too.” His eyes dance as he stretches both arms above his head, causing his (drool-stained) t-shirt to ride up at the bottom and give me a tantalizing glimpse of taut, muscled stomach. “You were saying something about how Beckett McCarthy is the sexiest man you’ve ever known. Which I’d actually love for you to elaborate on, now that you’ve rejoined us for the afternoon?—”

I smack him with a couch pillow.

In response, he tackles me, swatting the pillow out of the way before easily pinning my wrists with one hand as his other hand tickles the sensitive spot under my ribs. I squeal and try to squirm away from him, cackling with laughter as we playfight and tease… and one thing leads to another, of course, and we end up tangled in each other’s arms, him kissing me in a way that burns me from within.

We kiss until our lips are swollen, and the adoring look Beckett gives me as he presses a kiss to my forehead positively melts my heart.

“I’d better go,” he says grudgingly. “I need to shower and change before we leave.”

I nod. This evening, we’re going to the fair—which is now open for business, marking the official end of summer. But first, we’re having dinner with Cash and Nori at a local pizza place. Since Becks and Cash went to a Red Sox game, they’ve been almost as inseparable as Becks and me. So, Nori and I decided that a double date was necessary before Beckett leaves.

And tonight just so happens to be Beckett’s last official night here.

He leaves tomorrow evening. Which I’ve put off thinking about.

A selfish part of me whispers that I have so little time left with Beckett, I don’t want to share him during these precious moments.

A more grown-up, sensible part of me knows I can’t think that way or I’ll be devastated when he leaves, despite the conclusion I came to in my article and all the measures I’ve taken to protect myself on that front.

I remind myself that I wouldn’t do anything differently on the road to get here. I’m glad I jumped in headfirst, went all in this summer, because to know Beckett is to love him, and this time together has been a privilege.

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