Page 80 of The Masks We Wear

What?

I rewind and replay what she just said at least seven times before letting my brows furrow. She squirms like she’s nervous. Lily Conley. Queen of Emerald Falls. Nervous.

“It was a real invasion of privacy, so I’m really hoping you don’t get pissed off. But I really wanted to do something special. To kind of close the chapter of who we were before yesterday.”

There’s a full blush across her cheeks, but it stops right before her ears. She’s being genuine. She grasps her necklace and draws it back and forth, chewing on her bottom lip.

Now she whispers. “We missed breakfast, so everyone is getting on the buses in about ten minutes. I’m going to load up. So hurry down.”

She’s up and out the door before I even have a chance to get up. The combination of the lingering liquor, the fact my dream was real, and what just happened has my head reeling, to say the least.

I stretch my arms above my head, reveling in the way my back cracks down my spine. When I stretch across to grab my phone on the side table, a note rests on top.

Pulling it toward me without getting up yet, I unfold it and read Lily’s script.

I read the letter several times over, letting the words seep into my bloodstream and carry the euphoric tingle throughout my entire body. There’s no way this is real, no way I’m not still asleep.

Finally, I sit up and notice two leather-bound books under my phone. Moving it, I grab the top one and open it to more script.

My hands are shaking, and my heart is in my throat, but I flip the page. And the moment my eyes settle on the first picture, the world crashes down around me.

It’s a scrapbook. A fucking scrapbook of my bucket list trip with my mom. Standing on the Great Wall of China. Shoveling our face with Pitas from Rome. Posing under the Waterfall in Niagara. Every single picture. Printed, cut, glued, and labeled.

The amount of time it must have taken her to fucking do this,twice,is unreal. I needed one sign. Just one. No matter how small, that I was still somehow in her heart. And she gave me two galaxy-sized signals. My heart speeds up, hammering in my chest like it wants to jump out, find her, and burrow itself behind her ribs.

I grab the second book, and it’s identical to the first. The only difference is the writing on the front.

Hot tears flow down my cheeks, that same erratic heart now swelling so big I fear it may actually bust through my sternum. But I push through, flipping every page and tracing my finger down my mother’s beautiful face.

Any wall, any fucking reservation or hesitation I might have had, crumbles into dust. Liliana was always there, deep beneath the mask, even when I started to doubt it myself. And there is no way in hell I’m giving that up again.

I shove my things in my bag, doing quick work to get dressed and brush my teeth. My leg bounces the entire elevator ride, and when the door finally slides open, I haul ass outside.

Lily is talking to Remy, her back to me. But the closer I get, her spine suddenly stiffens, as if she can feel me, and she swings around.

I don’t wait, dropping my bag and keeping my pace. She jumps at the perfect moment, my beautiful little cheerleader, and lands right in my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist. Our mouths collide in an unapologetic, hungry kiss. I steal every breath she has, squeezing her as hard as I can to make sure I’m not dreaming.

“Mr. Hanes. Miss Conley.” Mr. Jones clears his throat.

Lily smiles against my mouth, unlatching her legs and sliding down my waist. I hold on to her hips, helping lower her down until her Converse hits the pavement. There’s a fresh burn of tears teetering on the edge of my eyes.

The ends of her lip curl and she brushes the wayward hair from my face. “So, you liked it?”

“Fucking loved it. Thank you… so fucking much, Lily.”

“Language, Mr. Hanes. Now, let’s go.”

I kiss Lily again before turning to grab my bag and load the bus. We sit in the seats next to Remy, who holds her hands out impatiently. “I have to see this. Gimme, gimme.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Lily scooches next to the window, resting her head on the glass, watching as I pluck out one of the books. Remy takes it, opens it, and gasps. “It’s so beautiful, Lily, oh my goodness. Oh, Spencer, what’s that?”

She’s pointing to a tapestry from a workshop we went to in India. It’s a kaleidoscope of colors, handcrafted by some of the most incredible women. I explain it to her, then she flips the page and asks about another. Soon, I’m lost in the conversation, describing the details I tried to on the phone but couldn’t.

When I look back at Lily, she’s asleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady tempo, soft hums coming from her button nose. And it’s right then, I know.

This is the thirty-sixth time I know I love her.

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