Page 71 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“And a little stupid?”
“Sometimes, bravery requires a bit ofrecklessness, but you have more information than Margaux or me. That’s not only because you’re more perceptive, but because you’re willing to do things that would terrify others. It’s not a bad thing.”
I’m at a loss for words. I look away from him, my attention roaming to where our hands rest on my lap.
“You deflected from the topic,” he says. “Poppy. You don’t like talking about her, do you?”
“I don’t…” I let out a sad, deflated laugh. “I don’t knowhowto talk about her.”
“That’s understandable.”
Yet, he waits for me to say more.
“After her funeral, it was like the rest of the world moved on… and I couldn’t,” I say. “My parents never brought her up—they weren’t her biggest fans in the first place. Margaux and I weren’t on speaking terms. Poppy’s parents practically went into hiding. The rest of the town moved on.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Icouldn’t. They hired someone to replace her at the art store, and—I stayed here. My mind stayed on Roslyn Street, even after my body left.”
“And now?”
“Now…” I lift my gaze, meeting his. “If I didn’t meet you, I don’t think I ever would have left.”
“Don’t,” he says softly, squeezing my fingers. “Don’t give me credit. You’re the one who moved forward. You’re the one who suggested leaving this place. That wasn’t me.”
“But you turned on the light so I could see the path ahead.Thatwas you. I would have stayed here in the dark forever. I would have dug my head into that bird mask and… and…” I close my eyes tight.
“It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to talk about her if you’re not ready. You’ve said a lot.”
“Thank you.”
We stay there for a while with classical music floating between us and his fingers holding onto mine firmly.
When I finally open my eyes, I find myself leaning in, drawn to him. Caldwell is warm and comforting. There is concern deep in his gaze, and I realize how badly I need someone to care about me.
He does. I know he’s not the only one, but right now, he’s the one who matters.
“Do we have to keep taking it slow?” I ask softly, peering into his eyes.
His breath hitches. “Do you think this is the time… and the place…?”
“I want it to be.” I lift his hand, guiding it to my face. He holds me tenderly, his fingers brushing against my cheek. “I want one good memory here. Will you give that to me?”
“It can’t erase the bad.”
“I know.”
He leans in, and my eyelids flutter, my lips parting in wait.
“I don’t want to replace the bad,” I say. “I want to add something new—something good—and I want it to be with you.”
“Why?” He’s a breath away, his forehead practically touching mine. “Why me?”
“Because…” I let out a shaky exhale. “Because you’re good. You’re good enough to be here helping me when it wasn’t your friend who died. You’re smart enough to uncover hidden secrets that mystify me. You’re strong enough to protect me at my lowest, and I... I want this memory to be with you.”
“Say what you mean.” His voice is rough, unexpectedly so, enough to pull asoft gasp out of me.
“I want you.”
