Page 137 of Meet Me in the Valley
I tear into the edge of the wrapping paper, careful not to damage whatever’s inside. My fingers pause asI pull out a book—the kind not bound by glossy covers, but something far more personal. She made this. For me.
As soon as I flip open the cover, my breath catches and my lungs seize.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, the first page hitting me like a freight train. Emotion crawls up my throat.
“Is this? I’ve never seen this picture, T.”
I look up at her, wide-eyed, a rare kind of shock settling into my chest. Her laugh bubbles through the screen, warm and rich, wrapping around me like the most unexpected gift. I’m in awe, eager to keep turning the pages.
“I had to really dig through the archives for that one,” she says, eyes twinkling. “I almost forgot we even took it that day. We were just babies.”
I smile, fingers brushing over the photo of two bright-eyed, hopeful freshmen who had no idea how sweet life was about to become because of one friendship.
Our friendship.
That day at freshman orientation, I vividly remember the nerves shooting through me. How it felt to be in a bigger city, away from home for the first time, tasting independence. But I had Tia. A friendly face, my mystery girl at the end of the trust fall.
Love of my fucking life.
“Keep going, Lo,” Tia urges gently, and I nod, swallowing the knot tightening in my throat.
This isn’t just a photo album—it’s a scrapbook ofus.Every page, every memory, every laugh and inside joke immortalized in print.
There’s us in the architecture building, pretending to sleep on our textbooks during finals week. Tia on my back at a tailgate, face paint smeared across our cheeks and throwing up the Hook ’em Horns. Our college graduation—caps, gowns, and our arms wrapped around each other like we were already celebrating something more than just degrees.
I flip another page and burst into laughter.
Late-night honky-tonks. Her on my shoulders at a music festival. Her on the back of my bike. Our first day at Corrigan Residential. Chinese takeout. The failed pasta night. Summer days at the lake. Bonfires at Donovan’s. Chaos at Siren’s Flask. Wine tastings. Diner breakfasts. Road trips. Torren’s dock.
Everything. Every good memory in my life, she’s right there with me.
“T, this is unreal,” I say in awe, each picture triggering another scene playing in my head like it happened yesterday.
“You like?” she asks, hope shining in her eyes.
“Are you fucking kidding?” I shake my head, smiling. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. I love it, baby. Seriously. Thank you.”
Flipping to the last page, my breath catches.
Vegas.
Slot machines. Blurry bathroom mirror selfies in matching hotel robes. Us kissing, smiling into each other’s mouths. Tangled in bedsheets, bare beneath them.
“It was real then,” I murmur, eyes still fixed on the image. My heart pounds with the weight of it. The most magical and painful weekend.
Tia’s gaze softens. She nods. “It was.”
“And it’s real now, T.”
She nods again. “It is.”
“Thank you. Thank you for this,” I whisper, lifting the book into the frame.
“That?” She points at the scrapbook. “That will always be who we are. Best friends over everything. I’m sorry I ever doubted us. I won’t make that mistake again, Lo.”
I smile, because this time … I know she means it.
“Your turn,” I tell her, nerves fluttering in my stomach. The gift I got her doesn’t come close to the one she just gave me. Mine feels like chopped liver next to her masterpiece.
