Page 66 of Kellan & Emmett
I fished my pocketknife from my jeans, flipping it open. “Not anymore.”
We pressed in close, my hand guiding his as the blade bit into bark. Fresh lines scratched over old, the shape of a heart slowly emerging. The cut wobbled once, and Kellan chuckled.
“Your line’s crooked,” he teased.
I snorted, nudging his shoulder. “That’s your side. Don’t blame me if it looks drunk.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, grinning. “Pretty sure you’re the one steering.”
We kept at it, laughing softly through the uneven edges until the shape closed, rough but whole. A heart carved around our old promise — not perfect, but ours.
Beat 7 – Closing Image
We stepped back, fingers laced, looking at what we’d made. The words were still there, but now wrapped in something stronger, something permanent.
I pressed a kiss to his temple, wood shavings still clinging to my fingers.
“Not friends forever,” he murmured, his voice steady, sure. He squeezed my hand, eyes shining as he added, “More than that. Always.”
The ache inside me eased, replaced by something fierce and certain.
With our fingers twined, we turned toward the fading light, cicadas buzzing, the water singing behind us.
For the first time in twenty years, forever didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like us — crooked lines and all.
Epilogue
One Year Later…
Daily To-Do
Order more bed linens (the Petersons bookedagain— Mrs. P swears it’s our cobbler keeping her young).
Patch the screen door before it falls clean off its hinges.
Remind Jenna that double-booking is not a sport.
Call the plumber about the upstairs showerbeforeit turns into a waterfall feature.
Pick up peaches at the market (Kellan ate half a pie straight from the pan — “taste test,” he says).
Oil the old oak pocketknife — never know when Kellan will get sentimental about bark again.
Buy more sunscreen. Camp kids + Coach Kelly = one sunburned idiot I love.
