Page 170 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

show you something first, though.”

Taking my hand, he helps me to a stand and get off these hard

concrete floors. We walk to the edge of the shop, my heart in my belly

at the sight of my willow tree still letting off a stream of smoke.

“What are we looking at?”

He takes my chin, ever so slightly, and pulls me to look a bit to the

right. My eyes squint to see an odd new addition to the same field.

It’s a short, thin tree with larger-than-life leaves that don’t quite fit

the stick of a body.

“What is that?”

“It’s a willow tree,” he whispers.

My lips pull into a grin, and I can’t help but smile at the sight.

“Really? Where did you get that?”

“I stopped by the nursery down the road when I was driving Ryan

home this morning. He bought it in apology, and I planted it a few

hours ago.”

I don’t even know which part of that sentence to dissect first.

Before I can even think to ask a question—one of a million buzzing

through my head—Percy pulls me out into the field, and I follow him,

hand-in-hand. He pulls me closer to the little tree, no taller than

seven feet high, but still so thin as the wind lightly rocks the body of

it sideways.

The closer we come, the more I see a little blanket on the ground. I’m

curious, but I stay silent, my stomach home to thousands of

butterflies knocking into one another while we sit down on the

blanket. The tree doesn’t shed much light, and the leaves are few and

far between. But it’s close enough to normal for me.

“I figured we could start new memories under this tree,” he says,

pulling out a little box. My mouth is dry at the sight. Something

about that little box is so telling, but I don’t want to assume anything.

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