Happenstance 3 (Happenstance #3)(26)
Author: Jamie McGuire

I shook my head.

Julianne playfully narrowed her eyes at Weston. “The neighborhood brats all jump into the pool at once.” She poked him with a plastic fork. “Don’t think I don’t know.”

Weston chuckled. “Fine. C’mon, babe, let’s find some shade until sunset.”

“Lawn chairs are in the garage,” Julianne called after us.

Weston grabbed two folded chairs and set them in the shade created by the house. While the sun sizzled on the street, the neighbors ate and chatted under the trees, and the younger kids—who were impervious to the miserable heat—chased each other and threw tiny balls of tissue that would snap when they hit the ground.

“I can see now how deprived I’ve been,” I said, watching the kids yelp each time a ball of tissue hit their feet.

“Do you really mean it?” Weston asked.

I wanted to hold his hand, but my palms were sweaty, and I imagined his were, too.

“No.”

“I think about it a lot.”

“What I’ve missed?”

“I wonder how different you would be if you had grown up with your real parents.”

“You think I would have acted like Alder?”

He shook his head. “No. I bet you would be the same. Maybe a little more relaxed in social situations…” He trailed off, laughing.

“I can’t argue with that,” I said.

Weston held a plastic bottle in front of me, and I smiled as I took it from his hand.

“Straight from the cooler,” Weston said, proud.

“When I think back on this summer, my memories will consist of the back of your pickup, the overpass, heat that makes my face melt off, and Fanta Orange.”

“We’ll make other memories, too,” Weston said. “I noticed there are a bunch of broken-down boxes in the garage.”

“Yes. I’m not sure what they think I’ll fill them with.”

“All the stuff your crazy mother has bought you. Mom said Julianne has filled the entire guest room with dorm stuff.”

I nodded. “A memory foam egg crate for the bed, cutlery, and homemade completely organic cleaners. That’s pretty much all.”

“That can’t be all! Mom said there’s an entire roomful of stuff!”

“Towels. Lysol. A furry throw or two from Pottery Barn.”

“A throw?” He smirked. “That’s just excessive.”

I laughed out loud. “Why is your mom snooping in Julianne’s guest room? That’s weird.”

Weston snorted. “Julianne is very proud of your dorm accessories.”

“Clearly.”

I watched my parents eating and talking and laughing, looking happy—and sweaty. No one really wanted to touch each other—which was nice when I met the neighbors, but not so nice for affectionate people like Sam and Julianne. I could tell they wanted to hug but decided to wait until the sun went down.

“I could really go for an extra-tall cherry dip cone right now. I don’t have connections at the Dairy Queen anymore.”

“I still work there. Stop pretending you don’t get a dip cone every time I’m scheduled.”

Weston leaned his head toward me, but he didn’t dare touch his wet hair to mine. “Because you love me.”

“Yes, I do.”

He paused in thought. “Why do you still call it Sam and Julianne’s house? It’s your house, too.”

“Not really.”

“Yes, really. My parents’ house is my house.”

“You’ve lived there your entire life.”

“So, it just feels weird to say it?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Does it feel weird to say I’m yours? Because it doesn’t feel weird to say you’re mine.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile. “Some mornings, after waking up, it hits me all over again that this is really happening. I wonder why you’re mine.”

“Because you’re kind and brilliant and beautiful. And you’re not like anyone else.”

“And because I make you extra-tall cherry dip cones?”

“Exactly,” he said with a nod.

He relaxed back into his chair just as the sun spilled pink and orange rays across the sky. I thought about the mural and that our artwork would be there long after we’d left Blackwell behind.

The sun set, and the stars began to peek from the darkness, one at a time. Eventually, the first pop of the fireworks show could be heard, and a spray of red, white, and blue spread out in all directions across the night sky.

Children screamed in delight while the adults oohed and aahed.

Weston reached over and touched my silver necklace. “Are you going to stop wearing it when you’re in Stillwater?”

“No,” I said. “Why would I?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you don’t want old things in your new life.”

“This is my new life,” I said, intertwining my fingers in his.

Chapter Eleven

WESTON AND I WOULD SPEND OUR DAYS AND NIGHTS on the Gates’ private dock at Lake Ponca, in our spot at the overpass, and on the couch in his basement. He’d also visit me on the few days when I worked at the Dairy Queen.

Frankie was training a new girl, Jordan, and after a few weeks, it didn’t make much sense for me to take up room in the tiny space we had to work in. That, and I would be leaving in less than a week for college.

On my last day at the DQ, Frankie was quiet. The rushes from football and band practice letting out were over, and I was just beginning to clean up the mess we’d made.

A truck snarled in the baseball field parking lot. It was Weston’s red Chevy, and he was gunning the engine while parked in his usual spot. He backed out, paused, and then crossed the street before parking on the asphalt, just like he had done a hundred times since he got his license.

My heart fluttered. He wasn’t wearing his baseball uniform, but he was in a T-shirt and basketball shorts, his toned long arms bulging from his sleeves.

He approached my window and smiled. I pulled it open. Asking him what he wanted was unnecessary, but he was making a gesture. This was the last time he would drive across the street and order from me.

“Can I help you?” I asked, feeling a bit sentimental.

“Hi, Erin,” he said from under his bangs. His emerald-green eyes glowed as he tried to stifle a grin.

“Hi.”

“I’d like a cherry dip cone, please. Extra tall.”