“Close your eyes,” he says.
I tease him with a suspicious look, but close my eyes as instructed, squeezing both his hands when I do. Carefully, he guides me inside, positioning me in the room with gentle hands on my hips until he finally tells me to open my eyes.
My gaze lands on my desk. It takes me a few seconds to understand what I’m looking at, but when it finally dawns on me, my hands fly to my mouth.
“Oh my god,” I say breathlessly, taking a step forward and bending down to have a closer look. “Is that …”
On my desk sits a small wooden replica of the Remington stage. Carefully carved and painted, with miniature decor placed all across the stage as if still in the middle of renovation. Like the small ladder leaning against one of the walls. Or the small bucket of paint close by.
“Did you make that?” I say the words slowly, still in awe of all the details I continue to find as I study the model.
“Yeah,” Huxley says behind me. “I made the bulk of it in woodworking class.”
He pauses, and I turn around to face him. His smile is sheepish, and if I were prone to tears, I think I’d be fighting the deluge right about now.
“I worked on the rest of it at home as much as I could.” He rubs his neck and shrugs. “I was really trying to get it done before opening night.” His gaze softens, and I feel it warm against my skin. “Do you like it?”
“Oh, Hux,” I say softly. I take his hands, prompting him to circle his arms around my waist. He pulls me closer as I slip my arms around his neck. “Iloveit.” I kiss him tenderly. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
Huxley smiles against my lips, the kiss lingering and achingly sweet.
“Yeah?” he rasps.
“Yeah,” I repeat in between kisses, then groan as if annoyed. “Ugh, I’m so in love, it’s disgusting.”
Huxley puffs out a laugh, trailing kisses up my neck before looking up at me. His green eyes scintillate as he squeezes me against him.
“I guess that means you’re stuck with me forever, then,” he answers teasingly.
I sigh, pretending to be bothered, and quirk a smile. “I guess I am.”
EPILOGUE
HUXLEY
One Week Later
My palms keep getting clammy, and I wipe them on my jeans, my knee bouncing at hyper-speed. Connie’s hand lands on my thigh, making me abruptly stop my nervous tick. Her gaze is comforting as she smiles.
“You good?” she asks quietly.
She’s leaned across the small aisle between our seats, her thumb rubbing my thigh in a slow, soothing stroke. I rip my thumb out of my mouth, realizing I’ve been chewing on the skin.
“Yeah.” I give her a sheepish smile. “Just a little nervous.”
It’s my first time on a plane. First time in First Class. First time at anairport.
When we first got to the airport a few hours ago, I was shocked to see how crowded it was.
“Is it always this busy?” I asked Connie.
She shrugged and said, “Pretty much.”
The realization I then had was hard to explain. It’s as if I’dnevertrulybothered to think how different people’s lives could be from mine. Free to travel. Free to explore and roam the world.
Now, I’m twenty-five years old with a valid passport. And in a few minutes, I’ll be in the air, flying to Brazil.
I can’t believe my luck.
