What if . . .
What if I carefully consider the idea that Levi would not blow up our friendship for a makeout because he happens to be in town? What if I consider the implications that he stayed away for four years because that first kiss scared him at some level? That kind of scared comes when . . .
When you love someone.
But he did not use that word.
And Levi’s whole job is words. He’d have said it if that’s what he meant.
And his job. Hisjob.His job is faraway. All the time. Not in Creekville, ever. I hate that. But I love that he loves his work. He’s not going to give it up for me. That means this—whatever it is for him—isn’t love.
So what does it mean that I also know he wouldn’t risk our friendship for a quick roll? Is there any implication I could be missing?
I pace around the tree as I try to work this out.
“He is misreading old feelings of comfort and easiness with each other as attraction.” That sounds possible.
“He is discovering his feelings go beyond friendship and have for a while, and that means he wants to kiss my cute face.”
I snort. Who wouldn’t?
I stop and close my eyes, forcing myself to consider the big possibility again. What if Levilovesme loves me?
The part of my brain where I seal my crush behind vaulted doors tries to skitter away from this possibility, because that possibility? That is the code to the vault.
Know what I’m keeping safe in that vault?
MY WHOLE SELF. No biggie.
“Stop it, you chicken.”
I open my eyes. What if Levi Taft loves me? Likethat?
I look from the snow to the house.
It is cold. It is very cold. I want to go back. Except Levi is in the house. The house where we first kissed. The house where we almost, this morning . . .
Well, I don’t know. I don’t know what that was about to be.
Even if I showed up at the Egberts’ house and begged for asylum from my emotions, I’dstillhave to drive two more hours with Levi in a car tomorrow.
I slide my phone from my back pocket. Two bars. That’s enough of a signal to make a call.
“Mom?” I say when she answers.
“Hey. It’s not snowing again, is it?”
“No. No more snow. No snowplows, but we hear we’re getting out in the morning.”
“That’s good.”
I pause. Her tone is . . . calm. Too calm. She should be fussing. She should be coming up with a Plan A, B, and C in case we aren’t plowed out tomorrow.
“Why aren’t you worried about this?” I ask.
“Sheryl also said the road will be taken care of tomorrow, and she would know.”
There is technically nothing wrong with her statement, but it still feels off. I can’t figure out why. “I hope she’s right. It’s the only way we still have a shot. Has Rome said anything yet?”
