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Today’s the day. I’ve known it’s the day since Monday. I’m looking for the opening.

And then somebody finds us.

A guy from life group, Grant, comes over with his hand already out. “Luke Baker. It’s always good to see you, man.” He shakes my hand, then turns to Olivia, friendly, expectant.

And Olivia, without missing a beat, says, “Hi, I’m Olivia. I’m Luke’s friend.”

Friend.

I feel it go through me like a live wire.

I don’t hear whatever Grant says next. He claps me on the shoulder and moves off into the crowd.

Because I’m still standing there with that word stuck in my chest.

Friend.

I’ve said it too. I’m the one who said it first, actually, across a table full of coffee cups, back when I thought it was the smart play. The safe one. The thing that would keep her from bolting.

But I’m done with the rules.

The words are out before I decide to say them.

“I didn’t like that.”

She looks over, cider halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“You introducing me as your friend.” I turn to face her, and I don’t soften it. “Every time you say that word, something in me goes sideways. I’ve run out of ways to pretend it doesn’t.”

“But you are my friend.”

“I am, and I’m not going anywhere, so you’re stuck with that part no matter what happens.” I take a step closer. “But I’m done calling it just that. I know we agreed at the coffee shop but I’m telling you right now, I’m through. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Luke.”

She stares at me. The cider’s forgotten in her hand. Her eyes are huge and her lips are parted and she’s not running. She’s just looking at me like the fence finally came down and she isn’t sure what’s on the other side of it.

And I decide, right there, I am not doing this in the middle of a churchyard.

I take the cider out of her hand and set both cups on the nearest hay bale.

“Come here,” I say.

And I take her hand, and I go.

I don’t walk. I move, fast, around the back of the big oak and along the tree line toward the side of the building where the crowd thins to nothing, where there’s a stretch of brick wall in the shade between the fellowship hall and the rest of the world, and she’s half a step behind me the whole way, hurrying to keep up, saying my name. “Luke. Luke, where are we going?”

I don’t answer. I’m three weeks past answering.

We round the corner.

I turn, and I back her up against the wall, gentle, one hand coming up beside her head, and she lands against the brick with her breath gone shaky and her eyes locked on mine and her whole careful, guarded, beautiful self looking up at me like she’s finally out of arguments.

I reach up with my free hand and turn my cap around backward, slow, because I intend to get a whole lot closer than the brim’s going to allow.

“Luke,” she breathes. “What are you...”

Chapter 19