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Leave it to Milo Fletcher to come along and throw a wrench into the whole thing.

And the worst part?

I don’t even think he realizes just how badly he’s screwed everything up.

It’s the second week of March, and spring has finally begun to work its magic in Fairhope. The last of the winter snow has melted, the days are getting longer, and old man Tucker’s orchard is slowly coming back to life. Tiny white blossoms cling to the branches overhead, their delicate petals occasionally breaking free whenever the breeze picks up, drifting down around us like confetti.

We’re lying on an old plaid blanket beneath one of the apple trees, far enough from the road that no one can see us. A kaleidoscope of light creates intricate patterns across the blanket, while somewhere nearby, birds break into song.

It’s the kind of afternoon that should make a girl forget all her troubles.

But not today.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Milo says, running his fingers through my hair as I lie with my head in his lap.

“Am I?” I muse, staring up into those big golden-brown eyes of his and wondering how the hell I’m supposed to go a single day without getting lost in them.

“Want to talk about what’s on your mind?”

“You’re not going to like it,” I reply.

Milo’s body instantly goes rigid, his mood souring.

“Did Peyton—”

“No.” I grab his wrist before his mind can start coming up with a million different ways his stepsister might have hurt me. “It’s not her. She still doesn’t know about us.”

The tension leaves his shoulders, and a smile spreads across his face.

“Us. I like the sound of that,” he says before leaning down and pressing his lips to mine.

My heart does this stupid little dance every time Milo kisses me. It’s like the damn thing wants to leap right out of my chest and find a permanent home in his hands.

When he pulls away, there’s so much love and adoration on his face that I can’t bear to look at him anymore. Instead, I push myself into a sitting position and turn my attention to the rows of apple trees stretching out before us.

“Max?” he calls, placing a hand on my shoulder, concern creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong?”

I take a deep breath.

“I got accepted to Brown.”

“Oh.”

It’s barely more than a whisper, but I hear it all the same. And when I turn to look at him, I catch the disappointment on his face before he manages to replace it with a smile.

A smile so forced it absolutely fucking kills me.

“That’s good news, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” I ask, reaching up to plant my hand on his cheek.

He closes his eyes and covers my hand with his, taking a long, steady breath before looking at me again.

“Yes, Max. That’s amazing news. I knew you could do it.”

“Don’t do that.” I pull my hand away and draw my knees to my chest. “Don’t be happy for me. Don’t congratulate me. Just don’t…” I shake my head, struggling to get the words out. “Just don’t, Milo.”

He lets out a quiet breath, then shifts behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me back against his chest. I don’t fight him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Instead, I let my head fall against his shoulder as he brushes my hair aside and presses a kiss to my temple.