When our lips meet again, I feel the fire spread from his body to mine, burning any protests to ash. His hands tangle in my hair, and I don’t think of Orman or Jenna. I don’t think about mysterious packages, pinky promises, or how we are kissing in front of his sisters’ graves.

Instead, I try to keep my heart from splitting in two as we build something we know is going to break.

When we return to the bookstore, the little meadow of grass surrounding Val’s is bustling with activity. Wooden panels prop up temporary booths painted olive green, and people I half recognize from the store are attaching signs to the front of the vacant stalls. The book club man with the plaid tank top is wearing another plaid shirt, a short-sleeve button-down, and laughing, as a much younger man tries to straighten a sign that advertises fried hot dogs.

In the midst of it all is Alex, messenger bag tugging at his neck in a way that must be uncomfortable, phone in hand as he jogs from booth to booth. He looks frazzled, like the White Rabbit late for tea.

“What on earth…” I begin. None of this was here a few hours ago.

Nolan laughs at my expression. “The bazaar. It’s a yearly thing Val puts on. Each year she picks a different cause and half the proceeds from all the stalls go to charity.”

The flyer from the elevator pings into my head.

“It’s for an elementary school this year, right?” I ask, as we near the bookstore’s entrance. Distantly, I hear the clunky sound of a student playing piano.

“Yeah, the school library, I think.”

“When’s the bazaar?”

“Saturday.”

“Saturday? As in ‘day after tomorrow’ Saturday? Shouldn’t we be helping?”

Nolan gives me a beseeching look. “No.”

“Yes,” Alex says, appearing behind us and throwing his arms over our shoulders. A strangely docile Wally sits at his heels. “You should be, Nolan. As our guest, Amelia is not honor bound, but it’s the least she can do, if she’s going to keep eating at the café for free.”

“Hey, I tried to pay. Your mom won’t let me.”

Alex raises his hand off my shoulder and flutters his fingers. “Semantics. Do you two want to help me hang light strands in these trees or not?”

Nolan’s response is a vulgar hand movement, while I gaze openmouthed at the trees surrounding the clearing.

“Which trees?” I ask. “You can’t possibly mean all of them.”

“Only the ones with leaves.”

“Alex, they all have leaves,” I say.

He must take this as a confirmation of our volunteering, because he’s off, presumably to find the endless strands of lights we will need to light up the forest around us.

Nolan says nothing as we watch Alex hurry away, but he tries to murder me with his eyes.

“What?”