I open my mouth to answer, but I’m not sure what to say. My pulse is suddenly racing, tendrils of dark possibility unfurling in my mind.

Josh shakes his head. “Forget it. I’m probably imagining it.”

He ducks to get back in the car and the wind gusts, whirling my hair around my face. I push it back when the wind dies, but the chill running over my skin remains.

April 8

Mira,

I thought you’d write by now. I believed in that. In you. I’d hoped my letter would give you time to admit your feelings. To accept what we are. But even if you won’t write about it, I know the truth. I know what’s in your heart.

It’s my turn to play shy, sweetheart. I have a confession, too. I found your painting. The new one. I saw it online. I knew right away it was yours, even before I saw your name. I understand the shadows and sadness in your work, Mira.

The clock tower reads 3:30 p.m. That’s exactly when we met in the coffee shop. And the woman you painted in front? In a white sweater and dark jeans. Just like you wore that day.

But of course, you know these things. And now, you know that I see them too. I only hope that you’ll find it in yourself to put down your paintbrush and pick up your pen. Write me real words this time.

We can’t deny this thing between us any longer. You can’t keep me waiting forever.

Yours

Chapter Eleven

Josh and I settle into the back, and his face is red from the exertion of the search and the discomfort of getting into his seat again. Guilt surges through me. It’s my fault he was up moving around. I take his crutches and feed them back into the cargo area.

“I’m so sorry, Mira,”’ Harper says.

“It’s okay.” I take a breath, trying to steady my voice. “It is just a phone.”

“You’ll be home with a new one before you know it,” Brecken says. Of course he does. In his neighborhood, he’d probably end up with an extra Christmas gift over a lost phone.

“Maybe we’ll find it when we’re unloading in Pittsburgh,” I say. “Josh, do you want me to plug your phone in again?”

Brecken pulls out his phone. “We can use my phone while theirs charge. I’ve got like twenty percent and a backup battery in my bag.”

After plugging in Josh’s phone on my two-cord charger, Harper turns back to touch my arm. “Do you want to use my phone to call home?”

“I’m okay for now,” I say, waving her off. “We should get going. I’ve held us up long enough.”