“It’s scary,” whispered Nora, and Marian reached over and patted her leg.

“I sure know.”

Nora took another breath, gathering her courage. No more stubborn waiting and withholding; no more We’ll talk when I get back, or Not in a hospital, or I’ll call you later. She would tell him she loved him even if he thought Jonah should move, even if he hated the hallway wallpaper (had Marian said she didn’t like the wallpaper?!), even if he was as rattled and scared as she was. She’d tell him right now, over the phone, if he’d answer. She’d text it if she had to, which was an awful thought, but she wasn’t going to wait anymore. She was going to—

“Now what in the world,” Marian said, and that’s when Nora turned around to see a small cherry tomato splatter against her balcony door.

She heard his voice through the glass first, a muffled, single syllable that sounded like Hey!, though she wasn’t quite sure. For a second, she stood paralyzed, looking first at the leavings of a tomato sliding down the glass, and then toward Marian, who set down her tea onto the coffee table and said, “I had better get out of here.”

“Hey,” he called again, louder this time, and oh, goodness. The whole neighborhood would hear this. She finally gathered her senses enough to go to the door, and she slid it open just in time for a cherry tomato to hit her squarely (and painlessly) in the face.

“Nora!” he called, because he obviously did not know he’d just struck her with a small fruit. She touched at her cheek, making sure nothing had splattered, and stepped out onto the balcony, avoiding other scattered tomato projectiles as she went to the railing and peeked over.

And there, in the middle of her backyard, stood Will Sterling, squinting up at her through his glasses, one hand poised for another throw, and one holding a small, half-empty plastic container of tomatoes.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

Down below, Will lowered his raised arm and smiled, big and boyish, and Nora felt every single cell of her body get in courageous formation, a little army of I love yous lining up for launch. But before she could speak, Will called up to her again.

“I stood here,” he said, and for the first time she realized he was standing beside something, a spindly, bright-green-leafed tree that came to his shoulders, still packed with a burlap wrap around its unplanted base. “The tree was bigger, obviously.”

She put a hand over her mouth, muffling her wet laugh. “Like that,” he said. “You laughed, but it was bigger. You didn’t know I was down here. You said Hey, and then you laughed, and my heart never beat the same after that. I never forgot the sound of it.”