He smiles and moves next to me until our thighs touch. My legs are cool from being out in the night air for so long. He’s so hot I can feel the heat of him to my core. My stomach flips and my mouth goes dry. I don’t know what to say, he’s finally here again, after seven years. He rarely comes to Romeo, and when he does it’s for such a short time. I thought he’d forgotten me.

“I saw your flashlight,” he says.

I startle at the sound of his deep voice—so different from the last time I heard him.

“Sorry. Did it bother you?” I click off the flashlight and wait for my eyes to adjust to the dark.

“No.” He shakes his head.

I peer at him through the darkness. He’s tall, his arms and legs are long, and his shoulders are wider than they were the last time I saw him. My cheeks heat and awareness of his leg pressing against mine floods me.

He doesn’t say anything more, so we sit in silence and listen to the night sounds. Finally I feel the tension I hadn’t realized was there seep out of him. He relaxes into the curve of the tree limb and leans toward me until our arms touch. The feel of him runs over me and I shiver.

“Cold?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

But he still slowly reaches over and puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. My heart thunders in my chest and my breath comes out in short pants. I can barely stand the feelings coursing through me. I think I might burst.

We’re sitting in our tree, there are brilliant stars and the grassy perfume of the field, and Gavin’s arm is around me. This is better than my dreams.

“Are we still friends?” I whisper, driven by seven years of dreams dreamed in a silent house.

He stiffens slightly, a warning, but I don’t really register it until much later. I’m too caught up in the closeness of him.

“Last time you were here…the day my mom died…”

He turns and looks at me, his face is inches from mine, and even in the dark I can see the deep blue of his eyes. He looks tired, there are bags under his eyes, and a heavy weight in his gaze that a fifteen-year-old shouldn’t have. But I understand it.

“My dad hasn’t said more than fifty words in seven years. I don’t have friends here. I…” I hold up my book. He doesn’t look at it, he keeps watching me.

“I read so I don’t remember how lonely I am,” I say. I’m taken by surprise when a tear slips down my cheek. “I’m lonely.”