“I’ll get you proper flowers for the next date,” Levi announced.

Next date? I went tingly all over. He was already thinking about the next date. I flushed warm, mind whirring at his words. “Not necessary,” I said.

“The date or the flowers?” he countered.

I laughed. “The flowers.” The date I would take with open arms.

“Not a flower kind of girl?”

“It’s not that.” I ran my pinkie over a soft petal. “It’s just that … you don’t have to do all that. For me, flowers mean…” I trailed off. We attached so much ridiculous weight to romantic gestures, and flowers were a big one. I didn’t love change, but I’d already dipped my toe in the water with spending so much time with Levi. If I actually dated him—really dated him, flowers and all—then it would be like doing a cannonball into the sea. And the ripple effect was something I couldn’t foresee.

His voice was soft. “Flowers mean what?”

I wasn’t thinking. I just spoke, giving the words free rein to tumble out. “Something that means … I want to get to know you. I want you.”

Levi stared at me so long that I didn’t realize how much I’d admitted, how willingly I’d dipped into my thoughts.

“Or something like that,” I said lamely, trying to steer our conversation to safer waters.

Oh my God, why did I say all that?

I hadn’t been thinking about protecting my heart. In fact, in those few short words, I’d handed it over to him on a platter. Exhilaration sent moonbeams through my bones, carving through the fear in swaths. Instead of treading water, I’d tucked my knees and cannonballed in, consequences be damned.

“What makes you think I don’t want all that with you?”

I looked up. His voice, louder and deeper. His eyes, brighter and fiercer. The scrunch of his eyebrows. The tenseness of his mouth. My fierce, wonderful summer boy.

My heart thrilled. Unlike some of our banter before, this didn’t seem like an idle comment, did it? The way he said it … it was like he actually meant every word. I wanted to kiss him senseless under the starry skies and feel him shiver when I touched his spine. I wanted him to cup my chin, gently, and then lean in, slowly, and show me how much he wanted me, too.

Every bit of me was alive, thrumming for his touch. My heart yearned to kiss him, but my head reminded me to be careful. Levi Keller was a flower that I could pick and keep as my own, but the roots wouldn’t be mine. I’d only be uprooting something beautiful from its own habitat. At the end of summer, he’d go home, and I’d stay here. I was a perennial, an eternal summer girl year-round. Levi was as annual as they came.