“Not really,” I said. “Coming into your shop and eating at Ginger’s was our first trip to explore.”

“Wanna swing through downtown? I can point out a few spots.”

I wanted to get to the hospital, but I was enjoying my time with Karter more than I thought I would. If this was going to be a repeat of every friendship I’d ever had, this would’ve been the start of me putting my defenses up, watching my every move, steering clear of any place where I might lose control, and taking zero chances. But if I was going to make a fresh start . . .

“Sure,” I said. “That’d be nice.”

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 11

Karter steered us toward town and we talked like we’d known each other for more than a day. He’d struck me as awkward and kind of clumsy before. I thought he was just shy but as we spent more time together, I got the sense he was just a soft-spoken dude. He was laid-back and funny. It was easy to be with him.

“This is Montgomery Street,” he said as we pulled into town. “Once you get south of downtown, it turns into Mill Street.” We passed a farmers’ market with a bunch of colorful tents and bustling stalls. “Market Street is where most of the shops are. Samuel’s Sweet Shop is my favorite place.” He pointed to a shop with blue trim and a red bench out front. “The guy who plays Ant-Man is the co-owner or somethin’.”

“Really? Paul Rudd?” Mo thinks Paul Rudd is the finest white man she’s ever seen.

“He’s aight,” Karter said laughing. “At Samuel’s they got these candies called Clodhoppers. It’s peanut butter, pretzel, and graham crackers covered in milk chocolate. So good.”

“See, now I’m hungry,” I said.

“I’ll take you if you wanna go,” he offered. “I mean, only if you want to,” he said quickly, keeping his eyes forward.

“I’d like that, I really would, but maybe another day? I wanna get to the hospital before it gets too late.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” said Karter. “It’s not going anywhere.”

I smiled and as we drove through town, I imagined what the sugar maples that lined the streets would look like in the fall when their foliage would turn a kaleidoscope of golds and reds. We were driving slowly enough that I caught their subtle movements, gestures I wasn’t sure other people could pick up on. These movements were like taking a deep breath—a gentle rounding of the leaves, an almost imperceptible elongating of the branches—and they were doing it because of me. For the first time in a long time, it felt more like a gift than a burden.

“This place doesn’t feel real,” I said.

“It takes a while to get used to.”