A few moments later, he put his hand down on my leg. The simple touch almost reduced me to tears.

He had forgiven me. Even if he couldn’t say the words.

I loved this man. So much. But how many times would our destructive history derail the future we were attempting to build? Was it possible for two people who had hurt each other so badly be happy together?

I hoped so. Because I couldn’t imagine my life without Flynn Hendrick.

Somehow, someway, we were going to have to find a way to not only forgive each other, but to forgive our past.

If that was even possible.

After Flynn had settled, he had gone into the house, leaving me outside. I hadn’t followed him, figuring he needed his space and the last thing I wanted to do was crowd him.

So I had stayed outside with Murphy for almost an hour. When I went inside the house, I found Flynn asleep in his room. I hadn’t disturbed him. But I hadn’t left either.

I slept on the couch that night, just wanting to be close to him even if I didn’t know how.

The next few days were a bit strained but we eventually fell back into our version of normal. I had rescheduled my meeting with the Continuing Education Coordinator for later in the week. Flynn had gone with me to campus, going off to the art studio while I went over options for the next few years.

I had decided on applying to two schools. One in West Virginia a little over an hour away. The other was my dream school. It had an amazing English department but it was in Maryland. I had never left the state. The thought was terrifying. But I decided to go for it anyway. I had no hopes of getting in but I could at least say I tried.

I was feeling pretty buoyant by the time I was finished. Cathy, the CE Coordinator had been really nice and given me a bunch of brochures to look at.

I found Flynn exactly where I expected him to be. He was bent over a mound of clay in the empty art studio. It was perfectly silent except for the punctuated sounds of his tools as he dropped them on the table before picking up another one.

I wasn’t exactly quiet when I entered the room but Flynn didn’t look up. I wasn’t surprised. He would disappear into whatever he was working on.

I came up behind him and looked over his shoulder and frowned at what I was seeing.

He was molding a miniature Mount Rushmore. I recognized the faces of the presidents as he scrapped and carved into the clay.

“What’s that for?” I asked, sitting down beside him on the bench, careful to give him enough space to work.

Flynn still didn’t work up. He wiped away some of the excess clay and picked up another glob and mashed it to the creation in his hand. Smoothing and rubbing it into shape.

“I sell these,” he said, squinting at the piece of art he was making.

“Really. Just the Mount Rushmores?” I asked him.

He shook his head as he put down the tool in his hand and picked up a small, sharp bladed knife. “I like to make pyramids and Big Bens and The Great Wall of China and Machu Picchu. I find them in books then make them. Then I sell them. My mom helped me set it up. I make a lot of money,” he said succinctly.

I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it.

Flynn frowned. “Stop laughing at me!” he commanded.

I stifled my giggles, knowing how he was interpreting it.

“I’m not laughing at you, Flynn,” I explained.

“You’re laughing. I don’t like it. Stop it,” he said flatly.

“No, I promise. It’s just that I buy these,” I said, pointing at the Mount Rushmore in his hands.

He finally looked up at me.

“You buy my statues?” he asked, looking back at his tiny creation.

“Yeah. I’ve been buying them for over a year now. I have a lot of them. They’re amazing!” I enthused; a little shocked by yet another strange twist of fate.

The universe had been working overtime in throwing us together.

“And you like them?” he asked shyly, resuming his work.

I watched him as he molded the clay until he was happy with the product.

“I love them, Flynn. They’re beautiful. They’re all the places I want to go some day. Maybe we could see them together,” I suggested softly. This was the first time I had been direct in my wishes for our future together.

Flynn was quiet. Not saying a word. He got up and walked over to the kiln, opening the door and putting the sculpture inside.

He closed the door and walked back to the table.

“I want to go to the beach,” he said without preamble.

What?

“You want to go to the beach?” I asked, not sure where this was coming from.

“After my house burned down, my mom and I moved to North Carolina. She took me to see the ocean. I hated it. I hated the sand. I didn’t like the way it felt between my toes. She tried to get me into the water but it was too loud,” he said.

It was my turn to be confused.

“And you want to go again? It doesn’t sound like a very good experience,” I commented.

“Have you ever seen the ocean?” he asked me.

“No. I’ve never left West Virginia,” I confessed.

“I want to see the ocean with you, Ellie.” He spoke without leaving room for argument.

“But it’s loud and the sand gets between your toes,” I reasoned. I didn’t want him to go somewhere he’d be miserable. I knew Flynn well enough by now to know that if he hated it, it would be horrible for him. I didn’t want that…for either of us.

“I want to see the ocean. We’re going,” he stated, cleaning up his workstation.