I closed my eyes, an invitation for him to go ahead.

   He led me, my eyes covered, one of his hands holding mine with the other on the small of my back, for another two minutes. “Okay,” he said. “Ready?”

   I nodded.

   I felt his breath against my forehead as he removed the blindfold. When my eyes adjusted to the light, all I could see was him in front of me. “My surprise is you?”

   He smiled huge and stepped aside.

   Then I saw it.

   And a million emotions went through me.

   I laughed.

   I cried.

   I hurt.

   I healed.

   “Blake . . .” Because it was all I could say.

   I dropped to my knees.

   “This is it, right?”

   I bit my lip to stop the sob escaping. But the tears—I let them flow freely. I couldn’t speak, but it didn’t matter. There were no words for what he’d just done.

   “The picture of your mom and aunt, this is it?” he asked, squatting down to my level.

   I nodded. I didn’t think—I just threw my arms around his neck and pulled him into me. He lost his balance but steadied himself with one hand on the ground.

   “Blake,” I cried, and then pulled away. I placed his hand against my heart so he could feel the impact this had had on me. “You brought her back to me.”

   I wasn’t sure how long we spent there, on the lake, while he held me and I cried. He didn’t console me or tell me things were going to be okay. He didn’t shush me or ask me to talk it out. He was just there in that moment with me. It was perfect. He was perfect.

   “How did you find it, Blake?”

   He glanced at me, one hand on the steering wheel while he drove me home.

   I added, “I’ve been trying to find it for years. Ever since Clayton—” A lump immediately formed in my throat at the mention of his name. “Ever since Clayton was old enough to drive, we spent days looking for it. You’ve known about it for a week. One week, and you found it. You found it for me.”

   “I just looked—every day—and most nights.” He shrugged. “I skipped school yesterday afternoon and went home to get the maps I’d collected. Mom was home. She saw me leaving the house and asked what I was doing. So I told her.” He glanced at me again with a slight frown. “I hope that’s okay?”

   I nodded and gestured for him to continue.

   “She knew what I was talking about right away. She said that your mom and your aunt—they were sorority sisters?”

   “So she’s been there?”

   “Yeah, she said that it was their spot.”

   I sank deeper into my seat. “I need to thank your mom.”

   “No.” He shook his head. “We actually need to thank you, Chloe, for bringing us back to each other. Somehow, somewhere along the way, my mom and I lost each other. But you—you brought us back, and we’re thankful for that. We’re thankful for you.”

   It was dark by the time we got home, but the lights were still on. He didn’t make a move to turn the engine off when he pulled into the driveway. “My mom wanted to give you this,” he said. “She told me to give it to you when you were alone.”

   I took the envelope from his hand and ran my fingers across my name, scribbled across the front in red ink. “What is it?”

   “Just something from her and something from me.”

   I started to open it, but his hands covered mine, stopping me. “Wait until you’re alone,” he said. He’d leaned in closer; the heat of his breath brushed against my cheek.

   “Okay,” I whispered.

   Pictures.

   So many pictures.

   Of my mom. Of my aunt. All through college. Some of Blake’s mom with them, but mainly just of them together. Laughing and smiling. It was as if they had given me a time machine, and through these pictures, I was able to see into their lives. Into their emotions and into their happiness.

   Tears fell, and they didn’t stop. Not even when I got to the last piece of paper. It wasn’t a picture, though. It was a letter.

   My fingers shook as I unfolded it.

   Once.

   Twice.

   Red ink.

   Dear Not Abby,

   It’s strange, right? A handwritten letter . . . Mom says they’re more personal. And you deserve that—something personal.

   I don’t know if you have ever gotten a personal letter. I want to be your first. I want to be a lot of things for you. But I don’t know how to do that.

   I wish I knew how to do that.

   But I wish even more that you’d show me.

   Nine weeks until graduation.

   I’m already missing you.

   My beautiful, beautiful girl.

CHAPTER TWENTY

   Blake

   “You look like ass,” Trent—the team’s center and all-around dumbass—said, leaning on the locker next to mine. “Have you even been sleeping? You haven’t been at school much. Is it because of Will? Everyone said that you broke Will’s nose. He’s been nursing it like a little bitch. Is that why you haven’t been at school? Because you’re avoiding him? He’s probably going to be in the cafeteria now. I don’t know if you want . . .”

   He kept talking, but I ignored him, too busy looking over his shoulder at the blonde girl slowly making her way toward me. She looked up from the floor and caught me watching, a hint of a smile on her face. I thought she’d look away, turn away, but she didn’t. She just continued walking closer, and closer, until she was next to me.

   “Hi,” she said, awkwardly fiddling with the strap of her bag.

   “Hi.”

   “Hi.” I think Trent threw his hand out, but I couldn’t be sure; I was too busy locking eyes with Chloe. “I’m Trent,” he said.

   “Hi, Trent,” she replied, but she didn’t break our stare.

   “O . . . kay . . .” He backed away slowly, leaving us alone. Alone—in our own little world—where it was just she and I and nothing else mattered.

   “Hi,” I said again.

   Her smile widened.

   “You’re talking to me at school?”

   She nodded. “Do you have plans for lunch?”

   I slammed my locker shut and answered, “Yes.”