Page 57 of Falling Back to You

“It appears I’ve missed a ton of shit. I’m gonna make us coffee and you’re gonna catch me all the way up.”

Reese headed back inside, and I took in the scene once more, the scattered rose petals and the huge arrangement of flowers, their aromatics transforming my porch into a perfume shop. Ozzie and I had kinda tumbled into a relationship when I was fifteen. There were butterflies, but he never pursued me. We were sitting in the library during a free period, and Oz, who was already on track to tower over everyone, was doodling in his notebook while I flipped through a magazine.

“Do you think I could join the track team?” I asked.

“You run fast enough, but you also need breath control.”

“I can control my breathing.”

“Prove it.”

I breathed in and out several times.

“That’s just breathing, Dial.”

I flipped through a few more pages and stopped on a model in a party dress. “Are you going to the winter dance?”

“Probably. What about you?”

“I think you need a date for dances.”

“Plenty of people go alone. I am.”

“Why?”

“’Cause.”

“Why don’t you ask Janet or Sasha?”

“Why don’t you?”

“They’re not my type.”

“I meant ask some guy.”

“Some guy… also not my type.”

Dragging his pen, he scribbled blob-like shapes across the page. “We could go together.”

“Why would we do that?”

“Because people who like hanging out just continue to hang out. Maybe they hold hands, but it’s still just hanging out.”

“You wanna hold my hand?”

“Didn’t say I wanted to, just that I wouldn’t mind.”

I flipped my hand over, offering it to him. Oz entwined his fingers with mine. The two of us sat stock-still, afraid to move or break the connection. I’d held his hand before when he helped me climb a steep hill, or when we played Tornado, which required you to grab hold of your partner and spin around in circles until you both fell to the ground in a giddy, dizzy haze. But this time the hand holding was accompanied by a rush of butterflies originating in the base of my belly before moving outward to my extremities.

“So do you wanna hold hands a little longer?” he asked.

“How much longer?”

“I don’t know… like, forever.”

“Okay.”

“All right.” He squeezed my hand, and that was it—I was his and he was mine.