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LANE

A couple weeks ago, I told myself that I was content with just enjoying the time I have with Scarlett while it lasts.

I lied.

Maybe I was telling myself the truth at the time.

At that point, I already knew I felt more chemistry with Scarlett than I have with any girl I’ve met. I already knew that I was more attracted to her than I’ve ever been to anyone else.

But I didn’t know that soon I’d fall for her so damn hard that my heart would hum in my chest every time I see her.

That just walking next to her on a sunny day would soon make me feel fifty feet tall, invincible, like I was king of the fucking world. That pressing my lips to hers would send a thrill throttling through my bloodstream more intense than even my greatest victories on the ice.

I think back to when we met on the flight here, when I thought how crazy it would be to say I’m in love with a girl I hadn’t even known for four hours.

But is four weeks enough?

Scarlett and I are sitting on the grass at Millennium Park. The sun is setting, painting the sky a rich, glowing orange. The heat of the day is seeping away, mellowed by a soothing breeze. The atmosphere buzzes with conversation, activity, life.

And when Scarlett’s back nuzzles against my chest, a spark of certainty kindles in my heart.

Four weeks is long enough.

I don’t know if Scarlett feels the same way. I don’t know if this is growing into something more than a summer fling for her, too.

But it’s not like I have all the time in the world to find out. She’s leaving in a week, and I’ll be flying out a couple days behind her.

So, I come right out with it.

“We should keep in touch,” I say.

She turns her head to me, surprise dancing in her eyes. My heart twists when I see her lips tilt upward. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. And I don’t just mean sending each other texts now and then. I can drive down to Massachusetts to visit some weekends. You can come up to Brumehill to visit. We’ll make it work.”

We’ll make it work . My own words echo in my ears.

“Make it work?” Scarlett latches onto those three words, too, repeating them. But I catch the hopeful lilt in her voice. It emboldens me.

“Yeah. This. Us . I don’t want this to just be some summer fling that we move on from and forget once we’re back to our regular lives.” A charged breath escapes me. I’m steaming forward like a freight train, when Scarlett and I haven’t even talked about what happens between us after we leave Chicago. “Sorry, I don’t even know what you’re thinking, and we only have a week left here …”

“I’m thinking the same thing,” she says directly, her eyes latched to mine.

My heart leaps in my chest, and all I can do is kiss her.

Four weeks is enough time to fall in love.