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“Relationships are never equal. Some days, you can only give ten percent. Other days, your partner can only give the same. It’s constant, but it’s also the most rewarding thing—being able to grow alongside someone like I have with her.” — Our Best Kept Secret , Henry Hayes

It’s been a month of Amelia proving she can show up for me, and at this point, I don’t think anything can slow her down.

We’ve had lots of long talks about our feelings. We’ve been chatting almost every day, and she’s constantly updating me on her job search, which hasn't been going well, but she hasn't given up yet. I keep joking she could work as my assistant, but I know she would hate it.

Amelia was always destined for bigger things, and I know the right opportunity will find her soon enough.

After dinner with my parents, we took the long way home and parked at a lookout point over the beach.

She told me that was the most she had ever talked while sitting at a dinner table.

Most of the time when she was younger, she would be talked over, or she would fade into the background and say nothing as her family talked around her.

She told me she had to hold back tears when my parents told her they were proud of her because her parents had never said that to her. Her entire life, not once did they tell her that, and my heart sank as soon as the words left her lips.

I know family looks different for everyone, but anyone can see Amelia misses hers.

It’s blatantly obvious to me, and I hope one day, her parents will come around.

I know she didn't follow the plan they had for her, but they’re still her parents.

As long as Amelia is happy—which I think she finally is—shouldn't that be the only thing that matters?

My phone rings, and I already know who it is.

“Hi, Ames,” I say as I pick up.

“Hi, Hen.” I can hear her smile through the phone. “Any chance you can be ready in fifteen minutes?”

“Ready for what?”

“A surprise date night?” I can hear her holding her breath. “Only if you want to, of course. If you’re busy, I can call Hads or something.”

“I’m never too busy for you, Mills.”

“Great. I’ll be at your place in ten minutes.”

I hang up, feeling my stupid smile spread over my face, unable to stop it.

That has been happening a lot lately when I talk to Amelia, and I always feel catapulted back to when we were two idiots in college, and I was pining after her for months. After I met her for the first time, I couldn't stop thinking about her, and I didn't expect to see her so soon.

I was confused as to how she had gone to Grand Mountain for the same amount of time as I had, and I only met her the summer before our senior year.

Amelia was a puzzle I desperately wanted to solve, and I spent months in her orbit, falling in love with her while she tried to keep me at arm’s length.

Now, here we are, years later, and the same thing is happening. I’m trying to keep her at an arm’s length because I don’t fully trust her, and here she is, pining after me, trying to prove she can love me how I deserve.

I can’t deny what I’m feeling now. I can’t deny that every time I see her, my breath catches in my throat. I can't deny the way my heart speeds up when I know she’s near, or the way we can somehow still communicate with a simple look.

Amelia Ellis makes me whole again. I might be the biggest idiot for giving her another chance, but I knew if I let her go, I would have regretted it.

We’re not out of the woods quite yet, but in time, I know everything will be okay.

Amelia: I’m here.

Henry: I would offer you to come up, but it seems like we’re in a rush?

Amelia: A little bit, but maybe after?

Henry: Sounds good.

I grab my wallet, keys and shove my phone into the pocket of my button-up before I head down to the lot, spotting her car almost immediately on account of the music blaring at a normal Amelia level .

As soon as she spots me, she fiddles around in her seat and opens her door, a bouquet of flowers in her hand as she waits for me to come toward her.

What the hell is going on ?

“Uh, hi?” I say with a chuckle.

“Hi.” She grabs her necklace with her free hand. “These are for you.”

“For me? Why?”

That earns me a shrug. “Why not?”

I guess I can’t argue with that. “Thank you, Mills. These are beautiful.”

“They correspond with your book covers.” She smiles. “I figured they could sit in your office.”

“That’s the perfect spot for them,” I reassure her before I press a kiss to her forehead. “Shall we?” I say as I open her door for her, Ames sliding into the seat. I have no idea where we’re headed, but the butterflies in my stomach make me feel like an idiot in love again.

“Ames, why can’t you just tell me where we’re going?”

“Because that’s the thing about surprises, Henry.” She looks over at me while we’re at a stoplight. “You don't know what we’re doing until we get there.”

“Fine,” I concede. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“You’ve said that already,” she reminds me, moving her free hand back and forth on her sweater dress.

“There is no limit on telling you how beautiful you are, Amelia.” I run my hand through my hair before I grab hers on her lap.

“You look amazing as well, Hen,” she says. “Especially since I only gave you fifteen minutes to get ready. ”

“Thanks,” I say, shifting in my seat as Ames turns into a lot and parks.

By the time we get in, the surprise is over, but I’m very excited.

I should have known this was some sort of art thing when she mentioned taking Hads if I couldn't go—it’s an immersive experience for Van Gogh.

I’ve seen these on the internet sometimes, but I didn't know it was coming to Virginia any time soon.

We head into the exhibit, the first area with a bunch of smaller paintings and quote projections, Ames and I stopping to read each of them. Neither of us speaks, just enjoying one another's company.

It is a full immersive experience, and as I reach for her hand while she’s reading a quote, fully invested in what it says, she doesn't pull away. Her hand slides firmly into mine, and I see her lips turn up as it does. I can tell she’s trying not to make a big deal out of it.

Amelia isn't the biggest fan of physical touch, so her grabbing my hand feels like a decent step in the right direction.

I don’t try to guide her anywhere; instead, the two of us float through each room, as if we’re on the same path through this exhibit. We don’t need words. Just one look is all it takes for us to read what the other one is thinking.

When we get to the last room, it’s a large open space, a few people walking all around as the paintings move on the walls, the floor, the ceilings. His art is everywhere , and as a creative myself, it’s easy for me to appreciate every single brush stroke, every color used, all of it.

Stunning doesn't even begin to describe the work he put out, and one day, I hope to inspire someone with my writing how I’m sure he’s inspired millions of artists. That’s the dream of most creatives, right? To inspire someone with the work they put out like other work has inspired us?

“Do you ever look at something and ask yourself if other people see it the same way you do? ”

Her question throws me off as I lead her over to a small bench off to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she says as her gaze flows throughout the room. “I look at these pieces, and I’m filled with a longing I’ve never felt before. It almost feels like I can float through the room like the brush strokes do.”

“When I look around, all I feel is respect,” I tell her. “His work is so influential to have carried him throughout the ever-changing time periods. I guess I hope my work could have even just a fraction of that.”

“It will,” she says immediately. “I know I’m biased having read them so many times, but your books are special, Henry, and I’m excited to see what you’re going to tackle next.”

“Thank you,” I say as I press a kiss to our joined hands. “It means a lot knowing you’ve read them.”

“It was purely selfish,” she says. “I was lonely in England, and I saw them in a bookstore. I grabbed them because you were familiar to me. Even though I was terrible to you, I was selfish because I was clinging to any semblance of the past I could get.”

“That is a little selfish,” I joke with her, and she shoves me. “But it’s okay to be selfish sometimes when it’s not hurting anybody else.”

“Well…” She trails off, her head hanging low, before I grab her chin with my hand.

“We should make a rule,” I tell her as she stares into my eyes. “Let’s not talk about the past unless it’s about how we’re learning from our mistakes.”

She nods her head in my hand.

“I want to hear you say it, Amelia. I want to hear you say you’re not who you were before.”

“I’m not who I was before,” she whispers to me.

“Good,” I say as I release her face. “Because our story isn't over, Ames. Not on my watch.”

“And are you the one writing it?” she smirks .

“Why would that matter?”

“Well, I want it to be written well, and if you’re the one writing it, all will be fine.”

I scoff, my cheeks heating up at her compliment. “We’re writing it together, Ames. And it will be messy, chaotic, and beautiful.”

“Do you promise?” She smiles at me, her eyes gleaming under the lights of the paintings.

“I promise.”