Page 28

ARI

One year later

The summer sun sets behind me in hues of pink and orange as I drive down the gravel road toward my thinking spot.

The last time I made this trip, it was because Caleb and I got into the biggest argument we’ve ever had. I sat under my oak tree at the top of a grassy hill until the moon came out and I felt better enough to return home.

The time before that was the month after our wedding. I had to sort through my thoughts to figure out why I couldn’t stop looking for a postcard that wasn’t coming and never came.

I also wanted to figure out why, as I read my vows to Caleb, I kept imagining Trey crashing our wedding.

He didn’t, and the wedding went as planned.

Tomorrow is my and Calebs’s first anniversary.

Tonight, I’m heading back to my precious thinking spot because I have more thoughts I need to sift through.

When I pull my car up to the side of the road where I usually park, there’s a motorcycle already there.

My heart skips a beat the way it always does whenever I see a motorcycle—especially if the person riding it is wearing a black leather jacket.

It’s never him , but my chest always thumps as if it is.

I step out of my car to examine the bike. Nothing on it screams, I belong to Trey Grant! but something inside me knows this is his.

More eager than I was before, I snatch my blanket from my car. Then I dash through the woods and hike up the narrow trail faster than I normally do.

When I reach the top of the hill, someone is lying under the oak tree. From the silhouette of the person, I think it’s a man—a very still man. He’s lying with his arms straight at his sides. I can’t tell for sure if it’s Trey, but I’m pretty certain it is. My thrashing heart says so.

As I approach him, he still doesn’t move. When I get within five steps of him, I see why. He has a pair of wireless headphones in his ears. His eyes are closed, and his steady breaths tell me he’s either sleeping or very relaxed.

“Trey?”

He doesn’t move.

I take two steps toward him and speak louder. “Trey?”

Still no movement.

I poke his arm. “Trey?”

He jolts upright. “Ahh!”

I step back and throw my hands up in surrender. “Sorry!”

He stares up at me with his mouth agape. Then his eyebrows press together as he slowly draws out his earbuds. “Arella?”

I haven’t heard someone call me that in years. The last person who did was him. “It’s Ari.”

He shakes his head at himself. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He lets out a sigh. “I just—” Another sigh. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. That just came out.”

I know what he’s trying to say. He only called me Arella out of habit. It’s how he knows me, and how he thinks of me, but he can’t say that because it’ll make him sound crazy.

I’ve had over two and a half years of thinking to come to the conclusion that this man isn’t crazy. If he was, he wouldn’t be living in New York just to stay away from me. He respects that I don’t know him, and he purposely keeps his distance. Crazy people don’t do that.

“I’m sorry I scared you. I called your name, but you didn’t respond.”

“Sorry. I was listening to something and zoning out.” He stands as he shoves his earbuds into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. “What are you doing here?”

I fidget with the blanket hanging over my arm. “What are you doing here?”

“I come here every Sunday.”

My brows arch. “ Every Sunday?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What for?”

He glances around at the quiet woods, then up toward the oak tree’s leaves looming over us like an umbrella. “To think.”

“How long have you been doing that?”

He waggles his head from side to side. “About a year.”

“A whole year? How do you know about this place?”

“I...” His voice trails off as he gazes straight into my eyes. Then his attention travels to my neck, down my arms, past my shorts. Then he scans my legs.

What’s he looking for?

His eyes meet back up with mine. “Did he hurt you?”

“Did who hurt me?”

“Your hus—” He clears his throat with a fist to his mouth. “Your... Caleb. Did Caleb hurt you?”

“No? Why would you think—” I gasp. He knows about Nathan. He knows my ex is the reason I found this place. He knows that sometimes after Nathan hit me, I’d drive here to get away from him. How does Trey know that? I’ve never told anyone about this place. Not even Caleb.

Trey grabs his backpack that was leaning against the tree trunk and swings it over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to make assumptions. I’ll leave so you can have your thinking spot to yourself.”

He knows I call this my thinking spot—another thing I’ve never said aloud to anyone.

If I didn’t already have enough evidence that this man came from an alternate universe, I do now.

Since he knows things I’ve never told anyone, the only explanation is that Alterella told him before he fell down a portal and ended up here.

Now that I think about it, it makes sense that he knows about this place. I’ve seen us here before in my dreams. Correction: I’ve seen him and Alterella here before in my dreams.

Trey is already five steps away when I realize what’s happening.

“Wait!” I run to step in front of him. “You don’t have to leave. You were here first.”

He stops and gives me a little shrug. “It’s all right. I’ve already been here for a few hours. I’m happy to?—”

“But I want you to stay.”

He knits his eyebrows together. “You do?”

“Yeah. I’d appreciate your company.”

“You would?”

I let out a chuckle. “Why are you acting so surprised?”

“This isn’t acting. This is genuine shock. Some of the last times we saw each other consisted of a newly installed chain lock, your dude kicking me out, and your best friend meeting my band solo because you didn’t want to.”

I don’t regret leaving the photo line that day, because what I got instead was a thousand times better. “For the record, I did want to.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you, but I chickened out at the last second.”

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah.”

He gapes at me like he can’t understand that concept. “Why?”

“I wanted to ask you about the postcard. I still haven’t gotten one, by the way.” And I’m totally not bitter about it.

His eyes cast down to the grass. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you forget to send it?” I ask, but I already know the answer.

“No.”

“Did you overthink it again?” I flash him a teasing smile, hoping it’ll help get rid of that melancholy look in his eyes.

It doesn’t. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Did you even write me a card?”

“Yep.”

I want to ask how many he wrote. Instead, I ask, “What did you write?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Why not?” I try not to sound like this is all I’ve been thinking about for the past year.

“Same reason I never sent it.”

“Which is?”

“You’re really gonna make me state the obvious?”

“It must not be that obvious if I’m oblivious to it.”

“Arel—sorry.” He shakes his head at himself again. “I... I didn’t send the postcard because by the time I got back to New York, you were already married and, I dunno. It just felt weird to send a postcard with deep thoughts on it to a married woman.”

“Deep thoughts?” My smile spreads from one ear to the other. “Now I have to know what you wrote on that postcard.”

He shakes his head at me, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips—a genuine one. I want to keep seeing it. I want to spend the rest of this night making him smile until his cheeks ache.

I gesture toward the tree. “How about we sit and talk for a bit? I bet by the end of this evening, I’ll get that secretive information out of you.”

With a light chuckle, Trey heads back under the tree and drops his backpack at the base of it. “We’ll see about that.”