everything inside me cringed.
This was it, the true test of the entire do over. Would Isaac be like he had been on the phone—sweet and apologetic? Or would he be the boy who’d kicked me out of his truck onto the side of the road and left me to walk miles in a thunderstorm?
I was terrified, frozen in place, certain this dream of a second chance was going to crumble like the brown sugar topping on the blueberry muffins Mom was baking. But then Isaac pushed through the gate, hair shining gold in the sun, big grin on his face, wearing his favorite orange shirt with the sketches of brown feathers on the front. He stopped to give Mitch a quick, easy high five, then pulled me into his arms. He hugged me tight, his cheek smooth against mine, his smell as perfectly, familiarly Isaac as ever.
I squeezed him until he made a grunting sound and laughed into my hair. It was all I could do not to bawl like a baby. Isaac was here and he still loved me. I was the luckiest girl in the world.
As I pulled away, my fingers flew to press against the locket, lying cool against my skin beneath my short-sleeved, brown sweater. I sent out a silent thank-you to God and the universe and enchanted jewelry makers and Gran’s leave-my-jewelry-lying-ina-big-messy-pile nature for this chance, this miracle.
It really was a miracle. Isaac’s eyes held not a single shred of hate or doubt. This was the Isaac of two weeks ago, the Isaac who still loved me. Who called me babe and thought I was beautiful and wanted to marry me and be together forever.
Oh man, I really was going to get sniffly if I didn’t watch out. I was just so thankful.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he said, mistaking the reason for my obvious emotional instability. “I suck.”
“You don’t suck!”
“You do suck, but she’s already forgiven you,” Mitch said. “You are a lucky bastard.”
“I am a lucky bastard.” Isaac turned to punch Mitch on the arm, then the stomach, and then they were doing that weird not-quite-fighting thing boys do to bond. They were halfway across the lawn, falling into a pile of leaves, when my dad showed up with the rake.
“You two are ruining my piles!” Dad yelled, but I could tell he didn’t mind. Now it would take him even longer to clear the yard and he’d be spared that vacuuming I’d so narrowly avoided.
“Love you, Dad. We’re going to go,” I said, leaning in for a hug.
“You all have fun. Don’t get into any trouble.”
“We won’t,” Mitch said. “Later, Mr. M.”
I shot Isaac a look, but he was already heading for the gate behind Mitch, not at all surprised or annoyed that Mitch had invited himself on our date. But then, Mitch had invited himself on our dates lots of times. Especially when he was the only one of us with a vehicle. Mitch was six months older than Isaac and had gotten his license early because his dad was a single parent and a doctor who worked odd hours.
Still, this was supposed to be a special day. For me and Isaac. I couldn’t help but wish Mitch would go home. Just this once.
“I brought bikes to take into Nashville. That sound cool?” Isaac asked when we reached the drive.
“Sounds perfect.” I loved riding bikes in the city, but Isaac usually hated the hassle of loading them up.
“So your car or mine?” he asked. This time, I didn’t bother to answer. I knew he was talking to Mitch. Isaac never let me drive.
It was a man thing. Or a southern thing. Or some kind of thing. It had never bothered me before, but I couldn’t suppress a flash of anger as I watched the boys debate the pros and cons of Mitch’s family van versus Isaac’s souped-up Accord. If Isaac had let me drive on my birthday, I wouldn’t have been stuck walking home in the rain on a very dangerous stretch of country road, worrying that I was about to be struck by lightning.
That. Never. Happened. Get it through your head, Katie. That was then, this is now.
Actually . . . now was then and then was now . Or . . .