Every Summer After

I loved you so much that the word 'love' didn't seem big enough for how I felt.

Some people are lucky like that. They meet their best friend, the love of their life, and are wise enough to never let go.

I loved you,” he whispers. “I know,” I say. Hurt eyes move across my face. “You broke my heart.” “I know that, too.

You came home'. I squeeze my eyes shut. I came home.

You and me are special,” he started. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend time with than you. There’s no one else I’d rather talk to than you. And there’s no one else I’d rather kiss than you.

I don't take things for granted anymore. I don't take people for granted. And I know time is not infinite.

The way I felt about you was always so clear to me—even when we were young I knew you and I were meant for each other. Two halves of a whole. I loved you so much that the word ‘love’ didn’t seem big enough for how I felt.

I pay attention to a lot of things about you, Percy Fraser.

I did want you. I do want you. I've always wanted you.

Boys are fun. Lots of fun. But don't let one stand in the way of your greatness.

You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.

Sometimes I felt sure he was—like there was an invisible, unbreakable string that ran between us, stretching vast distances and keeping us joined.

I am fun! I just don’t want to talk about what keeps me awake at night. I don’t want to reveal how I’m beginning to question whether climbing the ladder has made me happy, how sometimes I long to write but can’t seem to find the courage, or how lonely I sometimes feel.

Sometimes I think no one gets me the way you do

She told me to call you,” he says, serious again. I stop breathing. “Before she died. She said he’d need you after.

I still love him," I whisper. "I screwed everything up. And I love him. And I'm worried that even if I can get him to forgive me, I'm still not good enough for him." "You're good enough," Chantal, says. "But I'm a mess. And he's a doctor." "You're good enough," she says again. "What if he doesn't think so?" "Then you come home, P. And I'll tell you why he's wrong.

You're my best friend, Percy. Please be my family.

But you’re more important to me than kissing. And I’m worried that if we rush that side of things we’ll fuck up everything else.

I fell in love with you when I was thirteen, and I never stopped. You’re it for me.” Sam closes his eyes for three long seconds, and when he opens them, they are glittering pools under a starry sky.

Three updates?" I whispered, and his eyes crinkled with a smile. "One, I love you,” he replied. "'Two, I can't stand the idea of leaving again, of you not coming back to this cottage, without you knowing how much I love you." He took a shaky breath, then knelt on one knee, taking my hands in his. “Three,” he looked up at me, his blue eyes serious and wide and hopeful and scared, "I want you to marry me.

A summer away from everything, where I could read my books without worrying about being called a freak and swim whenever I wanted to, felt like heaven.

It’s taken a lot of work for Sam and me to get here as well—for us to find our footing as a couple, to trust each other, and for me to fight off the persistent voice that tells me I’m not good enough, that I don’t deserve him or my happiness. We’ve snapped at each other, we’ve flung accusations around, and we’ve yelled, but we’ve both stuck around and cleaned up the mess. We’ve also been friends. And that’s the part that’s been easy—laughing, teasing, rooting for each other. We can still speak to each other without speaking.

There’s always been a small, hopeful part buried inside me that felt he must sometimes find his mind drifting to me, to us

I liked how each book was both predictable and unique, comforting and unexpected. Safe but never boring.

You drive me crazy, you know that? You always have. I never laughed with anyone like I laughed with you. I've never been friends with anyone like I was with you. I've tried to forget about you for more than ten years, but I don't want to try anymore.

I also know I’ve gone more years without Sam than I spent with him.

There’s no rush. And anyone who wants to rush isn’t worth rushing for. Does that make sense?

My mom likes one-syllable names for boys—like Sam and Charles.

They knew. Some people are lucky like that. They meet their best friend, the love of their life, and are wise enough to never let go.