As soon as Henley’s stepfather left, I closed the shop for the day. It’s Friday. I’ve got a volunteer shift at the library until eight. I run a movie night. Order pizza. Try to keep kids out of trouble. I wish someone had done it for Ryan. For my brother. If someone had, things might’ve turned out differently. After that the library, I’ll jump behind the bar and sling beer until close. After that, I’ll find Tess. Tell her I’m sorry for being such an asshole. She’ll forgive me, as long as they’re pancakes involved.

Upstairs, I hit the shower to scrape off my daily layer of grease and engine dust. I still can’t step in the shower without thinking about her. Can’t walk into the library without looking for her. Can’t look at a book without wondering it would sound like if she read it to me out loud.

I suspect it’s going to be like that for a while.

Probably forever.

But that’s okay.

Right now, I’m focused on the next thing. Then the next thing after that. I’ll keep moving. Keep going. That’s how you live.

You keep going.

Because Henley got on a plane forty-five minutes ago. She made her choice and it wasn’t me.

Shutting off the water, I grab a towel and give myself a quick rub down before slinging it around my hips, I leave the bathroom, stepping almost immediately into the kitchen.

Henley is sitting in my chair.

Our chair.

Jesus, she looks good.

Bright red hair, pulled away from her freckled face. Jeans and boots. A sweater I recognize as one of her favorites.

Please let this be real.

“What are you doing here?”

As soon as she sees me she stands. She seems nervous. Like she doesn’t know what she’s doing here. “I want my book back.”

For a second, it doesn’t register. When it does, my heart starts knocking and thumping against my chest. “How many times do I have to tell you, Hennie? That book doesn’t belong to you.”

“What if I gave you something for it?” She chews on her bottom lip and wipes her hands on her jeans. “Like a trade.”

I move toward her slowly, crossing the short space between us until I’m close enough to touch her. She’s looking at me.

At my tattoos.

The story of us, I inked into my skin, so I could keep her with me.

I let her look. I want her to. I want her to see me. The real me.

The me who loves her.

“It’s gonna cost more than a couple of cookies this time. I’ve grown attached to it.”

“I don’t have any cookies.” Her mouth quirks at me and for a second, I see her. The skittish, awkward girl I fell in love with. “But I have something else you might be interested in.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls something out. Opening her hand, she holds it out to me.

A ring.

“It’s a Claddagh.” She says it quietly, face still aimed at the hand she’s holding between us. “Someone told me once that they have their own secret language…” She reaches for my right hand and slides it onto my middle finger. “When you wear it with the point of the heart aimed at your own, it means you belong to someone.” She finally looks up. Looks right at me.

She finally sees me.

“I’m a mess, Conner.” She shakes her head when I open my mouth. “I’m a mess… I know that. I know I’m hard to love. That my first instinct is to push away when I should be leaning in, but I want to lean into you.” She swallows hard and nods. “I don’t know anything about string theory. I don’t understand the alternate dimensions and universes that float around inside your head. I only know this one.”

She turns my hand over and gives me something.

Her ring.

The one I gave her.

I don’t know how she got it and I don’t ask.

I don’t care.

“I only know this universe, Conner, and this is it.” She looks up at me, her dark eyes wide, eating up the sight of me like she’s seeing me for the very first time. “This is the one where I choose you.”

I know what I’m supposed to do.

What I’m supposed to say but I don’t move. Don’t say a word.

I just look at her.

The way her hair frizzes around her temple a bit. The way her gold-tipped lashes flutter against her cheeks. The spill of freckles that fall down the bridge of her nose.

I’m remembering.

The time Henley chose me.

Then I push my ring onto her finger, aiming the point of it toward hers, before flashing her my dimples. “It’s a good start, O’Connell.” I pull her into my arms and hold her, lifting my hand to gently cup her face, loving the way her ring looks on my finger. “But if you want that book back, you’re going to have to work for it.”