For the rest of the drive home, my thoughts remain on Milo, which is a nice break from thoughts of that night, I guess.

I can’t get over the fake smile he gave me. The Milo I knew was such a genuine person, had been since the day we became friends back in middle school.

Back then, I was a gangly girl who hadn’t grown into her height. I was made fun of a lot, but I never gave a shit. Milo was the same way: all gangly, too skinny, and got picked on a lot. Somehow, he always silently flipped everyone the bird. That’s what made us so awesome together. We were tough and pretty badass for middle schoolers, although Milo was definitely nicer than me. Still, I had felt an instant connection to him the moment I laid eyes on him, like I’d met him in another life or something. When I admitted how I felt to him, he told me the same thing, that he knew he had to get to know me the instant he saw me.

After that, we were almost inseparable.

Eventually, as we got older, we grew into our looks and bodies, and by senior year, we were pretty popular. I was a cheerleader and spent most of high school dating slightly older guys. Milo played sports and, for most of our senior year, dated Sophie, one of my good friends. We remained really good friends and hung out a lot, spending hours talking about our dreams, our hopes, life.

Milo was easy to talk to, and I probably told him more than I ever meant to. That’s what I remember most about him. That and the look on his face after he told me he was in love with me. I remember that as clearly as the guilt I felt over rejecting him.

We drove up and parked at the local make-out spot, a hill that overlooked Honeyton. I can’t even remember why we drove up there, other than maybe because I was leaving for London in the morning and we were both dragging out the goodbye. We weren’t planning on kissing or anything, although there were people in other cars going at it.

We sat on the tailgate of his truck beneath the starry sky and stared at the town below that looked even smaller from up in the hills. That was one of the happier times in my life. I had a whole future ahead of me, spending days in a different city where I would learn how to cook and make beautiful cakes and other delicious treats. I would shop and drink, and spend time with the new friends I knew I was going to make. That’s what I had envisioned, anyway, but hardly anything turned out like I planned.

“What’re you doing?” Milo gives me a curious look as I pretend to pinch the town between my fingers.

I shrug. “Seeing what it feels like to be a giant.”

He snorts a laugh. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“That’s why you love me.” I lower my hand and nudge him with my shoulder. “Just admit it; you’re going to miss my weirdo-ness.”

He doesn’t respond, his eyes glued on the view in front of us.

I rest back on my elbows with a teasing smile on my lips. “Or maybe you’re relieved you won’t have to deal with my craziness anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, his gaze still fixed on the city. I know he isn’t happy I’m leaving, but I didn’t expect him to give me the silent treatment over it.

I am just starting to worry if he will never speak to me again when he lets out a sigh and leans back with me, looking me in the eye.

“Jessa,” he says very seriously.

“Milo,” I mimic his grave tone.

He struggles not to smile. “I’m being serious right now. I need to tell you something important.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” I tease with a grin.

He continues to stare at me, unimpressed.

I raise my hands in front of me. “All right, I’ll stop with the jokes.”

He clears his throat. “So, I’ve been thinking … about us.”

At first, I am thrown off. I think he is just going to give me a speech about how we have to promise to stay friends while we are thousands of miles apart. Then, this intense, nervous look fills his eyes, and I grow worried.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

When he doesn’t answer, I sit up.

“Milo, just tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring me.”

He sits up with me, yanking his fingers through his hair. “I’m not trying to scare you … I’m just nervous.” He takes my hand in his. “Jessa, I think …” His fingers tremble as he skims his thumb across the back of my hand. “No, I know I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. It’s part of why I broke up with Sophie. I couldn’t lie to her or myself anymore … I wasn’t in love with her—I never was. I love you. I swear I have since the moment I saw you—since we felt that connection with each other. I want to be with you. I know you’re moving and everything, and I’m supposed to go to UW, but I was thinking … Maybe I can take a year off. I’ve always wanted to travel. I can start in London … and maybe you can come places with me when you have time.”

I gape at him, struck speechless. I didn’t see this coming. Only a month ago, he was dating one of my good friends. I thought they were in love. Now he is saying he never loved her and that he loves me? It doesn’t make any sense. Milo can’t love me, not in that way.

“I love you, too.” I choose my words carefully. “You’re one of my best friends.”

“I don’t just love you as a friend.” His voice shakes, his eyes begging. “I’m in love with you.”

A massive lump wedges in my throat. He is being completely serious. Milo is in love with me. Milo, the only friend I ever told about my storm ability. Milo, the guy who stuck with me through my dorky, middle school days. The guy who held my hair back during Danny’s blow-out bash after I got trashed and spent the night yacking my guts out. The guy who punched Jay Morellison when he spread a rumor about me that I was a cocktease. The guy who held me when I cried my heart out after Ben Amberlen dumped me on prom night. The guy who has always been there for me, who protects me, even when I screw up and don’t deserve his help.

Milo has always been there for me. He means the world to me.

“Milo …” I start, trying to think of the best way to handle this situation.

I don’t want to break his heart, but I can’t lie to him. I don’t think I am in love with him. Not in that way. And the last thing I ever want him to do is give up college to follow me to London. For years, Milo has been referring to college as his “ticket out of Honeyton.” I never once heard him mention a dream of traveling.

“I care about you a lot, but …”

He slips his hand from mine. The look on his face makes me hate myself. “But you’re not in love with me.”

“Not like that.” My heart pounds deafeningly in my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

The silence that follows feels like it lasts forever. I can hear every unsteady breath he takes, my heart racing in my chest, the soft flow of music drifting from the car beside us. I don’t know the song, but the singer is making promises of finding a love that can last. I hope she’s right. I hope Milo gets over this and finds a love that will last forever. Otherwise, I don’t think I will ever forgive myself.

“We should probably go,” he finally mutters, hopping off the tailgate without looking at me. “It’s getting late.”

I nod, hop down, and then we climb into his truck.

We don’t talk the entire drive back to my house. I’m pretty certain he doesn’t want to talk to me, but it feels like I need to say something since this is the last time I am going to see him for a while.

“I really am sorry,” I tell him when I am unbuckling my seatbelt. “I just …” I don’t know what else to say.

I wish I could tell him I love him, too. Then the entire situation would be easier. But that would probably only cause him more pain further down the road.

“You’ll still text and call me, right? I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t talk to you every day.”

He smashes his lips together, gripping the living daylights out of the steering wheel.

I’m starting to wonder if he will ever answer me when he mutters, “No, I don’t think I can … It’ll be too hard.” He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep inhale before looking at me. So much passion burns in his eyes that, for a split second, I think he is going to kiss me.

And, for a split second, I let myself imagine what his lips would feel like.

“We could’ve been really amazing together, Jessa,” he whispers, sounding like he believes his words more than anything else in the world.

For a heart faltering moment, I do, too, almost enough to want to take back what I said on the tailgate. We could have been great together, and deep down, I may love him. But admitting all that would do no good. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to London where I will start the life I always dreamed of.

He releases the steering wheel, hurt and anger pouring from his eyes. “You should probably go.”

With a shaky breath, I get out of the truck.

Part of me wishes I never asked him if he would call me. Like, if I had given him time then called him myself, he would have forgiven me. Looking back now, I know that wouldn’t have mattered. I will always be the girl who broke Milo’s heart, and what we once were, we will never be again.

I will always regret that.

Just like I will always regret not saying how I truly felt.

Just like I’ll always regret going to London, for many reasons.