Three Months Later
I stretched out my legs on a blue yoga mat on my porch before I went into mountain pose. I closed my eyes as the sun peaked out over the horizon.
Summer of Me had been amazing.
I'd flown back to Boston with zero luggage that next morning. I couldn't stand to be in Seattle for a second longer, and I hadn't looked back. Colin told me Luke had shown up with my luggage looking for me a few hours after I left.
But I was already back home and packing for my next trip. I had asked off for the next week, so I took advantage of it.
New York City had been my first stop. I beat my old steps record and walked more that week than I had in Badlands. I even found the cheapest rental I could afford in the Hamptons—a cute room over someone's garage—and spent two days at the beach.
Thanks to my gift card, I was able to do more things than I had planned.
I saw the Grand Canyon by helicopter—along with hiking and sleeping in a tent. I went to Las Vegas, lost five hundred dollars, and loved every minute of it. I saw the Gateway Arch in St. Louis.
I spent a week in Los Angeles with Paige, and it was the best part of my summer. We acted like teenagers, partying on weeknights, and sleeping until noon. She did all of the touristy things with me. And we bawled our eyes out together at the airport when I had to leave.
I spent a week back in Seattle, hanging out with my dad and brother, before we moved Colin into his dorm room.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about Luke once. With each new experience, each new memory, I felt a small pang of hurt, sadness, guilt shame (any other emotion, I was probably feeling that one too) and wishing he was there with me. I couldn't help it—I missed him. A lot. But I was working on myself. I was working on loving myself. I was working on taking care of myself. I had to tell myself it was fate every time my brain couldn't stop thinking. He had jump started something in me, and I wasn't sure if I'd be where I was at the present moment if it hadn't been for him.
Because I was a different person.
I'd spent years hating a man who I never should have hated in the first place. That can fuck an already fucked up girl's mind just a bit too far.
I forgave myself. I forgave Avery. I forgave Russ.
I had finally found some relaxation.
And even though I didn't think it would ever happen again (my dad insisted it would), the next time I possibly found myself in a position where I might have a sliver of a desire to be vulnerable, I was going to be a better version of myself.
Thanks to Luke.
The glass door slid open.
"Good morning," Oliver said sleepily. "Is there any coffee?"
"Morning! No, we used the last of it yesterday," I replied. "We can get some on the way."
Oliver let out a groggy grunt and sat in a chair to my right, watching me as I changed to downward-facing dog.
"You do that every morning?" he asked me.
I picked my head up. "Lately, yeah. It relaxes me."
He settled back in his chair silently and watched the sunrise. After my cat/cow and cobra poses, I sat in butterfly and watched it with him.
I caught a flutter out of the corner of my eye.
"Look," I whispered, hitting Oliver in the shin.
The hummingbird hovered over my bright blue glass feeder, drinking the nectar with quick dips of its beak.
"There's hummingbirds in Boston?" Oliver whispered back quizzically. He pushed his glasses further up his nose. "That feeder is awesome."
I smiled. "Thanks. It was my mom's."
Oliver rubbed his hands on his thighs over his pajama pants. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"No," I laughed. "It's fine. That's why it's there—it's awesome."
The hummingbird flitted away at the sound of my laugh.
"I'm going to get a hummingbird tattoo," I said suddenly. My mind instantly went to Luke's, the black dots under my fingers—his fingers tracing my lips.
"On your ass?" Oliver joked.
"While that would be hot, I'm thinking my foot."
Oliver chuckled. "Definitely not as much fun." He rose and tapped the feeder with his finger, making it sway slightly and catch in the sun. The blue light ran over my legs.
"She had a red one too," I said softly. "It's back in her garden in Seattle."
Oliver looked down at me. His eyes following the blue sun rays cascading over my legs. "Blue's my favorite color."
"Mine too."
He looked up at me and smiled. "I'm going to go get ready. We have to be there soon, and I can't go without coffee."
"No one wants to see Cranky Asshole Oliver this early."
I heard him turn on the shower as I put my yoga mat away in my closet. I tried to push out the thought of me hearing Luke turn on the shower for a week straight, wondering how long it would take for him to not be my first thought in almost every situation.
When Oliver emerged from my bathroom in slim fit jeans and a plain black T-shirt, he looked me up and down.
"You know what's really annoying?" he asked me rhetorically. "That girls get to wear leggings and look all good and comfortable and shit."
I nodded in agreement, words coming out faster than I was thinking. "It's the best silly girl trend yet."
"I'm going to invent boy leggings."
I hitched an eyebrow up, eyeing his jeans. "Isn't that what you're wearing now?"
He threw his towel at me as I fell back on my bed laughing.
Out in the August heat, we walked the twenty blocks to the park (a little bit of cardio was part of my new and improved self—it does wonders for mental health) and stopped at the coffee shop across the street.
The line was long, and we couldn't find a table inside, so I ventured back outside to sit while Oliver waited in line.
I leaned back in my chair, happy—the happiest I'd been in three months.
I heard panting behind me, and turned to look behind my chair at the most beautiful dog looking up at me.
"Hey, buddy," I cooed. "What're you doing out here without a leash?" I let him sniff the back of my hand to make him feel comfortable before I rubbed his ears. His paw reached out, and for a second I'd sworn he had pointed. I laughed to myself until I looked beneath the table when he did it again to see a water bowl at my feet.
"You thirsty, sweet boy?" I pulled it out, but he didn't move. "Are you scared?" I asked him, trying my high pitched puppy voice. "It's okay."
I got down on his level, the bowl between us. "Come here," I said sweetly.
He picked his back legs up and took two steps before sitting again and lapping water from the bowl. "Such a good boy. Good listener." He picked up his head and in some weird telepathic moment we shared, we placed our foreheads together. I was staring into his face and down his snout until my brain flipped a switch. Short brown coat, black snout, floppy ears, and a long white line from his head down through his chest. A boxer.
