Chapter 104
Summer's POV
I stood frozen on the steps of Symphony Hall, staring at the spot where I thought I'd seen him. The street corner was empty now, just wet pavement reflecting the gray afternoon light and a few strangers hurrying past with umbrellas. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard it hurt.
"Summer?" Mia's voice pulled me back. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Maybe I had. Maybe exhaustion and heartbreak had finally caught up with me, making me see things that weren't there. A boy in a too-big dress shirt with rolled sleeves could be anyone. Dark hair and that particular way of moving—hunched shoulders, hands shoved in pockets, like he was trying to take up less space in the world—those things weren't unique to Kieran Cross.
Except they were. I'd memorized every detail of how he moved through the world, studied him without meaning to until I could pick him out of a crowd from a hundred yards away.
"I'm fine," I lied, pulling my coat tighter. The silk dress underneath felt ridiculous now, too thin and fancy for standing on rain-slicked steps in November. "Just tired."
Mia didn't look convinced. Her mom's car pulled up to the curb, and Mrs. Harper rolled down the window with a concerned expression. "Girls, it's freezing out here. Summer, honey, are you sure you don't want us to wait with you?"
"She's coming from New York, remember? Could be another hour." I forced a smile. "I'll just wait inside where it's warm."
"Actually," Mia said suddenly, turning to her mom with that stubborn set to her jaw I'd seen a hundred times, "can you pick me up in like thirty minutes instead? I'm not leaving Summer alone right now."
"Mia, you don't have to—"
"Mom, please?" She was already stepping away from the car. "She just finished a huge performance. I'm not making her wait by herself."
Mrs. Harper looked between us, then sighed in that way parents do when they know arguing is pointless. "Thirty minutes. Text me if you need me sooner."
I watched the car pull away, then turned to Mia with exasperation and gratitude warring in my chest. "You really didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did." She linked her arm through mine. "You've got that look on your face like you're about to do something impulsive. Like chase after mystery boys in the rain or something equally dramatic."
Heat flooded my cheeks. Had I been that obvious?
"Come on," she continued, tugging me back toward the entrance. "Let's get inside before we both catch pneumonia. Your mom would kill me if I let you get sick."
We walked back through the glass doors into Symphony Hall's lobby, and I let myself be pulled along, grateful for Mia's solid presence beside me and the warmth that enveloped us as we stepped inside. The lobby was still crowded with people from the matinee performance—families clutching programs, couples discussing which restaurant to try for dinner, a few other competition participants from schools I didn't recognize.
Mia was saying something about how Mrs. Chen had looked like she might actually smile when I played the final cadenza, and I was half-listening, still distracted by the phantom image of Kieran on that street corner, when I saw them.
Flowers.
A massive bouquet of hydrangeas sitting on the marble bench near the coat check, tucked slightly behind a decorative column where I wouldn't have noticed them on my way out. The blooms were enormous, clustered tight together in shades that shifted from the softest pink at the center to deep purple-blue at the edges, like a summer sunset captured in petals.
Like something that didn't belong in November Boston at all.
I stopped walking so abruptly that Mia stumbled into me. "Summer, what—" Then she saw them too. "Oh my god."
We moved toward the flowers slowly, my heart doing something complicated in my chest. There were other students milling around, some with their parents, a few taking photos of their own bouquets. Two girls from another prep school were standing near the hydrangeas, pointing and whispering, probably wondering whose rich boyfriend had sent such an extravagant arrangement.
The hydrangeas sat there like they owned the space, unapologetically beautiful and completely unexpected. As I got closer, I could see a small card tucked among the blooms, cream-colored paper with something written in slightly messy handwriting.
My hands shook as I reached for it.
To Summer: Congratulations.
"Oh my god," Mia breathed beside me, reading over my shoulder. "Summer, are those for you?"
I couldn't speak. Just held up the card with trembling fingers.
She let out a sound that was half laugh, half squeal. "He came! I told you he would come. I told you—" She grabbed my arm, bouncing slightly. "Do you know how much hydrangeas like this cost? Especially this time of year? Look at them!"
I looked. The blooms were perfect, each cluster of tiny flowers pristine and full, the color gradient so smooth it seemed impossible. They must have cost a fortune. More than someone working part-time at a restaurant and taking on tutoring gigs to help his family could reasonably afford.
More than he should have spent on me.
"The card doesn't have a name," one of the girls nearby said to her friend, craning her neck to see. "Maybe it's from the judges? Like a congratulations thing?"
"Those flowers are way too expensive for that," her friend replied. "That's definitely from a boyfriend."
Mia shot them a look that could melt steel, then turned back to me. "Are you okay? You look like you're about to cry."
I was. Hot tears were already sliding down my cheeks, smudging whatever was left of my stage makeup. I pressed my fingers against my eyes, trying to stop the flood, but it was useless. Everything I'd been holding back for the past week—the confusion, the fear, the desperate wanting—came rushing out all at once.
"He was here," I managed, my voice breaking. "He actually came."
"Of course he came, you dummy." Mia's voice was gentle as she rubbed my back. "He's been crazy about you since the first day you sat next to him in homeroom. Anyone with eyes could see it."
I shook my head, clutching the card so tightly the edges crumpled. "You don't understand. He hasn't talked to me all week. Not once. I thought—" My throat closed up. "I thought he regretted everything."
"Summer." Mia grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. "The boy just spent probably his entire week's salary on flowers for you. Does that seem like regret to you?"