Chapter 140
Summer's POV
We were almost back to school when I spotted Ms. Thompson coming out of the main building, clipboard in hand. My stomach dropped.
"Oh no, that's Thompson—"
Kieran reacted instantly, pulling me into a narrow alley between buildings. We pressed against the brick wall, his hand still wrapped around mine from earlier. The warmth of his palm against mine felt both familiar and electrifying, a reminder of the barrier we'd just crossed less than twenty minutes ago outside that coffee cart.
"Is she gone?" I whispered.
He leaned out slightly to check, then turned back to me. We were close. Too close. Close enough that I could see the exact shade of gray in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated when he looked at me, the small scar on his left eyebrow I'd never noticed before.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and I felt my pulse quicken. The questions I'd been carrying for two days—where had he been, why hadn't he answered my texts, what had happened at home—hovered on the tip of my tongue. But looking at him now, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes that he usually kept so carefully hidden, I couldn't bring myself to shatter whatever fragile thing was forming between us in this moment. The questions could wait. They had to wait.
Then he raised his left hand slowly, almost hesitantly, his palm cupping the back of my head while his fingers threaded gently into my hair. The tenderness of the gesture made me hold perfectly still, barely daring to breathe, as if any sudden movement might break the spell.
His lips pressed against my forehead.
Not my mouth. My forehead.
The kiss was gentle, reverent, and somehow more intimate than anything I'd expected. It lasted only a heartbeat, but I felt it everywhere—in the way my chest tightened, in the sudden heat behind my eyes, in the strange ache that spread through me like I was something precious being handled with care I didn't quite know how to accept.
When he pulled back, his voice was rough, almost raw. "I've been wanting to do that."
"Why my forehead?" The question came out shakier than I meant it to, betraying how deeply the gesture had affected me.
His thumb traced my cheekbone with such careful deliberation that I had to close my eyes against the wave of emotion. "Because I'm not ready to kiss you properly yet. Not until I can do it right."
Tears pricked my eyes, hot and sudden. I didn't understand what he meant, but the weight of his words, the way he was looking at me—like I was something precious he was afraid to break, something he didn't quite believe he deserved to hold—made everything inside me feel too much, too overwhelming to contain.
"You're such an idiot," I said, but my voice cracked on the last word, ruining the attempt at lightness.
He smiled, really smiled, and it transformed his whole face in a way I'd rarely seen. The usual guardedness melted away, revealing something warm and vulnerable beneath. "Yeah. But I'm your idiot."
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We stayed in that alley longer than we should have, neither of us wanting to break the spell that had somehow woven itself around us. The brick wall was cold against my back, but Kieran's presence was warm, solid, real. I could hear the distant sounds of students returning from lunch, the rustle of leaves in the courtyard, but it all felt far away, like we existed in a separate world where the past two days of worry and the questions still unanswered didn't matter as much as this single moment.
Eventually, Kieran shifted slightly, his expression changing from that open warmth to something more uncertain, almost nervous. He reached into his jacket pocket, his movements hesitant, then seemed to reconsider and pulled his hand back empty.
"What is it?" I asked softly.
He took a breath, his jaw working like he was trying to decide something. "I've been carrying something. For a while now. Since before Valentine's Day, actually." His eyes met mine, then darted away. "I kept chickening out. Told myself you'd think it was stupid, or too much, or that I had no right to—" He stopped, running his left hand through his hair in that gesture I'd come to recognize as nervousness. "But today, when you let me hold your hand earlier... I thought maybe..."
"Kieran?" My voice came out softer than I intended, but I couldn't help it. Whatever he'd been carrying around for months, whatever had made him this nervous, I needed him to know it was safe with me.
He reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a small brown box that looked slightly worn, like it had been carried around for weeks. His hands weren't quite steady as he held it out to me, not meeting my eyes.
"I should've given this to you on Valentine's Day," he said, his voice low and rough. "Or maybe I shouldn't give it to you at all. I don't know. I just... I saw it and I couldn't stop thinking about you."
My fingers trembled as I took the box from him, feeling the weight of it, the significance of whatever was inside. I opened it slowly, and the world seemed to narrow down to just this—the small silver ring nestled in the box, delicate and perfect, with a pink bow on top and a tiny crystal glinting at its center where a diamond might be. It was beautiful in its simplicity, sweet without being childish, the kind of thing that was unmistakably, undeniably meant for me.
"Kieran..." I couldn't get any other words out. My throat had closed up completely, and I could feel tears starting to blur my vision.
"It's not real," he said quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush like he needed to get them all out before he lost his nerve. "The stone, I mean. It's cubic zirconia, not a diamond. I know you probably have real jewelry, expensive stuff, and this is just—" He stopped, his jaw clenching in that way that meant he was fighting something back. "I've been saving from my shifts at The Happy Patty. It took me three months to afford even this. I know it's not much compared to what you're used to, but—"
I shook my head, unable to speak past the emotion choking me. Three months. He'd been thinking about this for three months, working those brutal shifts at that awful restaurant, saving every spare dollar, carrying this box around in his pocket like a secret he was too scared to share. The thought of him walking past jewelry stores, going in to look, counting out his carefully saved bills to buy something for me—it broke something open inside my chest that I hadn't known was locked.
"I don't care if it's expensive," I finally managed, my voice breaking on every word. "I love it. I love it so much."
"Yeah?" His voice was so quiet, so uncertain, like he still couldn't quite believe I meant it.
"Yeah." I looked up at him, not bothering to wipe away the tears that were definitely falling now. "Put it on me?"
His left hand shook slightly as he took the ring from the box, and I held out my right hand, my own fingers trembling just as much. He slid the ring onto my finger slowly, carefully, like it was something sacred, something that mattered more than just a piece of metal and glass.
It fit perfectly.
"How did you know my size?" I asked, staring down at the ring, at the way the crystal caught the light filtering into the alley.
"I didn't." A hint of color rose in his cheeks, and he looked away, suddenly fascinated by the brick wall behind me. "I went back three times to exchange it. The lady at the jewelry counter probably thought I was crazy."
That image—Kieran going back again and again, too stubborn or too determined to give up, trying to get it exactly right for me—made something in my chest expand until I thought I might burst with it. I launched myself at him without thinking, wrapping my arms around his neck, and he caught me with his left arm, holding me against him like he was afraid I might disappear if he let go.
"Thank you," I whispered against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him—laundry detergent and something clean and distinctly Kieran. "Thank you for not giving up on getting it right."
His left arm tightened around me, and I felt him press his face into my hair. "I'd go back a hundred times for you," he said quietly, so quietly I almost didn't hear it. "A thousand times. However many it took."
We stood there in that narrow alley, holding each other while the sounds of St. Jude's carried on around us, and I thought about all the questions I still needed to ask him—about where he'd been, what had happened, whether he was okay. But right now, with his arm around me and his ring on my finger and his heartbeat steady against my ear, those questions felt like they could wait just a little bit longer.
Because right now, for the first time since I'd woken up in this second chance at life, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I was exactly where I was supposed to be.