Chapter 150
Summer's POV
I waited until he took a drink of his own water before I spoke again. "So... the Field Day next month. Are you going?"
He frowned, clearly caught off guard by the subject change. "I don't know. Is it required?"
"Sort of," I said. "I mean, everyone's supposed to participate in at least one event. Even the competition kids."
"I think I'm still on the list for the 5K from before," he said slowly, like he was trying to remember something from a long time ago. "Back when I was still... you know. In school."
The way he said it—in school, like it was some distant memory instead of just three weeks ago—made my heart ache. But I kept my voice light. "The long-distance run? That's perfect! You know they give out prizes for the winners, right? First place gets this amazing limited-edition LEGO set. It's the spring coastal cottage series—pastel pink and blue, really cute."
He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know that."
"Well, you should," I said, grinning. "You could totally win it. And then you could give it to Lily. She'd love it."
His expression darkened slightly, and he looked away. "I don't know if I'll even be there."
My smile faltered. "What do you mean?"
"If it's required for credit, I'll show up," he said carefully. "But if it's optional..." He trailed off, his jaw tight. "With everything going on at home, I'm not sure I can make it."
The words hit me like cold water. I stared at him, my chest tightening. "Kieran—"
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I just don't know yet."
I took a breath, forcing myself to stay calm. I wasn't going to let this spiral into sadness. Not here, not now. Not after everything we'd just been through.
"You have to come," I said, leaning across the table and tugging lightly on his sleeve. "Please?"
He stiffened, clearly caught off guard by the touch. "Summer—"
"I'm going to look really cute," I said, my voice softening into something close to a plea. "I've been designing my own outfit for it. You have to see it."
He blinked. "Designing your own outfit? Don't they give you uniforms?"
"They do," I said, sitting back with a small smile. "But Brooke said as long as we stick to the school colors and the basic style, we can customize. So I've been working on something special."
Before he could respond, I stood up and walked over to the cashier, who handed me a few napkins and a pen with a smile. When I came back to the table, Kieran was watching me with a mix of confusion and something that might have been amusement.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to show you," I said, spreading the napkins out on the table and uncapping the pen. "So you'll know exactly what you're missing if you don't show up."
He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're really doing this right now?"
"Yes." I bent over the napkin, sketching quickly. "And you're going to look at it and tell me it's the cutest thing you've ever seen."
He didn't say anything, but I could feel his eyes on me as I drew. It felt good, having him watch me like this. Like I wasn't just some girl he was trying to keep at arm's length. Like I mattered.
When I finally finished, I held up the napkin triumphantly. "Ta-da!"
He leaned forward, studying the sketch. It was rough, but clear enough: I'd taken the standard St. Jude's cheerleading uniform—navy blue pleated skirt and white fitted top with the school crest—and added my own touches. Layered lace trim at the collar and sleeve cuffs, a small decorative bow at the chest, white over-the-knee socks with delicate lace edging, and pastel blue leg warmers stacked over them. I'd sketched in platform sneakers instead of the standard white Keds, and added a ribbon headband with a small bow to match.
Kieran stared at it for a long moment. Then he looked up at me, his ears pink. "You're going to wear that?"
"Yes," I said firmly. "Do you like it?"
He hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and the drawing. "It's... very you."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's cute," he admitted, his voice quiet. "But Summer, the other kids—"
"I don't care what they think," I said, cutting him off. "I'm not trying to look like Brooke or the other cheerleaders. That's not me. This is."
He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"I like it," he said, holding up his thumb. "You're going to look amazing."
The sincerity in his voice made my chest ache. I looked down at the napkin, suddenly shy. "You really think so?"
"Yeah." He paused, then added, "And if you're happy, that's all that matters. Forget everyone else."
I bit my lip, trying not to cry. "Thank you."
Before he could respond, the cashier arrived with our food, setting down two loaded trays. "Two Classic Cheeseburgers, double hash browns, large fries, and one strawberry milkshake. Enjoy, kids."
She gave me a wink before walking away, and I felt my face heat up.
Kieran cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at me. "You should eat."
I picked up a hash brown and took a bite, the crispy exterior giving way to soft potato inside. It was perfect. "This is really good."
"Told you." He pushed the ketchup bottle toward me. "Try it with this."
I did, and it was even better. For a few minutes, we just ate in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier slowly melting away. I watched Kieran take his first bite of the burger, saw the way his shoulders relaxed another notch, the way his breathing deepened as the food settled in his stomach. He'd been running on empty for too long—not just today, but for weeks now. Maybe longer.
Then Kieran said, "You're really going to design that whole outfit yourself?"
"Yep." I grinned, pulling the napkin closer. "I've always liked fashion. I used to sketch designs all the time when I was younger. My mom would bring home fabric samples from work, and I'd make little collages with them."
"You never told me that."
"You never asked."
He looked down at his plate, his expression tightening. "I should have."
"It's okay," I said softly. "You're asking now."
He glanced up at me, his gray eyes searching mine. For a moment, it felt like he was going to say something important—something about us, about what we were becoming, about why he kept pulling away even when I could see how much he wanted to stay. But then he just nodded and went back to his food.
I didn't push. Instead, I kept talking, filling the space between us with chatter about fabric choices and color palettes, about how I'd have to hand-sew the lace trim because the school's sewing machines were ancient and temperamental. I told him about the vintage ribbon shop I'd found in the North End, tucked between a bakery and a florist, where the old Italian woman behind the counter had given me a discount when I explained what I was making.
And slowly, slowly, I watched him relax. His shoulders weren't so tense anymore. He even smiled once or twice, a real smile, the kind that made my heart skip and reminded me why I'd fallen for him in the first place.
By the time we finished eating, the fear had faded from his eyes, replaced by something softer. Something that looked almost like contentment.
When he walked me back to the T station later that night, his hand brushing against mine in the cold air, I thought: Maybe this is enough. Maybe just being here, with him, is enough.
For now.