When I turn down the main street and see Colton’s bus parked in almost the same spot it had been the first time, my heart speeds up and I drive right by without parking in the empty spot behind it. I turn down my music so I can think better. Right now I still have a choice. If I keep driving, I haven’t really done anything wrong as far as Colton and Trent go. But then. If I do that—if I keep driving—I may not get another chance to know more about him. ”Sometime” will expire, and Colton will forget he said it, and maybe it’ll be too late to come back.
The next light turns red. Gives me a few more moments to think. I switch on my blinker. Turn it off. Flip it again. When the arrow turns green, I hesitate long enough for the car behind me to honk, and then I make a U-turn and double back. Back to where Colton Thomas is, after 402 days. Back to where I parked the first time. When I pull in, the dent in the bumper of his VW bus is still there, and it’s bigger than I remember, which makes me cringe. I glance at the plate of brownies on the passenger seat, and suddenly they seem completely ridiculous.
I don’t know what I’m doing. And now that I’m here, I don’t really know for sure where to find him. I roll down the window and look around like I might just happen to see him. The morning air is still cool, and relaxes me the slightest bit when I take a big, deep breath. It’s about the same time of day as I’d showed up before, and based on what Colton said, he had to mean he’d be at either the kayak shop or the coffee shop. I thought of calling him before I left, but that seemed a little much. Plus I didn’t know if I was actually going to go through with it until right now, when I parked the car. In fact, I’m still not sure. The kayak shop looks closed, and even the café looks dark. I could still—
“The car’s in park, right? Turned off and everything?”
The voice jolts me from my back and forth, and when I look up I see Colton, fresh out of the water, hair and wet suit still dripping, surfboard tucked under his arm. “You came back.” He’s happy, but not surprised.
“I . . . yeah.”
I reach for the plate of brownies, then hold it out the window as explanation. “I brought you these—as a thank-you—or sorry, I . . .” I glance at the dent in his bumper and feel silly and embarrassed, and it makes me talk fast, all in one string of words. “You were so nice to take me to the hospital after I hit your bus, and I feel so bad you won’t let me pay for it, and I know I acted strange yesterday; well, I acted strange the first day you met me too, and I—I’m sorry.”
I push the plate farther out the window, like the motion can make up for the stumbling mess I feel like I am. I am rusty at this—talking to people in general. But the way he just stands there with that smile, listening to every word, makes it ten times harder.
Colton blinks once, twice, then breaks into a wide grin and reaches for the plate. “Don’t be sorry. Especially not for bringing these. Brownies are my favorite.”
I have to stop myself from saying I know.
“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “You make ’em?” He leans his surfboard on the car, takes the plate from my hands, and pulls the plastic wrap back and picks out a brownie. Takes a bite. He chews slowly, like he’s doing a taste test or something, and for half a second I worry that I may have messed up the recipe while we were cooking because I was thinking about him instead of focusing on the flour and cocoa powder.
Finally, he swallows. “Wow,” he says, eyebrows raised. “That . . . is hands down the best brownie I’ve ever tasted in my whole entire life. Ever.”
I feel my cheeks flush.
“I’m serious.” He wipes the smile off his face to prove his point. “I’ve eaten my fair share.”
His face is so serious, it makes me laugh. “Thank you. I . . . I’m glad you like them.”
“I’m glad you came back.” He smiles. “And, like is an understatement.” He polishes off the second half of his brownie. “What other secret talents do you have, and what are you doing today besides delivering the world’s best thank-you apology?”
I laugh again, glance down at my lap. “I don’t know. I was thinking of heading to the beach since I never made it there the other day.”
“It’s gonna get pretty crowded down there.” Colton glances over his shoulder at the dark kayak shop. “I could show you a great little beach . . . kind of off the beaten path. Kind of a locals spot.”
“Um,” I clear my throat. Entertain the idea for a moment. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I’m sure you have to . . .” I look at the shop now. “I just wanted to say thank-you, and I’m sorry again about your bus.” I fumble for my keys, and they fall down the crack between my seat and the center console. Of course.
“It’s not a big deal,” Colton says. “I don’t have any other plans or anything. Let me just go change, and we can—”
“I shouldn’t. I have to be home at a certain time, and I don’t wanna end up somewhere far without my car and have to have you drive me back or anything like that.”
He shrugs. “You can just follow me—you know, not too close because of that tendency of yours to hit the gas pretty hard. That way you’ll have your car, and you can go whenever you need to.” He says it so simply, like it really is no big deal, then looks at me, waiting for an answer. “It’s just a day. And I need someone to share these brownies with, or I’ll eat them all in one sitting. So really, you’d be doing me a favor.”