I came across a familiar cul-de-sac. Parking in Elijah's driveway, I put my car in park and rested my head on the steering wheel. The only way I made it here without turning back was because of my irrational thoughts.

This was not the brightest idea.

There was no way I would go inside, come back out, and things would be the same between Elijah and me. While I had an excuse for Jayce why I needed to come, I didn't have an excuse for Elijah. His sweatshirt and pants were still in my room, and if I had remembered to bring them, that would've been the perfect excuse.

But I forgot.

"Okay," I said aloud, and climbed out of the car, bolting through the fence and into the backyard. "Where is that key..." I muttered, standing on my tip-toes trying to reach the ledge above the door. I was barely tall enough, but I could jump and knock it down.

A tiny clink sounded as the brass key clattered against the concrete.

Before I unlocked the door, I tried turning the doorknob for my amusement, and to no surprise, it was unlocked. I looked down at the key with a blunted expression. I had jumped for nothing. I should've checked the knob first.

Heaving a sigh, I jumped once more to put the useless key back in its hiding spot and then entered the house. Poor Elijah probably thought someone was breaking in.

As I scaled the stairs, I thought about all the different things I would say. Hi, are you okay? Why haven't you returned my email? Are you mad at me? Do you need to talk? Yet, none of them sounded right, because I was making this about me when it most likely wasn't.

The house was quiet.

I stopped in front of his bedroom and waited to hear rustling or talking, but never did. Was he in there? It sounded empty, but I took a deep breath and knocked, anyway.

Nothing.

I knocked again.

"What!" Elijah's voice bellowed through the wood and my eyes widened. Oh, boy, he did not sound like he was in a good mood. I didn't know if that was an invitation to come in or if I should turn around and let him believe a ghost knocked on his door.

The latter sounded like a better option until I heard him calmly say, "Come in."

I held the knob for a moment, then entered. His tidy room came into sight and his scent filled my nose and I hated how warm it made me feel. My heart was racing fast enough that I felt my arteries throbbing in my neck and refrained from reaching up and counting each beat.

His bed, the desk, his bathroom were all vacant, but his window was wide open and a breeze blew his curtains awry. He was definitely in here. I heard him speak, but where was he?

"Elijah?" I called. His head appeared in the window frame, scarring me. Was he sitting on the roof?

"Sadie?" He tore his headphones out of his ears and the singing I heard earlier stopped. "I didn't know it was you at the door. I thought it was Brant. I'm sorry." He climbed into his room.

"It's all right, you didn't know I was coming. Jayce told me I could use the back door." I pointed behind me for some reason and then felt incredibly uncomfortable for showing up.

"Is everything okay?" He asked.

"Oh! Yeah, everything is fine, I was going to give you back your clothes from the other night," I said and both of our gazes dropped to my empty hands, then back to each other's faces. His stunned expression turned playful, as he could see right through my lie. "But I forgot them in my other backpack," I added, though it made me sound even more stupid.

"I see."

"Anyway, I'm sorry to bother you. I'll bring them..." my voice trailed off as he walked closer. Damn him for always looking that good, and damn me for not having stronger self-control.

Since the party, I had spent countless nights contemplating what I would say to Elijah, and now that I'm standing in front of him, I was speechless. What could I say? I'd have to divulge my entire past to explain why I wouldn't be his.

He paused inches away and reached for the hair framing my face. His fingers twirled my brown strands and my breathing hitched. "You disappeared on me." His voice was low.

I blinked away the burning sensation in my stomach. "I was in Philadelphia with my sister," I paused. "But you didn't reply to my email."

His hand fell to his side. "I didn't get an email."

"Well, I emailed you."

"And you texted Jayce," he said nonchalantly, though I could hear irritation glazing his words.

Whatever fire blazed in my stomach increased tenfold, and I scoffed. "What?"

"You text Jayce. I see the notifications on his phone."

I wanted to laugh, but I bit down. "Jayce texts me."

"Oh, that makes me feel better," he cackled that time. "Jayce texts you, and you reply."

Where the hell was this coming from and how did we go from zero to one-hundred in less than a minute? I knew I caught him on a bad day from the way he sounded through the door earlier, but I didn't think he'd blow up on me or that we'd have this conversation.

"Maybe I wouldn't need to text Jayce if you replied to me."

"Maybe I'd reply if I had your number and didn't have to check my damn email." He took three steps toward me. "I don't know if you've realized, but normal people don't email."

My chest rose and fell at a rapid pace as I stared up at him. He was so close; I felt the heat from his body emanating into mine. Call me a sadist, but his jealously turned my frustration into pure desperation.

"Who gives a shit about Jayce?" I snapped.

"I do! Because you give me such a hard time."

Silence filled the room, aside from our breathing.

"You're so fucking stubborn." He dragged a finger down my cheek, tracing my collar bone. His gaze flickered from my eyes to my lips and I squeezed my eyes shut from his touch. "Why won't you let me in?"

"I can't," I whispered.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to get hurt."

His hands cradled my shoulders. I fought tears which suddenly wanted to make an appearance and when I finally dared to look at him; he searched my eyes earnestly. "Sadie, I'd never hurt you. Have I made you feel that way?"

"No, you haven't," I laughed, and not because it was funny, because it was the truth. He had not done a single thing to hurt my feelings or make me not trust him. It was other people's actions that made me feel that way.

"Has someone hurt you?"

"In the past."

He let out a long breath. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head. "I'm not ready to."

"Okay," he said. He held out his hand for me to take.

The moment I laid my hand over his large palm, he spread his fingers, interlocking them with mine. He tugged me toward his window and stepped onto the roof first, then helped me. I sat beside him on a blanket he already had laid out.

I caught a glimpse of a make-shift sketchbook beside him before he closed and tucked it underneath the blanket.

I didn't know what to say after that conversation. I wanted to tell Elijah I texted Jayce for his number, but then he'd question why I never texted him and I did not feel like explaining. So, I kept that information to myself.

"Is it too nosey for me to ask why you weren't in class today? Bad day?"

He shrugged. "More like a bad week?"

"Anything you need to talk about?" I asked, this time with a slight smile.

I expected silence but was met with a sigh. "Remember that conversation we had about what we wanted to do after graduation?"

The day he asked me for my number? I thought. "Yes?"

"I don't know if it's the fact that graduation is almost a year away but I don't know what I want to do with my life." Confusion overcame me and I was about to speak when he continued.

"I don't know if I want to play baseball after college, which is a slight problem considering I'm going to get drafted soon."

Seeing turmoil written on his face, I placed my hand over his. This was news to me. I would've never thought Elijah didn't want a career in the MLB from how devoted he seemed.

"Elijah, it's never too late to change what you want to do."

He looked at me. "How do I explain that to my parents, who have devoted so much to my career?"

I thought about the picture of his parents that fell from his wallet in the studio. "Well, I don't know your parents, but if they love you, then I can promise you they'll be fine. It's your life, after all."

He faced the yard. "It seems like less work to stick with what I'm good at."

I chuckled and moved closer as the breeze picked up. "Is that worth your long-term happiness?" I said, and it felt like a punch to my gut hearing those words from my lips. Is it worth my long-term happiness? That's what everyone else has asked me lately.

He didn't answer my question.

I noticed his arm resting behind me and, without thinking; I leaned into his touch. He took it as an invitation to lift that arm and wrap it around my waist, pulling me closer until part of my back pressed into his front. My skin burned where his fingers gripped.

"You can keep my clothes, by the way," he said.

"I couldn't—"

"They looked better on you." He nudged, grinning.

I noticed his phone sitting on the corner of the blanket and reached for it. He didn't stop me as I held the phone up to his face—like Jayce did to me—and unlocked it. I navigated to his messages, then texted myself hello.

He stared impishly, and he took his phone back and named my contact 'Van Gogh.

"Speaking of baseball, I have practice I can't skip."

And just like that, I popped the imaginary bubble of happiness I let myself sink into. Though he didn't let go of me yet. With his free hand, he brushed my hair out of my eyes, and then his thumb trailed along my bottom lip.

"Remember my promise?" he said.

My entire body tensed because I knew exactly what he was talking about. "One day I will kiss you," replayed in my head, and I nodded. He looked from my eyes to my lips again, and I held my breath.

I inched closer, and so did he.

He was going to kiss me.

Was I going to let him?

His nose tickled against mine, and my eyes fluttered shut in response. My blood raced with anticipation and I waited to feel his lips on mine, but never did. Instead, his soft but calloused hand cupped my face, and I opened my eyes, wondering what he was doing, only to find a stupid grin on his face.

"What?" I pouted.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and I leaned away, knowing exactly what he meant. "Trust me, I want to kiss you more than you know, but I want you to want it too," his thumb brushed my cheekbone.

"I do," I assured, a little too quick.

"But what about after? I don't know about you, Van Gogh, but when I promised I'd kiss you one day, I didn't mean just once."

I dug my fingers into the blue fabric of his tee-shirt and curled my toes in my shoes to prevent myself from groaning. Shit. Now he was just being a tease when I was ready to muster up the courage and kiss him.

"Wanna elaborate on that?" I teased back.

He rolled his eyes. "It means that if I kiss you, you're stuck with me."

Of course, I knew what he meant, but hearing it out loud made me feel better.

He checked his phone, then made a pained sound. "This couldn't be a more awful time, but I have to get ready for practice."

And I need a moment to breathe.

"That's okay," I said and he let go. I crouched and climbed into his bedroom. He followed suit. I stood at the foot of his neatly made bed as he beeline for the closet. My eyes widened. Oh! He was getting ready while I was here.

"Did you have a good time with your sister in Philly?" he asked, gripping the hem of his tee-shirt and pulling it over his head.

His back muscles rippled and my stomach fluttered. My mind instantly pictured what his back would feel like under my touch, and I had to force myself to look away.

"Uh, yeah. I missed her a lot."

I was staring at his shelves, directly at a picture of him and his family. He had to be only ten here, and he stood between a man and a woman who were his parents. He had their bright eyes and smile and sharp cheekbones. And behind them was another older couple. I assumed it was his grandparents.

The women were wearing bright colors and beautiful head wraps that matched their two-piece while the men wore blue woven fabric that wrapped around one shoulder, which almost fit like a Toga.

"That's my family," Elijah said, catching me off guard. I looked over to see him fully dressed in practice clothes. I was too distracted by the photographs to notice he had taken off his pants and put new ones on. Damn it.

Now all I had was my imagination.

His smile was bright while looking at the portrait. "We were at my cousin's wedding here."

"The clothing is beautiful," I said, wanting to run my hand over the picture as if I could feel the fabric. "You're so little," I giggled.

"It's called Kente cloth. It's a part of the Ghanaian culture, and I know. I was practically your height."

I elbowed him for that comment and asked, "Ghanaian? That is really awesome."

"Yeah, my grandparents on my father's side are. I was born and raised in New York, but my grandparents came here for business opportunities. They went to visit family in Ghana, and that's when my father met my mother."

I realized I knew very little about Elijah or his family and so many questions bubbled to the surface, and I was eager to learn more. He spoke little about his personal life. Then again, I didn't either.

You could only say so much over email.

He took my hand. "I promise you I'll tell you everything you wanna know another time. Even though I'd run three extra miles for you any day, I don't want to run it for my coach."

I grimaced, even though his comment made me blush. "Fair enough."

He led me out of his bedroom and opened my car door, even though rain began trickling down my windshield. I started the ignition and wound the window down so I could say goodbye.

He leaned closer, trying to shield himself from the rain. The slightest smile played on the corner of his lips as he said, "Thanks for stopping over."

"Anytime," I grinned back.

"Anytime?" he questioned. "I'll remember you said that."

Instead of bending over for a parting kiss, he reached in the car and picked up my hand, bringing it to his lips. He planted a soft kiss on my skin and then brushed his thumb over the spot.

"See you around, Van Gogh."

I put my car in drive, and when he was out of sight in my rearview mirror, the giddiness building inside me bubbled out, and I started laughing uncontrollably.

─── • ───

I wanted to mention, I am not a part of the Ghanaian Culture, therefore all my knowledge is second-hand through research. If I get something incorrect or am not properly representing any culture appropriately in this book, please feel free to let me know if you're comfortable! As always, this is the first draft so there is so much room for improvement.

But, hi friends, sorry for the chapter delay. I've been under the weather. I don't know if it's rona? I don't go anywhere and have been boosted but oh whale, it happens! I hope you are all well :)

: What is your favorite movie?

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annasteffeyy

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