Emma
He was already there when I reached the clearing, sitting on the blanket like he'd been waiting hours. A bag beside him, his hair ruffled by the breeze. He jumped to his feet the moment he saw me, but for a long beat neither of us moved closer.
"Hi," he said, voice tentative, like the word might shatter between us.
"Hi." My arms folded across my chest, though the evening wasn't cold.
His eyes darted everywhere — my face, to the trees, to the ground — before landing back on me. "You came."
"I wasn't sure I would," I admitted.
Silence stretched; heavy; awkward. My heart hammered so hard I wondered if he could hear it. He shifted from foot to foot, chewing his lip, then blurted, "Do you know why the scarecrow won an award?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Because he was outstanding in his field."
It was so utterly ridiculous, so him, that laughter burst out of me before I could stop it. I pressed a hand to my mouth, but it was too late. The sound spilled out, breaking the weight that had been pressing on us.
Tommy's shoulders loosened, relief flooding his face. Then he closed the space between us in two quick strides.
"Emma —" His voice cracked on my name, but he didn't finish. Instead, he pulled me into his arms.
The hug was fierce, desperate. I clutched him back, burying my face against his chest, feeling his heart pounding as wildly as mine.
When I tilted my head up, his mouth found mine. Not tentative this time, not the brush of lips we'd shared before, but deep and unguarded, like everything we hadn't said we poured into that kiss. My fingers curled into the back of his shirt; his hand slid up to cradle the nape of my neck. The world beyond us disappeared — just the taste of him, the warmth of him, the dizzy rush of being wanted so completely.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless, he pressed his forehead against mine and whispered, "I missed you."
"I missed you too."
We sank onto the blanket, knees touching, still unable to stop smiling. A bag sat between us, filled with sandwiches, fruit, a bottle of juice. Nothing special, yet everything about it felt special.
"Picnic in the woods," he said, sheepish. "It's not much, but… I thought maybe we could pretend the world wasn't falling apart for a little while."
I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. "It's perfect."
And for the first time in days, it was.
We sat cross-legged on the blanket, the food spread between us like some secret feast. He handed me half a sandwich, his fingers brushing mine just a second too long, enough to send a shiver up my arm.
"You made these?" I asked, eyeing the uneven edges of the bread.
He grinned sheepishly. "Well, technically, the bakery made the bread. But I cut it. And put the cheese inside. That counts, right?"
I laughed softly and nodded. "Definitely counts."
We ate in companionable silence for a while, though it wasn't really silent — birds rustled overhead, the water lapped at the shore, the wind threaded through the leaves. But between us there was no strain, only the comfort of being close again.
When I bit into a strawberry, the juice dripped down my chin and stained my fingers. Tommy leaned toward me with a napkin. Instead of handing it over, he reached out and brushed the corner of my mouth with it himself, slow and careful. My breath caught.
"There," he murmured. His eyes lingered, warm and searching, before quickly looking away like he was nervous to be caught staring.
"Thanks," I whispered, though my cheeks were burning.
He cleared his throat and reached for an apple, trying to play it casual. "So, uh, turns out I'm pretty good at picnics. Who knew?"
I grinned. "Maybe you've found your true calling."
"Oh yeah?" He tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eye.
"Professional sandwich cutter? Master fruit smuggler?"
"World-class napkin dabber," I said, and we both burst into quiet laughter that faded into smiles we couldn't seem to stop.
After a while, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the clouds drift across the pale sky. I mirrored him, lying close enough that our shoulders touched. The closeness made my heart race, but I didn't pull away.
"Feels like we're the only two people in the world," he said softly.
I turned my head toward him. His eyes were half-closed, his expression unguarded in a way I'd never seen before.
"That wouldn't be so bad," I whispered.
His hand found mine in the space between us. He didn't say anything more, but his thumb traced slow, absent circles across my skin, and that said everything.
For the first time in days, I let myself breathe.
Tommy
The quiet stretched between us, warm and easy. I couldn't stop watching her — how the light caught in her gorgeous hair, how her smile came and went like she was afraid to hold it too long. My pockets felt suddenly too full, too heavy, and I remembered the little penknife I'd taken from Jack a week ago.
"Wait," I said, sitting up.
Emma gave me a curious look as I dug into my pocket and pulled it out. The blade glinted when I flicked it open.
Her eyes widened. "What are you doing with that?"
"Relax," I said quickly, grinning. "I'm not dangerous." I nodded toward the nearest tree, tall and steady at the edge of the clearing.
"Just thought we should… leave something."
She tilted her head, suspicion giving way to a small, shy smile.
"Like what?"
I walked over, pressed the tip of the blade to the bark, and carved slowly — careful strokes, the wood curling away in pale shavings. When I stepped back, there it was: T + E, inside a rough heart.
Emma came up beside me, fingertips brushing the fresh cuts. For a moment she just stared, biting her lip, and I worried I'd overstepped.
But then she whispered, "It's perfect."
I handed her the knife, the handle warm from my grip. "Want to add something?"
She hesitated, then bent close and scratched a tiny star above the heart. "So we'll always find it, like the North Star, guiding the way," she murmured, like she was sharing a secret meant only for us.
I didn't think I could stop myself — I reached out and took her hand, still warm from the carving, and pressed it between both of mine. My voice was low, unsteady.
"Now it's ours. No one else's."
She looked at me then, really looked, her eyes soft and searching. And in that moment, with our initials cut into the tree and the world hushed around us, I knew there wasn't a single thing my parents or hers could do to make me let go.