I shrug. “I could tell. That you were with me because you needed someone. Not because you needed me.”
“How could you think that?” He takes another step closer, and now we’re just inches from each other. “Do you think I would go through the trouble of sending out two applications for every job I applied to if I didn’t need you?” He looks up at the sky and runs his hands over his face. “God, Josie. After everything we’ve done together and been through together. Of course I need you. Of course I want you.”
His words hit me hard, right in the chest, so much that I take a step backward. But he’s there, stepping forward after me, filling the space between us. He reaches out toward my waist but seems to think better of it and lets his hand fall back to his side.
“You make my life better.” His words are low and fast, almost a whisper. “And you’re right. Maybe I am scared. But the thing that scares me the most is being without you.”
I broke up with him because I was scared of getting hurt, because I was scared of being another stupid girl crying over a boy. But this knowledge—that he’s scared of being hurt, too—it somehow makes things a whole lot less scary.
He’s watching me, his eyes focused on my face, and I can’t help it. I step into him, sliding my arms around his neck, and then his hands are wrapped around my waist and his face is buried in my hair, and he’s hugging me so hard that I’m vaguely worried I might have bruises in the morning. And also vaguely aware that I don’t care.
I slide my face up to his and push our foreheads together. His breathing is fast and shallow, and his eyes are squeezed shut, and his grip on my waist is like iron. And I’m realizing that in my effort to avoid getting hurt, I didn’t even consider the fact that he might get hurt as well.
“Mitchell.” Our lips are grazing, almost but not quite touching, and my voice is the faintest of whispers. “What if I do go?”
“Go where?” His eyes are heavy, his voice low.
“To Canyonlands. With you.” I take a breath. “What will happen after that? With us?”
He shrugs under my arms. “You can’t plan your whole life, Josie.” His nose traces a circle on my cheekbone. “You just have to take a chance.”
I have more questions, more thoughts whirling around in my head, more decisions to make. But I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss him, deep and purposefully and serious. I kiss him with everything in me, and I try not to think about how it feels like we’re saying goodbye.
Chapter Forty-Two
Mitchell
I get up early on purpose in order to avoid some kind of ridiculous goodbye scene. But of course, it doesn’t work. As I lug my overstuffed duffel bag out of the house, I see a bleary-eyed Myra on the lawn by my truck, accompanied by Ned, Bernie, Wendy and Lucy, Layla and Mae and Libby—and my mom.
I look over my shoulder and eye my dad. “Seriously?”
“What?” He tries to give me an innocent shrug, palms facing toward the sky, and then stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I had to tell Myra. And then I guess word kind of spread.”
At least it’s too early for Julie’s naked yoga.
I try to summon up that old annoyance, that frustration with how ridiculously nosy and over the top and inescapably involved everyone is at Paintbrush. But I can’t. Walking toward this crowd of people, up at the crack of dawn to come and see me off, braving the early morning chill and sacrificing sleep to say goodbye . . . There’s not a single twinge of annoyance in me. I’m just happy.
Except for the fact there’s no Josie.
It was a long shot, getting her to come with me. I knew that. And yet . . . I had kind of hoped. At the very least, I had hoped for a goodbye. I had hoped that one final kiss wouldn’t have to last me the whole summer. Or even worse, my whole life.
“Took you long enough to show up,” Ned grumbles, but he’s grinning.
Wendy smiles at me. “We wanted to make sure we didn’t miss you.”
Everyone is gazing at me, happy and expectant, and I feel a lump in my throat I didn’t expect. “Thanks, guys.”
While my dad tosses my bags into my truck, I go around and give hugs. One-armed squeezes with lots of back-slapping for Bernie and Ned—“man hugs” as they call them. A hug for Wendy, and a kiss on the forehead for baby Lucy. And then a long, long hug with Myra. She doesn’t say anything—not be safe or good luck or even may you find peace or any other typical Myra saying. But the way she hugs me, the way she wipes her eyes when she thinks I’m not looking—it’s enough.
I’m a little surprised when I reach Layla and Mae and Libby. “You guys didn’t have to come out this early,” I say.
“Well, we kind of did,” says Mae.
I frown. “What?”
They are all three smiling; Layla looks quiet and reserved, like she has a secret, but Libby and Mae can’t stop fidgeting and giggling.
“Um—” I start. But before I can get the words out, I look behind them and see Josie trudging across the lawn.
She has a huge backpack on, and she’s struggling with the suitcase in her hand. I stare at her. It seems too good to be true.
“Is—?” I clear my throat. “Is she going on a trip?”
“You tell us,” Mae says. She smirks, and I take a second to process her words.
And then I’m running.
I’m already halfway to Josie when she finally looks up. She stops in her tracks as I barrel toward her. But then a wide smile splits her face, and she drops her suitcase as I come to a screeching halt in front of her.
“Good morning.” I am bouncing. I can’t help it. I can’t stand still.
“Great morning, actually.” She grabs the handles of her enormous backpack, and she looks so adorable that I want to pick her up.
“Going somewhere?” I raise my eyebrows.
I expect a snappy retort of some kind. But instead, she just nods. “Yeah. I am.”
“I have to warn you. There aren’t any tomatoes to be grown out in the deserts of Utah.”
I’m half joking, but I also need to be honest with her. I need her to be one hundred percent sure. I need her to be all in.
“I know.” She shifts from foot to foot. “But there are cactuses.”
“Cacti.”
“Whatever. Either way, those spiny little guys are pretty cool.” Her eyes sparkle. “And I think a summer like this will look pretty great on my college applications next year.”
I can feel how goofy my smile is, but I can’t help it. “So I know we were trying to keep this”—I gesture between us—“a secret from everyone at Paintbrush. But I think, given the circumstances—”
She leans forward and kisses me, her hands on either side of my face, and I kiss her right back. My heart is bursting, and I kiss her with every ounce of energy and happiness I have in my body.
A loud wolf-whistle pierces the air, and we break apart.
Mae yells “Gross!” across the lawn.
Josie takes a step back and looks down, embarrassed. But I’m too happy to be embarrassed.
I grab her suitcase, and we make our way over to the crowd. Everyone is sporting grins and raised eyebrows, but no one looks all that surprised. They just look happy. Except for my mom, who looks partially overjoyed and partially like she’s about to cry.
While Josie’s making the rounds I just made, I walk over to my mom. She hugs her arms, bracing herself, like maybe I’ve come over here to yell at her, and that makes me feel terrible.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” I say.
Her lip trembles, her eyes misty. “What do you need, honey?”
I scuff the toe of my shoe in the dirt and shove my hands deep into my pocket. “When I get back here, at the end of the summer, I have a lot of stuff that needs to be moved up to my college dorm.”
She stares at me, eyes wide and confused.
“So,” I continue. “It’s gonna be a long car trip. At least thirteen hours on the road. It might even take two days.”
Slowly, she nods.
“Would you mind driving with me up there?” I smile at her, for the first time in weeks, and a knot unravels in my chest. “I could really use your help.”
Her eyes are shiny with tears. “Of course, Mitchell. Of course I’ll help you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say. And then I reach out and pull her into a hug.
Both of us are teary by the time I let go. I give everyone one final squeeze, including my dad. And then I look at Josie.
“Well, here we go.”
I slide into the driver’s seat, and she slides into the passenger side. I twist the key, and with a loud screech, my truck miraculously starts. We wave to everyone, back out of the space, drive to the exit of the parking lot, and I put my blinker on to make the turn onto the road.
And then I stop.
“What?” Josie looks at me. Her feet are already perched up on the dashboard, her window already rolled all the way down, the sun shining right through windshield.
“You’re sure you want to leave?” I ask.
“I’m not leaving leaving.” She pauses. “Just . . . taking a break.”
I consider this. “A break.”
“Besides.” She gestures around us—to the neat rows of cabins behind us, to the long open road and tall green pines ahead of us, to the mountains that stretch out to our left and right. “I don’t think you can ever really leave this place.”
We gaze out the windshield. She taps her fingers on the dashboard, my knee jiggles up and down, and beneath us, my truck hums, eager to push forward.
Finally, she reaches down and laces her warm hand through mine.
“Ready?” She smiles at me.
I take a deep breath. “Ready.”
And we drive.
Acknowledgements
Writing my first book has been a weird and wonderful process, and I’m so grateful to all the people who helped me along the way. Thank you to:
Jim and Jessie Bucchin, the most spectacular parents in all the land. Having two people who believe wholeheartedly in everything I do, who support every decision I make no matter how crazy it may be, who are proud of every single one of my accomplishments, big and small—there are really no words to describe just how lucky I am. Just know that this book is a product of the insane amount of love and support you guys have given me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Dan and Liza, for being my best friends and my partners in crime. You are my original adventure buddies, and every new adventure I go on (both real and fictional) is inspired by you two.
Ann Amidon and Helen Bucchin, for always being my two biggest fans.
Jeff Csatari and Maryann Coca-Leffler, for their invaluable publishing advice.
My Carolina family, for letting me borrow your state. I know I’ll always be the damn Yankee, but you guys made me fall in love with the mountains that inspired me to write this book.
My amazing editor, Krystal Wade, for Stephen King and for fearlessly slaying my adverbs. I’m so grateful for the time and energy you spent shaping my book. I thank you, and Josie and Mitchell thank you.
The entire team at Blaze Publishing, for giving Paintbrush a chance. My book would not be what it is without your hard work and dedication.
David C. Amidon, Jr., for teaching me everything about everything. I miss you.
And finally, Sean Anderson. To say you are patient with me would be the understatement of the century. I could write another entire novel about the ways in which you are amazing, but instead I’ll just say: I couldn’t do any of it without you.
About the author
Hannah Bucchin has spent her life falling in love with beautiful places, both real and fictional. She grew up in charming Bethlehem, PA, went to college in sunny Chapel Hill, NC, spent a summer studying wildlife in Tanzania, volunteered on organic farms across New Zealand, and hiked all over Acadia National Park in Maine. When not writing, reading, or adventuring, she likes to daydream about the dog she’ll adopt someday, listen to music from the sixties, and exchange ridiculous texts with her parents and siblings. Paintbrush is her first novel.
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