Page 35 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

The conversation we had in text messages returns to my mind. I told him his new song wouldn’t be finished before my birthday, and he said it could be my present.

Kane presses a button on the projector and begins to strum his guitar.

I have no idea how he managed it, but as soon as he starts singing, the lyrics are projected onto the wall behind him.

They say only kids believe in magic.

But I’ve never been more convinced of magic’s existence than I am when I hear the chorus.

You’re not mine

And that’s okay

But I’ll still care

From far away

You’re not mine

And that’s okay

But I’m still yours

Now and always

Not only are the lyrics emotional, but he looks at me like he wrote this song for me, and it shatters what’s left of my walls.

I know he didn’t write this song about me. Kane wouldn’t write a song like that about his friend. But I still let myself dream.

I let myself believe that Kane Wilder could care about me the way I care about him.

The next thing I know, I’m bawling my eyes out.

By the time the song comes to an end, I’m a complete mess, choking on a sob. Kane exhales a sharp breath as he removes his guitar strap from his shoulder and tucks the guitar inside its case.

The projector illuminating the white sheet in the background is the only reason I’m able to see the torn expression on his face as he makes his way over to me.

I can’t help word-vomiting. “I’m so sorry I shared the video. I should’ve never broken your trust like that. What I did was wrong and you have every right to be upset.”

Kane doesn’t reply, his mouth twitching into a grin. I continue to ramble until he shuts me up with one move.

He grabs my face with both hands.

Slowly, he swabs my tears away with his thumbs, and I can’t help leaning into his palms. He has this look in his eyes. A look I’m not sure I’ve ever seen before.

“I forgive you,” he says quietly.

He does?

But what I did is unforgivable.

I broke his trust.

He was mad enough to destroy my painting just yesterday, but now everything’s peachy?

What could’ve possibly happened between yesterday and now to change his mind?

His thumb travels downward and lands on my mouth before I can argue. He draws the curve of my bottom lip with his finger, his green eyes shadowing the movement.