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Do you have any advice for aspiring writers?
Keep going no matter how dark things seem. You’ll get there!
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“Are we there yet?” I ask again.
“Relax, Primaveri. I’ve got you.”
I laugh, squeezing Pilot’s arm excitedly. “Okay, I’m
relaxed! Can you give me a hint…? Have you finally managed
to meet Taylor Swift at work? Are we doubling with her
tonight?”
“Yep, you caught me. It’s eleven p.m. on a Wednesday
night, and we’re headed to Taylor’s apartment.”
I snort, tripping over my feet a bit. “Which reminds me,
we’re having dinner with Leo and Jared next Friday.”
“Sounds good! We have a Taboo score to settle. We
shouldn’t have left things all tied up last time. Is Jared cooking
again?”
“He is. I am freaking pumped.”
“Amazing.”
I stumble and Pilot’s arm tightens around me. “Careful.
We’re coming up on steps.” I step up. “Keep stepping,” he
prompts. “Okay, stop. Now just walk.”
A door opens, and the air warms as we step inside. Pilot
lets go of me, and I tense up for a few moments.
“Can’t see here, Pies,” I remind him.
I feel him return to my side. “Okay,” he breathes. He
loosens the blindfold, and it slides down, settling around my
neck.
I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the light. Lots of
lights. Fairy lights, an endless array of them, are strung up
everywhere. It takes me a second to see anything else.
“Whoa,” I breathe.
There’s a round table at the center of the room, with things
on it. Not a room—we’re in a lobby. There are silver elevators
all along the left wall and a receptionist desk on the right, with
someone—
“Ah!” I yelp, stumbling backward over my heels. Pilot
steadies me from behind.
“Shane,” he starts calmly.
“What is she doing here? What are you doing here? Where
are—?” I spin around, gaping. “This is—why are we here?
What are we doing here?
We’re done with you, spirit guide!
” I
point at her accusingly.
She raises her hands in surrender. “Darling, you’re fine.”
“Shane.” Pilot takes my elbows and turns me carefully to
face him.
I crane my neck, trying to keep her in view. “You don’t
want to—What are we doing, Pilot?” I can’t form full
sentences. I grasp at the locket around my neck.
“Shane,” Pilot says again. I turn back to him. “Breathe,
we’re okay. She’s cool.” He drops his forehand against mine.
She’s cool?
“I’m sorry. I’m really confused.” I try to keep my voice
level. My heart’s pounding a mile a minute.
“She asked me if we wanted to hold on to this”—he taps
the locket—“anymore, or if she could have it back.”
I blink. My voice drops to a whisper. “I, I don’t need, do
you, do you want to keep it around?”
Pilot smiles and shakes head. He carefully moves my hair,
unclasps the necklace, and places it in my palm.
I look from him to our spirit guide, still disoriented. She
holds out her hand. I shuffle over slowly and drop the locket
into it. “Um, thank you,” I whisper.
She nods and turns away, exiting swiftly through a door
behind the front desk. I pivot around to shoot Pilot a wide-
eyed look.
“Pies, what, when, what’s—”
He comes forward and takes my hand. He leads me toward
the table I saw at the center of the room. A number of items
are lined up around the edge of the small circular surface.
There’s a gym lock? A picture of us kissing, a key, a ceramic
piece of apple pie—I shake my head and look up at him again,
confused.
He takes both of my hands in his, searching my eyes. “This
is where you changed my life,” he says.
He gestures to the pie on the table. “On our walk home that
first day in London, you called me
Pies
and rambled
something about me being … warm?” His eyes twinkle under
the lights. “That’s when I first felt something shift.”
He looks back at the table. “That lock is from the first time
we spent the night together in Paris.”
I look down at it, breathing hard now. The picture is next.
Looking at it now, I see it’s the one we took on our way down
the crag in Edinburgh. Pilot looks from it to me. “From the
day we decided to stay.”
I bite at my lip. “You did all this?” My voice wavers as I
gesture to the lights around us.
He points to the key sitting next to the picture. “That’s the
key to our shitty studio apartment.” A tear escapes my eye. I
loved our shitty studio apartment. I loved working near the
window and being able to look over at him, a few feet away,
playing on our bed. We moved to a bigger place last year, after
my second book sold and Pilot got hired as a full-time
producer at Stone Glass Records.
I follow the curve of the table all the way around, past a
small streetlight figurine, to the last item—the John Lennon
Beatles nesting doll. It’s set right in front of me.
“Oh my god, where did you find that?” I blurt, pointing to
it.
Pilot picks it up with a small smile. “I got it when I went
back to the store the second time around.”
“When you got the cards? I still can’t believe you went
without me,” I scold.
His smile slips into a smirk.
“You’ve had this since then?” I ask in disbelief. He glances
down at it before meeting my eyes again.
“Shane, I love you. I wanted to stop in here one more time
to pay my respects to the moments that brought us to where
we are.”
I huff a small laugh. “I love you.”
He offers John Lennon to me. My brows pull together, but
I reach out slowly and take it from him.
“Open it.” He smiles. I narrow my eyes before looking
down at the doll.
I open John Lennon. Inside him, I open Paul. And then
George. And then Ringo. Inside Ringo is a tiny wooden
bowling pin–shaped guitar and … a ring.
It knocks the wind out of me. I look back up at Pilot, but
he’s not standing in front of me anymore.
He’s on his knee. My jaw drops.
“I have no regrets. I have no interest in ever going back to
before. I only want to move forward with you.”
I shake my head in disbelief, sporting the toothiest smile of
all time.
“I, I’m just.” I carefully get down on my knees and take his
chin in my hand. “Pilot Penn,” I start softly. “Screw you, I’m
never going to be able to top this move.”
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