Page 41 of The Truth About Love

I climb off the floor and fold myself into his lap. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Instantly, his lips are on mine, soft and searching. His tongue slips inside my mouth, only briefly, but it makes my body erupt in goosebumps. “From the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep, I will blow your fluffy socks off with all the birthday festivities.”

I smile, already feeling like the luckiest girl in the whole world.

“You got it, quarterback.”

***

He wasn’t lying.

On the morning of my eighteenth birthday, I wake to the smell of sweet pastries and freshly made coffee. When I crack my eyes open, Auden is wafting the tray of goodness in front of my nose, so giddy with excitement you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s his birthday instead of mine.

“Rise and shine, pretty girl.” His grin is brighter than the morning light. “It’s your birthday.”

I bury my face in my pillow and groan. “Please God, don’t start singing.”

“I will if you don’t get up right now and eat some breakfast.” He rips the pillow from beneath my head and hits me with it. “We have a crazy day ahead of us, baby, and you need to fuel up.”

I grab a croissant, tearing off a chunk and shoving it into my mouth. The buttery pastry flakes away on my tongue and I chew with my eyes shut, thinking that if the rest of the day is half as good as breakfast, then it will be the best birthday I’ve ever had.

Though, in truth, we wouldn’t have to leave my room to make that happen. Just the fact that he’s here with me is enough to have me glowing from the inside out.

I demolish a further two croissants, down my coffee in one and then drink Auden’s before it has a chance to cool. My tongue burns from the heat, but I’m so excited for what he has planned for us that I hardly feel it.

“What should I wear?” I ask, swinging my legs out of bed and heading straight for the closet.

“Nothing fancy,” he calls after me. “Something comfortable.”

I pick out a pair of light wash jeans and a floaty white blouse, throwing a thick-knit cardigan around my shoulders like a cape. I don’t bother with makeup, just throw my hair into a ponytail on the top of my head, the natural curls falling to my mid-back.

“Wow.” Auden blinks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than boots.”

I look down at my feet, having swapped out my faithful Doc Martins for sneakers that, until now, had never seen the outside of my closet.

I knock my ankles together. “I dread to think what your reaction would have been if I’d chosen to wear my clogs.”

He barks out a laugh, stopping short when he sees my straight face. “Wait, you’re serious?” His eyes widen to a comical degree. “You actually have clogs?”

“I have a lot of shit in that closet, quarterback.” I wink. “But yeah, Winter brought them back for me when she went to Amsterdam last year. Maybe I’ll try them on for you one day, but I’m not sure that you could handle it.”

“You underestimate me, baby,” he smirks, “but the clogs will have to wait because there’s birthday fun to be had.”

Ten minutes later, we’re in his truck and heading out of the Florida Keys.

Birthday privileges mean I get to control the music, so I hook my phone up to the speakers and blast the Beatles, because they remind me of the first day Auden and I met. My ankles are crossed on the dash in front of me as I ride shotgun, the windows down and his hand on my thigh.

This is what teenage dreams are made of, I realise.

Girls in the ninth-grade pin photos of moments like these to their Pinterest boards of relationship goals, before doodling their crush’s name in their diary and kissing their Noah Centineo poster before they go to sleep.

This is what Taylor Swift sings about in her early country music.

This is everything I never thought I’d have.

Two hours later, I find myself clinging to Auden as he leads me across the ice at a skating centre. I’m sure when he planned this, he had a far more romantic vision in mind. He probably thought we’d look like something out of a holiday card, but unfortunately for him, the reality is far different. I’m a hot mess. Like a giraffe fresh from the womb learning to stand for the first time. Except, I’m an eighteen-year-old girl in ice skates trying to move across a surface that should only ever be touched by arctic animals.

Auden, to his credit, seems to be having the time of his life. The boy can’t stop smiling, whether it’s at my expense doesn’t matter, his joy is infectious. And it makes this activity, that could very easily be one of the worst things I’ve ever done, so incredible that I don’t ever want it to end.

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