Page 147 of Wonderstruck

I couldn’t help but smile back at him when the memoryflooded my mind, his excitement tugging at me. “Where would that be?” I asked, sliding my bookmarkinto place and tucking the book under the blanket draped over my legs.

His grin widened, a flicker of mischief flashing in hiseyes. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

I rolled my eyes but stood anyway, the blanket fallingaway and revealing my gingham pyjamas. It was barely seven in the morning—I had no reason to feel anything but sluggish—but something about Finn, about being here, made me feel alive.

I took a step closer, and he closed the distance, hishands gliding up my arms to settle gently on my shoulders. His touch was warm, and steady, sending little flutters through me as his nose brushed mine. “Sure, why not?” I whispered, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

His smirk lifted as he stole a quick kiss before resting hisforehead against mine. “Go get dressed. I’ll meet you by the truck.”

Before I could argue, he kissed the top of my head, andthe scent of his cologne—woodsy, warm, him—made me linger for just a second longer. Then, reluctantly, I broke away and jogged to the room I was sharing with Daisy.

Not five minutes later, I was bouncing down the steps ofthe porch, my breath puffing in little clouds in the chilly morning air. I’d pulled on the only pair of jeans I owned, paired with a chunky cream cardigan with sleeves that practically swallowed my hands. A pink scarf and matching earmuffs completed the look, and my braids stuck out beneath them in a mess of unplanned charm.

Finn hadn’t moved from where he leaned against histruck, his arms crossed over his chest. He was still in his blue jeans and that beat-up Carhartt jacket, but somehow he made it look annoyingly good. The hat he’d given me our ride around the ranch the other day sat low over his messy hair, the suede brim shadowing his grin as he watched me approach.

The butterflies in my stomach went rogue, and I had toconcentrate on not tripping over my own feet as I got closer. My cheeks were already flushed from the breeze, but the way Finn’s eyes swept over me made me feel like I was on fire.

He pushed off the truck, his hands sliding into his jacketpockets. “Ready?”

“I would be if you told me where you’re taking me,” Iteased, trying to sound nonchalant, but my voice wavered just enough to betray me.

Finn’s grin turned boyish, the kind that made me want to both melt and punch his arm. “Patience, Greene.”

His hand brushed mine as he opened the truck door, andthe butterflies turned into a full-on stampede. Whatever he had planned, I had a feeling it was going to be worth the early rise.

The drive was quiet, but not the awkward kind. For somereason he testedmeon French complimentary words, just to make sureIknew them, he said. He kept one hand on the wheel,the other resting casually on my thigh the entire time, while the soft hum of Glen Campbell played from the radio.

I didn’t ask where we were going. But I had a feeling Ialready knew.

It wasn’t until we passed the sign for Cotton Drive thatmy stomach twisted, a mix of nostalgia, dread and fear bubbling up in my chest. I think the only reason why I was scared was because of the image of this place I’d painted in my mind. It was still a white and sage dream in my head, not an inch of chipped paint, no rotting wood, and trees that were oddly always bare.

I took a moment for myself before we drove onto theestate, then opened my eyes to see my childhood.

The trees lining the street were still bare, the morning sun casting long shadows that danced along the road. And when we rounded the last corner, the house came into view.

My house.

Or at least, it used to be.

The truck slowed, tyres crunching on the gravel as Finneased to a stop. Neither of us spoke.

The place looked abandoned. The shutters hung crooked, the porch sagged, and the once-vivid white paint had dulled to a tired grey.

Finn cut the engine but didn’t move, his eyes catchingmine. He must have seen something in my expression because his voice was soft when he spoke. “According to Grandpa, no one ever moved in after your dad left.”

I couldn’t answer. My gaze stayed locked on the house,memories crashing over me in waves. Birthdays on that porch.Stargazing from the attic window. Mom cheering me on from the top step as I skated on the lake.

I didn’t know whether to cry or smile, so I think my bodychose both.

Finn shifted beside me, rubbing the back of his neck.“Shit, I should’ve asked before bringing you here. I’m sorry—”

“No, no.” My voice broke, but I shook my head, turning to him. “I’m okay.” A small, hesitant smile tugged at my lips. “Why did you bring me here?”

He studied me for a moment, his green eyes warm. “You said the other morning that this time of day—just before sunrise—was your favourite. That you’d come out here and skate.”

I nodded, my throat tightening.

“And I thought,” he continued, his voice quieter, “withsectionals coming up, maybe you’d want this memory. To remind you that choosing skating—choosing yourself—was the best decision you ever made.”

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