Page 159 of Riding the Sugar High

“The money your brother gave you?” I ask when I notice Aaron’s signature on the check intermittently lit by the fireflies. “What do you want me to do with it?”

He shrugs. “Candy for people who can’t have candy.”

“What?”

“Well, things with Marisol didn’t pan out, and I know you said you can’t do it by yourself because you don’t have the infrastructure, but...” He points at the check. “Create it.”

Wait—that’s how he wants to spend the money his brother gave him? “You want to invest in me?”

“Invest?”

My eyes narrow on him. “Well, I’m assuming you’re not justgivingsomeone you’ve known for two weeks this much money.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, invest.” He awkwardly looks away. “Sure. We can write up a contract and everything.”

Oh my god. He was totally trying to just give me the money.

I look down at the check, my stomach queasy as I stare at the zeros. It’s a lot of money, and Idohave some savings. I could easily fund product development, branding, and distribution channels with it.

This is the type of money that changes someone’s life.

There’s only one problem.

“I can’t...I can’t do any of it from here.”

I’m nottellinghim. He knows—that’s why he’s in such a weird mood. Because by giving me this money, he’s telling me to go. To leave the farm and go back to Mayfield, because that’s where business deals are made. Where I have contacts I can turn to and, among other things, a working internet connection.

“You want me to go,” I whisper.

“No, of course not,” he says in a stern, decisive voice that turns soft and unsure as he continues, “But maybe...Maybe you should anyway.”

Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry.

I look past him toward the apple orchard, trying and failing to hold back my tears. I need to remove myself from the situation. My flight back home is tomorrow, and if I let him convince me, tonight will be our last night together. If I hear whatever else he’s about to say, I won’t be able to un-hear it.

“Barbie,” Logan calls when I walk. He catches my wrist, then slowly spins me around. His eyes are filled with heartbreak, too hard to look at, but when I tuck my chin, he pulls it up. “Don’t walk away from me. It kills me when you do.”

“You’reaskingme to walk away from you.”

“I’m asking you to follow your dreams.”

His voice shakes hard, and the fact that he’d offer means the world, but the fact that doing it is killing him means even more.

I sink into his chest, throwing my arms around him, and just as quickly, he hugs me back. “Is my strong girl angry?”

Breathing through my nose, I nod, though we both know it’s hardly anger making me tear up. “I think I finally found the ultimate reason not to date you,” I mumble as I let go. I offer him a sad smile, then slump down on a mostly flat rock. “You want me to move to the other side of the country.”

“But you will, right?” he asks as he sits beside me.

Hugging my knees, I try to breathe in the crisp night air through the lump in my throat. “I guess I will,” I say in a whisper.

He gives me a somber nod, and I turn my cheek. I can’t even look at him right now. I’m grateful for his generosity, and I can objectively recognize this is a huge opportunity. But I can’t feel any happiness.

All I know is that tonight’s my last night with him.

That tomorrow I’ll get on a plane, and who knows if I’ll ever see him again. Long-distance relationships are complicated, and with less than a week spent as a couple, do we even have the foundations we need to make it work?

When minutes pass, and neither of us has said a word, I glance at him and notice he’s fidgeting with my flamingo scrunchie. Of the multitude I have, he picked the silliest one to steal, but I love that he has it—that it’ll remind him of me once I’m gone.

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