Andrew laughs once.

“Speak for yourself. I’m a man.”

Without even thinking, I bust out laughing.

Andrew just stands there — straight-faced. “Well, at least I got you to laugh.”

I smile and shake my head back and forth.

“I love you, Logan,” he says again.

He releases my arm, and immediately, I cross it with my other arm over my chest.

“And you wanna know how I know I love you?” he asks.

I stare at him for a second and then playfully roll my eyes. Butterflies have somehow gotten into my stomach, but there’s no way I’m letting him know that.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, flashing me a wink.

I really try hard not to blush.

“I know because when I see you, I smile. I know because when I’m not with you, you’re all I can think about. I know because when I hear good news, you’re the first person I want to tell. And I know because when I hear bad news, you’re the first person I want to talk to.”

He’s quiet for a few moments then. I am too. I feel stunned — as if for the first time in my life, I just have no words. And I just can’t seem to take my eyes off the packed dirt that makes up the shed floor at my feet either. I’m too nervous to look up at him. Just a year ago, I think I would have rather died than admit this, but I kind of liked what he said, and I’m scared he might take it all back.

“You’re right, though,” he says.

His words grab my attention, and I slowly turn my eyes up to his again. Please don’t take it all back.

“I’ve never been in love before, but if this isn’t love, what else could it be?” he asks.

I’m quiet until I realize that all the things he said he feels, I feel too. It’s not really a revelation. I think I knew it all along. I just never dared say it out loud.

“Andrew.” I can barely hear myself talk — maybe it’s the rain or maybe it’s because I can’t believe what I’m about to say.

He meets my gaze.

“I think I’m in love too,” I whisper.

I hold my breath for a whole long, agonizing second before a cheesy grin stretches wide across his face.

“Come on,” he says, pulling me out into the rain.

“What? No, Andrew, what are you doing?”

The rain looked pretty good a minute ago — when I just wanted to get away. Now, not so much.

We get a few steps away from the shed before he stops, and the downpour instantly engulfs us. I can barely see him through the big, icy drops sliding down my face and hanging on my eyelashes. But I feel him squeeze my hand, and then he turns toward the field and I notice his chest rise as he inhales a big breath of air and then shouts at the top of his lungs: “I love Logan Cross.”

He looks at me when he’s finished. That big, silly grin hasn’t left his face. His hair is pressed down and dripping. There are raindrops on his eyelashes. His clothes are drenched and hanging off of him. It makes me laugh, and all of a sudden, I’m tasting the salty raindrops in my mouth. I swallow and laugh some more, then take a deep breath and shout as loud as I can: “I love Andrew Amsel.”

And just like that, I don’t feel the chill in the raindrops anymore. I don’t feel the weight of my rain-soaked clothes, and I’m no longer blinded by the big, salty drops clouding my vision. Because somehow, I can still see Andrew’s big brown eyes smiling back at me, and right now, that’s all that seems to matter.

It’s 5:45. I literally just walked in the door.

I throw my bag onto the couch and run to the closet in my room. There’s a bright sundress staring back at me. I grab it and change out of the slacks and button-up top I wore to work and into the dress. I spot a pair of flip flops in the corner of the room. I hurry over to the shoes and force my feet into them before I run to the bathroom, throw on a pair of stud earrings and touch up my make-up. My hair is up. I take it down and spray some hair spray on it. But I think most of the spray goes into the air and then into my nose and mouth instead. I’m coughing and fanning the air with my hand when I hear a knock at the door. And instantly, I feel my heart skip a beat. I look into the mirror and then at the mess I’ve made with my make-up on the counter. I ignore it — there’s no time — and I quickly grab some lip gloss and shove it into a clutch. And within seconds, I’m making my way to the door. But just before I open it, I stop and run my fingers through my hair one more time. I’m nervous. I’ve told myself all day that this is not a date. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly when I agreed to it. This can’t be a date. I can’t date. And he’s just a friend — practically a stranger.

I pull open the door, and Jorgen immediately eyes me up and down once.

“You look…good.” He has a wide grin on his face. I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or sarcastic.

I let out a frazzled sigh. “I just got home fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well, you look great,” he says.

I can tell it’s definitely sincere this time, even though “great” isn’t exactly what I’d call myself right now.

“You look nice too,” I say, well aware that I’m starting to blush.

He’s wearing khaki cargo shorts and a gray, fitted tee shirt — one in which I can’t help but notice his muscles.

“Well, you ready?” he asks.

I try to hide my bashful state. I still haven’t figured out why his muscles make me feel so unraveled.

“Yeah,” I say.

I reach back and grab the keys off the counter and pull the door closed behind me before following him down the stairs and to the parking lot.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “My truck’s in the shop. I’ve only got my bike right now.”

I look up from shoving my keys into my clutch and stop cold.

“I have an extra helmet,” he says. “It was my sister’s.”

I don’t say anything. I just stare at the bike and then at him holding the helmet.

“Ada?” I think I hear him say after a moment.

“Um,” I stutter. “You know what? We can just take my car.” I reach inside my clutch and recover my keys. “It’s not a problem,” I quickly rattle off.

He’s quiet, and a few long seconds pass us by before I eventually look up and find his eyes. They look sad or confused or something.

“It’s safe,” he tries to assure me. “I promise. The barbeque is just right down the road. I’ll go slow. It’ll be fun.”

My eyes fall heavy to the ground at my feet.

“I’m wearing a dress,” I say, sheepishly.

“Oh,” he says and then stops. “Right. I’m sorry. I should have said something earlier.”

“It’s fine,” I manage to get out. “I’ll just drive. It’s not a big deal. I’m parked over here.”

I command my legs to move, and I start out toward my car.

“I’m really sorry, Ada,” he says, as he catches up to me. “I didn’t mean for you to drive. I just thought it would be fun to ride the bike.”

“It’s really fine,” I say, forcing a laugh. “It’s really not the end of my world if I drive. There’s no reason for you to be sorry.”

I stop at the car, and he does too, and quickly, his eyes lock onto mine. And all of a sudden, I can’t seem to look away or move or do anything, as I watch a soft, crooked smile edge up his face.

“I can’t help it, Ada. You really shouldn’t have shown up at my door without pants on the first time I met you.”

I know I can’t hide the red rushing to my face, but I do try my hardest to fight the nervous smile that is attached to it. God, what have I gotten myself into? This is definitely a date.

“You can put the helmets in the back,” I say, flashing him the smile that ultimately won the battle.

He chuckles and sets the helmets onto the seat.

“So, where are we going?” I ask as I pull open the door.