“I can’t believe you did that,” Michael laughs for the twelfth time since he hastily followed me out of my classroom.
“Stop talking about it,” I groan.
“No,” Michael laughs again. “Kate Williams, literal rebel.”
“Stop,” I groan, wrenching my arm away from him, hands over my face. Michael stops us walking down the sidewalk and wraps his arms around me, leaning his weight on me. “Will you really come for Thanksgiving with me?” I mumble into his chest, unable to keep the sheer hope out of my voice.
Michael sighs. “Said I would, didn’t I?” I squeeze my arms tighter around his waist, willing him not to back out. “You kept your end of the deal,” he chuckles. “So yes, I suppose I should keep mine.”
“Really?” I practically shout, pulling back to look at him.
“Really,” Michael laughs, tapping his fingers under my chin. I let out a laugh of pure happiness, unable to believe that this is really happening, that he is really coming. “What do you suggest we do with the rest of our day?” He asks, falling into stride next to me.
“You tell me. You’re the one who was so eager to leave.”
“I forgot how much I hated school,” Michael says again. “That was a bad idea.”
“I’m still glad you came,” I tell him.
“Me too,” he surprises me by saying, tossing his arm around my shoulder.
“Really?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “I like to know what you do.” I smile and lean into him as we walk back to the car, turning away from the wind. “So what now?” He asks.
“We could call Calum and Luke,” I suggest with a shrug of my shoulders. “Maybe even Ashton, and see if they want-“
“No, Kate,” Michael cuts me off with an appreciative yet forced smile. “Let’s not deal with any of that today.”
“But-“
“No,” he says sternly. “I’ve told you, Kate. That’s not about us.”
“Yes it is,” I argue as we locate my car in the parking lot. “It’s about you and I’m pretty sure that at this point it’s about me, too.”
“But it’s not about us,” Michael smiles. He suddenly grabs my waist and slowly backs me up until my back is against the car. His hands find the sides of my face and his eyes pour into mine and I lose my breath. “This is about us,” he whispers. And with that, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine, so gently but for so long that I forget about everything except him. Nothing matters when he kisses me, not the mysteries, not the cold, not the past. This is us.
