Chapter 2 - A Promise Under the BleachersEvan became part of my summer the way music becomes part of a room before you notice someone turned it on. He helped my mother unload flour, fixed the bakeryâs back step, and argued with me about books, coffee, and whether the lighthouse was romantic or just bad architecture with good lighting.
One evening, while we walked along the harbor after closing, our fingers brushed on the uneven stones near the pier. He caught my hand to steady me and did not let go.
Our first kiss happened two weeks later under the high school bleachers during a Fourth of July thunderstorm. Thunder came, and I jumped. Evanâs expression softened.
âEvery storm,â he said into my hair, âlet me carry it.â
I lifted my head. âYou cannot carry every storm.â
âNo,â he said. âBut I can stand in them first.â Then he kissed me.
By August, I loved him with terrifying certainty. Evan loved me more quietly than he lived. He noticed when my motherâs knee hurt and carried flour sacks before she asked. He noticed I read sad books when I was anxious.
Near the end of summer, we climbed the hill behind the lighthouse with a blanket and a jar of peach pie filling. The beam from the lighthouse moved over the water in slow, patient arcs.
Evan lay beside me, pointing toward town. âOne day, I am going to build us a little house somewhere high enough to see the harbor. With a porch, one dog, maybe a backup dog, and a red maple tree out front because maples know how to look beautiful while changing.â
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He looked at me, kissing my knuckles. âClaire Lawson, I am going to grow old with you.â
I believed him.
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