The moon was a sliver of bone over LakeVille, but inside Annie's room, the world was cast in the soft, honeyed amber of her string lights. It had been three days since she gained her memories- three days since her memories had returned like a tidal wave, filling the hollowed-out spaces of her mind with the colors of the last eight months.
She was sitting on her window seat, her sketchbook forgotten in her lap, watching the silhouettes of the trees. The house was quiet. Dylan was downstairs, finally sleeping without the television on for background noise, and the twins had been bribed into silence with a new video game.
A soft, rhythmic tapping came from the glass.
Annie turned, a smile already blooming on her face. Ethan was leaning out of his window, his elbows on the sill. He wasn't wearing his usual guarded expression- the one where he looked like he was ready to fight the world for her. Instead, he looked nervous. His dark hair was messy, and he was fiddling with a small, velvet box in his hands.
"The window is a bit informal for what I have in mind," he called out, his voice a low, melodic vibration. "Can I come across?"
Annie pushed her window up, the cool night air rushing in. "You can go through the front door, Ethan."
"The front door is for neighbors," he said, already swinging a leg over his sill. He moved with the effortless grace of the athlete he was, crossing the narrow gap between their houses by stepping onto the sturdy branch of the old oak tree and then onto her ledge.
He dropped into her room with a soft thud, straightening up and filling the space with his presence.
He didn't move toward her immediately. He stood by her easel, looking at the portrait on the wall she had painted of him- the one where she had captured his dimple and the golden flecks in his eyes.
"You really see me, don't you?" he asked softly, his voice thick with an emotion she could feel in her own chest.
"I always have," Annie replied, standing up and walking toward him. "Even when I didn't see you, my hands remembered how to draw you."
Ethan turned to face her. He took a deep breath, reaching out to take both of her hands in his. His palms were warm, steadying the slight tremor in her fingers.
"Annie, for twelve weeks, I lived in a hallway. I lived in the space between 'what if' and 'not yet.' I spent every hour promising the universe that if you came back to me- if you really, truly came back- I wouldn't waste another second being the 'protective neighbor' or the 'safe choice.'"
He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing hers. "I want to take you out. Not as the girl who survived, and not as the girl from the hospital. I want to take Annie out on a proper date. I want to show you exactly how much space you take up in my heart."
Annie's breath hitched. "Ethan, we've spent every day together."
"That's not a date," he countered, his thumb tracing the line of her wrist. "That's us surviving. I want us to live. I want a night where the only thing we have to remember is how the other person looks in the candlelight."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box. Annie felt her heart gallop against her ribs, but when he opened it, it wasn't a ring. Resting on the black silk was a delicate, silver anklet with a tiny, shimmering charm shaped like a paintbrush.
"I know you aren't ready for a big, loud party," he whispered. "And I know the world outside this room still feels a bit like a minefield. So, I'm bringing the date to you. But I'm doing it right."
He gestured to the floor. "Sit."
Confused but intrigued, Annie sat on the edge of her bed. Ethan dropped to his knees before her.
The sight of him- this broad-shouldered, powerful man who had intimidated an entire hallway of high schoolers- kneeling at her feet was so intimate it made her eyes sting.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"I told myself that if I ever got the chance to lead you somewhere again, I'd start from the ground up," he said.
He reached out and gently took her left foot in his hand. His touch was reverent, his fingers sliding under the heel of her sneaker.
With a slow, deliberate movement, he untied the laces. He didn't rush. He treated the task like it was the most important thing in the world.
He slid the shoe off, setting it aside, and then did the same with her sock. His skin was warm against her cool flesh. He repeated the process with her right foot, his eyes never leaving his task until both of her feet were bare.
Annie felt a strange, dizzying rush of vulnerability. There was something profoundly romantic about the act-the stripping away of her "armor," the physical manifestation of him taking care of her.
Ethan picked up the silver anklet. He carefully fastened it around her left ankle, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of his hands. When he was done, he didn't pull away. He kept his hands cupped around her feet, his thumbs stroking her arches.
"You spent so much time standing on your own, fighting a war no one else could see," he said, finally looking up at her. His green eyes were dark with a fierce, burning devotion. "From now on, I want to be the reason you don't have to be so tough. I want to be the one who carries the weight so you can just... be."
He leaned forward and pressed a lingering, soft kiss to the top of her foot, right where the silver charm rested. The gesture was so unexpected, so deeply private and sweet, that Annie let out a small, broken sob of happiness.
"Ethan..."
"Tomorrow night," he whispered, his voice a promise. "I've talked to your dad. I'm taking you to the old observatory on the ridge. Just us. No hospital talk. No Margaret talk. No accident talk. Just a telescope, a bottle of sparkling cider, and me trying to convince you to be my girlfriend for the rest of forever."
He stood up, but he didn't move away. He reached down, hooking his arms under her knees and her back, and lifted her effortlessly. He carried her the two steps to her window seat, settling her back into the cushions.
"I took your shoes," he teased, his dimple finally making an appearance. "So you can't run away."
Annie reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down until their foreheads rested against each other. The scent of him- rain and cedar and home, wrapped around her like a blanket.
"I don't want to run anywhere," she whispered. "I've spent eight months falling for you, Ethan Hawthorne. I think it's about time I let you catch me."
Ethan leaned in, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from hers. "I've been catching you since we were eight, babydoll. I'm not planning on stopping now."
When he finally kissed her, it wasn't the desperate, frantic kiss of the parking lot or the hospital hallway. It was slow. It was tasted. It was a proper beginning. It was the taste of the future- a future where the silver SUV was a ghost, and the only thing that mattered was the girl in the window and the boy who had taken the shoes right off her feet just to prove he'd never let her walk a difficult path alone again.
As he eventually climbed back out the window, promising to be back at 6:00 PM sharp the next day, Annie looked down at her bare feet. The silver paintbrush charm caught the light, a tiny spark of silver in the dark.
She wasn't a "product of love" in the way Margaret had meant it. She was the product of this love. And for the first time in eight months, she didn't just remember her life. She loved it.