Dare I say that Tate looked... nervous.

And late.

Tate was rarely, if ever, late.

He looked at Seth sitting across the aisle from me first. His eyes roamed down, over, and up the airplane seats until his eyes found mine. He softened a fraction, like I'd taken away a sliver of his anxiety.

He walked up the aisle and settled into the uncomfortable seat that was too small for him. He stuffed his backpack underneath the chair in front of him before he leaned in and kissed my beaming smile.

My portfolio in my lap was itching to have Tate's eyes on it finally.

"How'd it go?" he asked with a hopeful tone.

"It went amazing," I squealed. "I've been wanting to show you so badly, but I've been in my head about it, and now I just feel at peace that it's over and that it went so great. I should hear tomorrow maybe."

Tate rested his head on my shoulder. "Show me."

I slowly opened the book to show one picture, a small square in the middle of the first page.

"This is the very first picture I ever took."

"Is that your nose?"

"Up my nose," I clarified. "I was two."

"You have the cutest nose." He picked his head up and planted a kiss on it. Then he ran his flat hand over the picture. "I love this."

I turned the page. The photo spread was laid out with multiple pictures of my parents—never showing my dad's face.

"These are pictures over the years of me badly attempting to take pictures of my mom and dad playing tennis and golf." I laughed. "All fuzzy and terrible angles." I ran a finger in a circle over each page, in almost chronological order. "You can see that I get better though."

Tate nodded against my shoulder. "You were still good even at three, four, and five plus."

"Debatable."

"Is that Hawaii?" Tate held his finger over a photo of my dad looking out over a particularly beautiful hole with a stunning ocean view.

"Yeah. Have you played that course?"

"In high school. My family went on a trip there. It was on my dad's list of places he wanted to see." Tate paused, and his eyes clouded. He'd gone back there, remembering something he liked and didn't like at the same time, but then he smiled. "It's funny how we stood in the same exact place. Years apart and not knowing each other. It's strange when you think about it. Is there a word for that?"

"Destiny?" I guessed.

"No, destiny is bullshit," Tate said quickly. "Life is straight up luck and chances."

I raised my eyebrows. "You believe that?" I asked, shocked. "I wouldn't say you just got lucky being as good at golf as you are."

Tate shrugged. "Sure, I work hard, but I have always been naturally good at it. Was it luck that I even picked up a golf club in the first place? Some people have never played. How many people could have been great at something that they never got the chance to discover? We could have never met; gone to different schools or never crossed paths at a school with fifty thousand people. Would I have found someone like you elsewhere? It's all luck and chances."

I studied his face. There was something lurking beneath the surface—something dark—like he thought he'd been too lucky in life and he'd used his all up.

"Let's say it's a happy coincidence then," I offered.

"You're my happy coincidence," he replied with a smile.

Then I took a deep breath and flipped again. On each spread after that I had one picture of Millie and one picture of Alice on the left and a full picture of Tate on the right.

Tate's breath hitched, and I slowly kept turning the pages as we looked at the photos together. I spoke softly, dragging my words out.

There was one of Alice celebrating in a circle with her team. There was one of Millie being picked up by a teammate after she scored. There was my favorite of Tate that I'd left in his room.

There was one of Alice hanging her head after she'd missed her serve. There was one of Millie looking hopeful as she watched a penalty kick. There was one of Tate making a beautiful five foot putt where I'd captured the ball as it kissed the rim.

And a dozen other ones, all of my three best friends.

"I think it shows how much I love the people in them. It's not just about capturing the moment, but showing these moments are filled with love. How much love I have for the people I take photos of and how much I put into them. So I explained how these were my best friends. That I get to experience these moments right along side of them and help other people to as well. It's not just about golf but about the feelings behind it, how it makes me happy to have the privilege to capture these points in time and how I make people happy in return."

I closed the book when we came to the last page. "So, yeah. That's it."

Tate looked at me so seriously, I almost thought he hated it. "I lov—love it," he whispered, catching himself and kissing me. "There is no way you're not getting that internship."

I stared just as intensely back and said what I was feeling without hesitation. "I love you."

The words hung there.

I couldn't suck them back into my lungs.

Tate looked like he still had a million emotions running through the lines in his irises. Yes, love, but also anxiety and pain and doubt and fear.

He licked his lips, and for the slightest second, I thought he was going to close his eyes and turn away—pretend like he hadn't heard me say it.

But instead, he exhaled. It sounded like relief and sorrow. "God, I love you, Devin." Then he crashed his lips into mine and said it again into my mouth like he was desperate; like the words were the only thing that could relieve him of his pain. "You are the only thing that matters to me. I'd give up everything for you. Please remember that."

My entire world evaporated.

It was just me and him.

All that mattered was that we loved each other. It was enough.

But when Tate pulled back and laced his fingers through mine, I could still feel his nerves tingling underneath his skin. His anxiety hadn't dissipated.

I'd misread it. It wasn't because of my interview.

He laid his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He slipped his free hand into his pocket, playing around with something inside nervously, so I squeezed his hand in reassurance.

He furrowed his eyebrows deeply over his closed lids as the plane started to taxi onto the runway, and he sounded anguished when he spoke.

"I don't want to go home."

| ⛳️ |

Tate's uneasiness was more than apparent to me and rose the closer we got to Hilton Head.

Over the course of the plane ride, he became increasingly quiet. Increasingly fidgety.

I sprawled out across the seats and laid my head in Tate's lap. I traced I love you every so often into Tate's thigh in an attempt to steady him. He would trace it back on my shoulder.

I was able to take a thirty minute nap finally when Tate lulled me to sleep by playing with my hair.

After we landed we stood at the luggage carousel in the airport, Tate constantly fiddling in his pocket and looking around like he expected someone to appear.

But only our luggage appeared, hard black suitcases spitting out from the conveyer belt opening. Tate pulled both of ours off in a strong swift motion and scanned baggage claim again.

It certainly wasn't a big airport, so if someone was waiting for him, they would have seen him by now.

I pulled him into a hug and placed my chin on his chest. "Are you hiding a hometown girlfriend?"

"She's little and blonde and pink." Tate smirked and pressed his lips into my forehead. "But you're littler and blonder and pinker, and I love you a hell of a lot more." He hesitated. His words didn't sound final—like he was going to keep talking. "I'm sorry I'm on edge."

No one else seemed to notice though.

Taylor came over to talk us, laughing and telling us one of Millie's new golf stories. In just two days, she had a lot. Recalling her "embarrassing" mishaps was our favorite new pastime and Millie's new dread.

Bradley joined us as we walked out into the breezy air, talking about the last time he was in Hilton Head and how much he'd enjoyed it.

Tate pretty much grunted through their stories.

I would've liked to think I calmed Tate, but I couldn't tell if I was making it worse. I tried holding his hand or playing with elbow. I kissed his shoulder. I smiled my best smile. But despite any of my attempts, he couldn't stop moving.

Seth noticed. He slid his eyes over Tate, reading his body language, while we waited for our Uber. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, man," Tate replied evenly.

Seth swung his eyes to me quizzically. I tried to give him an I-have-no-idea look.

Because I really had no idea.

I'd been excited to see Hilton Head with Tate. I wanted him to take me to see his hometown or see the house he grew up in. I wanted to meet his parents. This wasn't how I imagined this going.

Maybe I'd hoped for too much, too soon. Like always. That was probably too serious for Tate.
I shook the pipe dream from my head and reminded myself that I couldn't have everything. This was enough—right now—and I'd already gotten more than I'd expected from Tate. He loved me. Honestly, that was more than enough.

He seemed to relax slightly when we were tucked away in the Uber, me in the middle of Tate and Seth. Tate rested his hand on my upper thigh, caressing my skin right below the hem of my dress, and looked out the window.

Then just like that, he came out of it.

"I learned to ride a bike right there," he said, pointing across the street to a path that wound under some trees and over a bridge in the distance. A group of three little boys laughing together on their bikes disappeared around the corner. "I love how many bike paths there are here."

I perked up and voiced what I'd been thinking the whole car ride. "I love it here. It's so bright and colorful. It reminds me of sand and sunshine. Everything looks so happy."

It was straight out of a watercolor painting. The sun was gorgeous, there were bright lush trees everywhere, and a gorgeous ocean surrounding us. Everyone had swimsuits or tank tops or sundresses or jean shorts on. People seemed to go everywhere on bikes. There were hundreds up and down the street resting on bike racks. Toward one end of the island I could see a red and white striped lighthouse and just make out the tips of boat masts dotting the sky above what must have been a marina. It felt like a vacation—which most of the people around us were probably on.

Tate grew up in a fairytale.

"It is an island—with beaches," Tate joked and lowered his voice with intent, like he was trying to convince himself. "And you are happier."

I flashed my smile and leaned against him. I thought he needed me to convince him too.

"Will you bring me to the beach later?"

"Yeah. Maybe we can watch the sun set." He looked away. "I have some things I need to do first."

"Okay," I replied. I opened my mouth to pry but thought better of it. "Don't make me kidnap you."

He didn't respond. I wasn't sure he was listening. His eyes were back out the window.

I wouldn't have been able to kidnap him anyway.

When I came back from my solo exploration eventually, I went by his room to try.

Instead of Tate, Seth opened the door and told me he hadn't come back yet from visiting his dad.

And when I texted him, he didn't reply.