My Nephew Asked, “Is She The Girl You Love?”… She Blushed And Whispered, “I Hope So…”

PART 2 She stared at me like the whole world had j…

PART 2

She stared at me like the whole world had just changed its lighting — because Oliver had just told her what I’d hidden for eight months.

The backyard went silent again.

Leah’s eyes found mine.

“You have a picture of me in your wallet.”

It was not a question.

From the other side of the fence, my sister’s voice cracked like a whip. “Oliver Reed, get away from there right now.”

“But it’s true!” he protested. “I saw it when Uncle Caleb gave me ice cream truck money!”

Leah’s gaze sharpened. Not angry. Just precise. “Ice cream truck money exposed you?”

“Apparently.”

“What picture?”

I had options. I could lie. I could deflect. I could manufacture some completely ridiculous story about identity theft and hope she found it charming.

Instead, I reached into my back pocket.

My wallet was old brown leather — the kind I kept meaning to replace and never did. I opened it. My fingers felt clumsy and too large. Behind my library card, there was a photograph.

I held it out.

Leah took it carefully, like she knew it mattered.

And her expression shifted the second she saw it.

It was from the theater’s winter fundraiser. She was standing on a ladder, hanging silver stars from the ceiling rafters, laughing down at someone outside the frame. Her hair had fallen loose from its clip. Her cheeks were bright from the cold.

She looked completely, devastatingly alive.

I hadn’t taken the photo myself. A theater volunteer had posted it online. I had saved it to my phone first, like a completely reasonable person.

Then, a month later, I had printed it at the pharmacy for ten cents.

I told myself it was because she looked happy in it.

I told myself a lot of things.

Leah touched the edge of the photo with her thumb. “How long?” she asked. “In the wallet?”

I swallowed. “Eight months.”

Her lips parted.

“I know,” I said quickly. “It’s weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“It’s a little weird.”

“Caleb.” A small, watery laugh. “It’s at minimum wallet-adjacent weird.”

But her eyes were wet, and that almost wrecked me entirely.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

There it was. The real question underneath all the other questions.

I leaned back against the maple tree and stared at the grass. A line of ants marched around my shoe with more direction than I currently had.

“Because I didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t feel the same.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Leah crossed her arms, still holding the photo. “You know what’s actually unfair?”

I looked at her.

“You let me believe I was alone in this.” Her voice softened. “I spent months convincing myself I was imagining things. The way you watched for my cab when rehearsals ran late. The way you always bought the tea I like, even though you hate it. The way you fixed my bookshelf and refused any money, so I had to repay you in lasagna.”

“That lasagna was more than sufficient payment.”

“Not the point.”

“I know.”

She looked down at the photograph. “I almost told you in March.”

That surprised me. “When?”

“The night the power went out.”

I remembered it perfectly. A spring storm had knocked electricity from the entire block. We’d sat in the hallway with flashlights, sharing a bag of stale pretzels, listening to rain hit the windows.

Leah had fallen asleep against my shoulder for seven impossible minutes.

“You said something,” I murmured. “‘There’s something I need to tell you.’”

She nodded. “And then Mrs. Alvarez came out of 3B to ask if either of us knew how to restart her Wi-Fi.”

“The universe has terrible timing.”

Leah held the photo out toward me. I didn’t take it.

“Keep it,” I said.

Her eyebrows lifted. “I have the original saved.”

“I know.”

“It’s in a folder on my phone.”

“What’s the folder called?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

I hesitated one second too long.

“Caleb. What is the folder called?”

I sighed. “Things.”

She laughed — really laughed — and some of the fear I’d been carrying loosened in my chest like a knot finally giving way.

Then she stepped closer and said two words.

“Ask me.”

My throat went dry. “Ask you what?”

“What Oliver asked you.”

I looked at her. At the woman who had become the best part of every ordinary day without ever asking permission to do it.

“Leah Bennett,” I said carefully. “Are you the woman I’m in love with?”

She didn’t look away. “I hope so,” she whispered. “But I’d like to know so.”

The locked place in me heard that and turned over like an engine.