You, the Ocean, and Me

She can be easygoing, she thinks. She can sit quietly beside him in his salt-bitten truck and look out the window as they drive along with the radio on so low she can barely hear it. She can pretend that this isn’t the first time in ages (years, if she’s honest with herself) that she’s felt good-nervous about spending time with another human being. She can pretend she isn’t currently looking at Harry’s hand on the steering wheel and thinking about what it would be like to kiss him again.

Or maybe, hopefully, what it will be like to kiss him again.

harry | ivy

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