Saturday finally rolls around and I spend the morning primping. By that, I mean that I simply showered and shaved my legs. I may have even plucked a few stray eyebrows hairs, but other than that, there wasn't much else to do. When it comes to beauty, I tend to keep it pretty natural. Not the armpit hair kind of natural, but natural as in little to no make-up. I throw my hair up into a messy bun—somehow missing a couple of chunks but realizing I kind of like the look of the strands dancing around my face—and then settle down on my bed to study until Seth texts.

Emma's gone this weekend to visit her mom, so I've got the entire place to myself. And I hate it. There's something about being alone that makes my chest constrict. I imagine it feels similar to someone who's claustrophobic being shoved into a tight space. It's suffocating.

Being along means being very present with myself and my thoughts. I tend to try to avoid such situations because it means I have to process things and try to 'understand' myself. That's an impossible task and it leaves me drained. It also is an undesired reminder of just how exhausting I probably am to other people.

I turn on some Smino and do my best to follow the rapping genius as I dance around the room mouthing the lyrics. At one point I'm on stage with him, my bed the platform, as we rap to the sea of invisible fans crowding into my room. I definitely should have pursued a career that involved fame. Being loved by half the world while ignoring the hate from the other half would suit my needs just fine. I'm good at ignoring things that don't boost my ego.

But maybe that's my problem.

If Seth were a rapper, he'd be loved by the entire world. I've been doing things all wrong and that's a hard concept to handle. I don't treat everyone with respect the way that Seth does. I don't forgive quickly or regard a person's feelings. If someone doesn't build me up or add value to my life, I drop them. If they wrong me, I drop them. If they have a single flaw, I dig at it.

All of this makes me sound like a complete monster, but in truth, I'm just like everyone else. We tend to separate ourselves from negativity. We gossip about the people we call friends. We abandon good things in exchange for what we think will be better.

But it's wrong. I'm wrong.

I never realized that in my need to be unique and different from everyone else, I'd somehow become just like the rest of the world. Without Seth, I'd never have seen it. He woke me up to just how inner-focused and cold I really am. But not only that, he's inspired me to want better. The goodness that radiates from him, I crave it.

But do I truly crave to be a better person, or do I just envy the respect I see in others' eyes when Seth's in the room? Once again, my own desire for fame has become my ultimate driving force. I don't simply want to be a good person; I want to be a good person so that people will gravitate to me. Which has another thought jumping into my jumbled mind...

If a person's goodness isn't genuine, then is it truly goodness?

I drop down onto my bed, Smino's voice still going strong in the background while I stuff my face into my pillow and groan. This is why I hate being alone. Thoughts that are too difficult to process begin to bombard me and I have no answers that will settle them. It's just an irritating cycle of one impossible thought after another.

Finally, after two agonizing hours alone, my phone chimes. Seth is almost here. I sing a 'hallelujah' to the ceiling and hurry to the bathroom to brush my teeth and slap on some mascara.

Looking fresh, I pull on my boots and start making my way to the elevator at the end of the hall. Just as I reach to press the down arrow, the doors slide open and I find Seth leaning against the wall, talking to someone on the phone. He glances up at me, a smile spreading across his face as he waves me into the metal contraption.

"Yeah," he responds, "No, Wednesday is good. The mornings?" There's a pause while he listens. "That's fine. Hey, I gotta go, but I'll talk to you later." He glances at me and then mutters an "Okay, bye," before shoving his phone into his front pocket.

"Hey," he greets, casually nudging his chin in my direction.

"Hi," I respond, pressing myself into the opposite corner from Seth and glancing at the digital numbers displaying which floor we're passing.

"Hungry?"

I laugh, tilting my head toward him. "Have you ever known me not to be hungry?"

"Fair question," he agrees, crossing his arms as he leans his backside on the railing that circles the elevator wall. "Well, then, I think you'll be satisfied by my food selection."

"Absolutely," I nod, "it's food. I always appreciate food."

Seth laughs, the doors sliding open as he gestures for me to exit first. "I suppose you're an easy person to please."

"I don't know about that," I tell him honestly, heading out into the chilly afternoon. The freshness of fall is fading into the prickle of winter and I'm thrilled to finally be able to pull all my parkas and sweaters out of hiding.

I don't know where I'm going, but when I feel Seth's warm hand slide around my upper arm, I know I'm headed in the wrong direction. I give his hand a quick glance, wondering if his thoughts are on the feel of my skin beneath his fingers or if he's really as focused as he appears.

About three times a week, I try to make time for a modest workout—nothing extreme—but for the first time, I find myself wishing I'd given it a little more effect. I can feel just how soft I am in comparison to his strength and it's making me want to pull away. But I don't. Because despite my momentary insecurity, I'm enjoying his nearness too much to care.

And then his hand drops away and reality smacks me in the face. I've never—not once in my life—been self-conscious about the way I look. I've never even worried about how men view my body. Today marks a new low for me because I despise this feeling swirling in my chest. A feeling that I'm not good enough for someone. The worst part is that Seth hasn't once indicated that he's judged my appearance. So why the doubt?

I brush it off quickly, pushing myself up onto my toes and bouncing slightly to ignite some energy into my veins.

"You cold?" Seth questions, eyeing my movements with concern.

"No," I assure him, "just feel like running all of a sudden. Or jumping. I don't know. You up for a cartwheel competition?" I hear my own words vibrate inside my skull and I grimace. Two seconds ago I was criticizing my own body and now I want to run? Is my body subconsciously urging me into a new exercise regimen so quickly?

"Right now?"

"Yep." I nod, determined. "Who can cartwheel all the way to your truck first?"

He stops walking, turning his attention to me as he considers my offer. I stop a few steps ahead of him and turn back, watching his internal debate.

And then he shrugs. "Okay."

I was definitely not expecting the easy-going and composed Seth Vans to agree to a cartwheel competition, but I do my best to conceal my surprise.

"Okay," I chirp, pressing my lips together and lifting a single shoulder.

Turning toward his truck again, I count down from three and the two of us begin our race. I can only imagine what we look like to observers. I, for one, know that as my legs thrash through the air they probably resemble those waving air balloon men that flop around outside the entrance of car dealerships.

Five cartwheels in, I can feel my brain beginning to spin. Everything is one big smudge of color around me as concrete and sky begin to smear into one streaky image. I'm beginning to wonder why I thought this was a fun idea when I notice laughter behind me. Tumbling to a stop, I blink away my dizziness and strain my eyes to focus.

"What in the world?" I gasp while laughing. I stand, wobbling toward Seth where he's laying sprawled out in the middle of the parking lot. His soft chuckles reassure me that he's okay, but my brows remain pinched together as I look down at him.

He manages to push himself into a seated position, propping one lazy arm over his bent knee before tilting his head toward me.

"I cartwheeled into that car," he explains, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at a rusty red Nissan a couple of feet to his left. "I think it was good for me though. Knocked my pride down a level or two. My first couple of cartwheels were Olympic level and I got a little cocky."

I snort, shaking my head as I drop down to my knees beside him. "Seth? Cocky?" I laugh again at the idea. "I honestly can't even imagine what that would look like."

"Hideous, I assure you." He smiles at his own words, shifting his body toward me as he pushes himself into standing.

"Impossible," I gasp, joining him as we walk the rest of his way to his truck.

For once, there's not a moment of silence as we make our way through winding roads sandwiched by tall trees. It's mostly me talking, as usual, but Seth is very responsive—which makes talking for twenty minutes straight a piece of cake. He seems happy to listen and I find that encouraging, so of course, I continue blabbing until we pull into one of Greenville's national parks.

Seth cuts the engine and I lean forward in my seat to take in the trees that are practically swallowing us. Their leaves are still vibrant yellows and oranges, though many have fallen from their homes and into a blanket on the ground. The sun is brilliant, the trees are on fire with the flames of fall, and my chest is filled with a hush of appreciation.

Smiling, I glance toward Seth, expecting to find a similar emotion playing out across his face. Instead, his focus is on his steering wheel as he fingers a strand of stitching that has unraveled from the faux leather. He must sense my eyes on him because he suddenly reaches for his door handle and swings it open.

"Ready?" he asks, his demeanor shifting as he shoots a playful grin in my direction.

I nod, slipping from his truck and closing the door behind me. Seth moves to the back and lifts a cooler over the rim of the truck bed. Placing it on the ground, he rummages around again, yanking a blanket out from beneath a set of jumper cables.

"Can I help?" I ask, rounding the back of the vehicle to stand beside him. I'm already reaching for the blanket, knowing there's no way he'd let me carry the heavier of the two objects.

"Sure." He tosses the fleece bedding at me and bends to lift the cooler onto a single shoulder before turning and leading the way toward a narrow gap in the trees.

As normal, I keep the conversation moving as we hike through the forest, but something about Seth has changed. He's no longer responding to my questions with enthusiasm and interest. Instead, he'll nod or grunt in distracted agreement, but he's not actually present with me anymore.

"Hey!" I holler at him, jogging forward to grasp his elbow.

"Don't worry," he tells me, not hindering to my touch, "we're almost there."

I stop walking, face twisted in confusion at how he managed to so casually brush me off. This turn in behavior is muddling my brain. Seth isn't the type to play games with a person's emotions, so to go from friendly to detached somehow feels like a personal attack. I sift through my memories trying to recall whatever it was that I did wrong, but I'm coming up blank.

Dismissing the tangle of doubt twisting in my chest, I pick up my pace and resume the rest of the hike in silence. Seconds tick into minutes and not a word is spoken. It's not that I'm offended or purposely giving him the cold shoulder. I'm just baffled and don't know what to say. My mind is still loud though, yelling questions at me that drown out the beautiful songs of nature. I'm not even appreciating the sights anymore, my focus at my feet as I think and rethink our situation. What went wrong?

When I see Seth glance over his shoulder at me, I realize just how subdued I've become. While I might be confused, my feelings aren't hurt and I'd hate to give him that idea. I'm just about to speak up—throwing something out about how beautiful it is out here—when we hit the end of the trees and the scenery opens up into a grassy clearing featuring a modest pond near the center.

The water sparkles beneath the sun's touch, complemented by several weeping willows perched at the edge, their long wispy leaves kissing the waters. A table sits beside the embankment, the wood worn and partially rotted, but somehow only adding to the enchantment of this untouched paradise.

Turning, I find Seth watching me, the cooler resting near his feet. He shoves his fingers into his front pockets, eyes flickering out over the landscape before finding me again. There's no amusement on his lips or awe alighting his features. It's like he's been here a thousand times and witnessed the amazement on every face of every guest he's invited along.

My smile fades, not appreciating my own thoughts. There's no reason for me to assume that he's ever brought anyone else here. There's also no reason for me to be disappointed that this moment means nothing significant to him. Seth brought me here to talk, not to spoil me with some secret rendezvous. And while I might be swooning at Seth's thoughtful planning of today, to him, this is just lunch.

"Not sure about you," I start to say, "but I'm starving."

He chuckles softly, hoisting the cooler back up onto his shoulder. "Let's eat then."

We begin walking toward the worn picnic table as my eyes scan the surroundings. The table just feels too stiff and not the way a person should enjoy a true picnic. So I suggest another option. Seth seems reluctant at first, his eyes lingering on the table for a moment before he sighs.

"Yeah, sure," he nods, following me to the weeping willow that houses the world's most epic picnic destination.

We part the hanging leaves, the cave of green swallowing us whole as the curtain closes behind us. Part of the tree hangs over the water, allowing us the option of settling beside the water while still being enclosed inside our little nature cocoon.

"Cozy," Seth mutters, a grin tilting up one side of his lips.

We lay the blanket out and I watch as Seth begins digging through his cooler. He pulls out thick deli sandwiches, cheese puffs, a bag of popcorn, apples, boxes of raisins, and several beverage options.

"You really thought this out," I marvel, snagging a sandwich and unwrapping it.

"Not really," he confesses, taking a bite and chewing for several seconds. "Kinda just did a grocery store walk-through and threw anything in my cart that I figured you'd appreciate."

A throb of warmth spreads through my chest, tugging a smile onto my lips that I try to hide. It's so hard not to read into his kindness, but I know it's not meant to be romantic. His desire to please people is what's causing him so many issues with clingy, love-struck girls. Who wouldn't be attracted to his selflessness?

"You did well," I tell him, avoiding his gaze as I grab the bag of puffs. "Though, I would have been thrilled by just about anything, as long as it was edible."

"Yes," he agrees. "You have proven that to be true."

This is painful. Forced conversation is the worst and that's where this is headed. Neither of us really cares to talk about food, but a change in topic means we get down to the real reason we came here. I'm not so sure Seth is ready for that yet.

"Alright," he sighs, "I guess it's time for the talk, huh?"

And then he goes and surprises me. Guess we really are jumping right to it.

Seth sets down his lunch and stretches his legs out in front of him as he leans back on his hand. For a moment, he watches the water lap at the embankment and I wonder if he's getting his thoughts in order or if he's delaying.

"This is so awkward," he laughs. "I mean, I always intended to tell you this stuff, but I assumed it'd just be revealed organically. You know what I mean? Like, the topic would just somehow come up and the timing would be perfect and natural. This..." He rubs his neck, eyes still on the water. "This feels very uncomfortable. A private meeting held just to discuss my past is..." He shivers at his own words.

"Yeah," I nod. "I get that." I take a deep breath, keeping my attention focused on Seth's face even though he hasn't looked at me. "If you'd rather not do it this way, I don't mind. I mean, I appreciate the effort, but we could always—"

"No." He shakes his head, adamant. "No, we're doing this." Light green eyes turn to me, freezing my heart in my chest with the determination pulsing beneath them. "Just, bare with me."

"Sure."

He pulls in a deep breath and laughs as he lets it out. "I'm terrified."

And there it is. My greatest weakness... when a man admits his fears.

The desire to tug him toward me and confess just how much my feelings have surpassed mere friendship is overwhelming and I have to twist my fingers into the fleece beneath me to resist the urge. Wrong timing. And this happens to be one of those moments when my feelings have to be ignored. Right now is about Seth. All about Seth.

I hear him let out a shaky breath, his head turned away from me as he watches a duck scoot past our hollow through the waterfall of leaves that make up the walls. With effort, I reach across the short distance and wrap my fingers around his knee, a silent gesture of encouragement. He pauses, his gaze fixated to where my hand envelops his jean-clad leg. I expect a grateful smile in return, or maybe to be ignored completely, but he does neither.

Instead, I feel the debilitating zap of his touch when his hand lands on my arm and carefully slides down to my wrist. I'm rooted in place, barely able to breathe as I watch his hand glide over the back of mine. And though I can see from the corner of my eye that Seth's attention remains on me, I don't look at him. I can't. Because if I do, I will climb into his lap and kiss him senseless.

Now I'm the one fighting back the shaky breaths, struggling to keep my composure. He can't know how this is affecting me. If he knew my heart, he'd walk away. He doesn't need any more girls throwing themselves at him. He needs friendship, not infatuation.

"You can do this," I tell him, hoping that by talking he'll be distracted away from the slight tremble in my fingers.

He moves his hand away and I can finally breathe, but the moment doesn't last long. It only gets worse. Rather than return his hand to the ground where he'd previously been holding up his body weight, he instead rotates his hand around and slides it into my palm, his fingers slipping between my own.

I turn to stone.

I feel like a trapped bird inside a metal box. A prisoner wrapped in chains and dropped into the ocean. A girl on the verge of combustion, knowing that the blast will destroy her.

Pressing my lips together, I shake away the sting of tears forcing their way to center stage. They want Seth to know how I feel. They want him to see the struggle it's taking to remain neutral. But I can't let my emotions win.

"Thank you," he whispers, squeezing my hand in his.

I nod, my throat too swollen to speak.

I'm mere seconds from pulling my hand from his when his grip loosens and he pulls his knees toward his chest so he can rest his folded forearms across them. Turning, I exhale, closing my eyes and doing my best to forget his warm touch so I can get my head back on straight. The level of will it requires to keep my composure is beyond anything I could ever imagine. Never have I felt so weak and fragile... and alone.

And then Seth begins to speak and suddenly nothing else matters except the devastating words falling from the lips of this broken boy.

---

Oh boy!!!!! Confession time is just around the corner! I'm curious to know if his past is what you're imagining it to be. Hmmmm....