Summer Forever by Amy Sparling

the weirdest thing about leaving on Christmas Eve is the fact that they don’t really seem to care at all. I’m no longer a child and although I’m very happy about that, it’s also a little weird.
    Park’s presents hang out in the back seat of my car on the short drive to his new house. My whole car smells like the body wash I used profusely in my shower before I left the house tonight. My hair is also freshly washed and dried, my nails painted, my legs shaved. I need this night to be amazing and I’m not about to let some leg stubble ruin it.
    My crazy hot boyfriend is sitting on the porch when I pull into the driveway. He sips from a mug of what is probably hot chocolate and gives me a little wave when I step out of the car.
    “Do you have some of that for me?” I ask as I open the door to my backseat. “It’s freezing out here.”
    “Of course I do. What are you doing?” he asks as he gets up and walks off the porch.
    “Getting your presents,” I call out from the backseat of my car. I try to fit them all in my hands at once, but that’s so not happening.
    Just as a couple of the gifts tumble out of my grasp, Park jumps to my rescue and catches them. “Oh my God, babe. You didn’t have to get so many.”
    I roll my eyes. “How many did you get me?”
    Guilt moves up his face until he bursts into a smile. “A lot.”

Chapter 15
     
    “Why won’t you open them yet?” I whine, jutting out my bottom lip as we stare at the pile of presents I’ve dropped under his tiny Christmas tree. It’s a fake tree, only about two feet tall and we found it in the attic of the house when he was moving it. So far we’ve decorated it with the antique ornaments that were also found in the attic and a strand of blue LED lights we got at the store.
    “Because I want you to see your present first.”
    I put my hands on my hips. “Is it invisible?” I ask, because there’s nothing under his tree except what I just put there.
    Park’s subtle smile widens. “Your present is definitely visible. It’s just not right here.”
    “So…where is it?” I ask, walking toward him.
    “Cold!” he says, and steps backward. I stop and turn to the right. “A little warmer,” he says. I follow his cold and warm clues until I’m right in front of the staircase. “You’re getting super super hot,” he says. I take a few steps up the stairs. “Scalding.”
    I turn toward the second floor and he shakes his head. “Cold, again Sosa.”
    I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out, but I finally get it. I back up from the second floor landing and give him a coy smile. I point toward the ceiling. “Is it up here?” I ask.
    Park bites his lip and nods. He’s standing two steps below me on the stairs so I’m as tall as he is now. I lean forward and place a kiss on his cheek. “Is it in the room you’ve been keeping from me?” I whisper. He nods again.
    I let out a little squeal and rush up the rest of the stairs to the room at the very top of the house. My hand touches the doorknob on the very door to the room I haven’t been allowed to see yet. With great satisfaction, I twist and let it open.
    My jaw drops. Not because the room is much bigger than I had pictured, with a bay window that stretches from one end to the other, but because of what’s inside the room. Park had said it’d make a good paint studio. But now he’s transformed it.
    I step into the room feeling as if I’m in a dream, floating around instead of walking. The bay window has been refinished with a long bench pillow to sit on, and several new throw pillows in purple and teal and pink. I can’t even fathom the idea of Park going to a store and picking these out, but he’s done an amazing job. The window itself is adorned with a strand of little clear lights that give the room a charming glow. The hardwood flooring has a fluffy purple rug in the center of the room. One of my paintings, a canvas that simply says follow your dreams is hung