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He’s finding it impossible to keep his eyes off of her.
It’d been a hard week for him. They’d been inseparable for months now, practically spending all their mornings and nights and stolen moments in between together, but the second they’d landed at Logan, she’d tensed up, telling him that she doesn’t want her family to find out, which is quite unfair considering all he wants to do is shout “I love Amy March and she loves me!” from the rooftops.
She’d left him behind at baggage claim, taking her ridiculous amount of luggage with her, and he had watched through the glass doors as she got into Beth’s car without even a look back. At dinner that night, she had shot him a look, as if she was disappointed he’d actually accepted her mother’s invitation, and then she’d hardly hugged him back when he tried to do what she wanted and play pretend.
But he couldn’t fault her for that. He understood, he’d found it hard to simply hug her hello as well, pretend that this is the first time they’ve touched in ages, as if he doesn’t know every inch of her body, as if she doesn’t hold his heart in the palm of her hand.
They’d texted plenty that week, sure. Silly stuff, romantic stuff, stuff about being home for the first time in what felt like forever. They talked plans for Meg’s bachelorette party, and he shared that he wanted to tell Jo, which Amy certainly wasn’t happy about, but begrudgingly accepted was something he felt that he needed to do. She FaceTimed him once, upset over Beth, and the tears streaming down her face made his heart ache, made him wish that he could be there and hold her and stroke her hair. It killed him that he couldn’t.
Seeing her at the rehearsal dinner made him feel as if he was gasping for air, as if he had forgotten how to breathe without her by his side. He never wanted to be apart from her for so long ever again.
After his attempt at telling Jo failed spectacularly, he went and found Amy by the bathrooms, sliding up next to her as she fixed her make-up in a little mirror, the dim lighting of the hallway shielding them from view.
“Come home with me,” he had smiled, trying to be as smooth as possible, his most charming self.
Amy snapped the little mirror shut and turned around; a smile stretched across her face as well. “I don’t think so. My sisters will notice if I’m not there in the morning.”
“Then let me give you a ride,” he smirked as Amy’s eyebrows rose. “Home, I mean. A ride home.”
“Uh huh,” Amy had smirked too. “And what should I tell my sisters, hm? We all drove together.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he had winked.
He didn’t take her straight home as he had promised, but he doesn’t think she minded. They drove around Concord for a while, and just talked, about nothing and everything. He’d never get sick of hearing her voice.
Eventually though, he had to bring her home, as it had reached a point where her family would start to wonder why she hadn’t come back yet.
Let the record show that she was the one who had kissed him first. She had gotten up on her knees and everything, pushed him back into his seat as she moved forward, only to pull away when his hands settled rather low on her waist.
“No. I’m not having sex with you in your grandfather’s car in the middle of my driveway.”
“Wha – “
“I’ll see you tomorrow!” she had called as she flounced out of the car.
He was hopelessly in love with her.
Which lead him to here. Unable to tear his eyes away from her once since he arrived at Meg’s wedding. The dress, the flower crown, the updo he just wants to pull apart and ruin, she’s so beautiful. So incredibly beautiful. He just wants to hold her close and share a dance, but he knows she’ll never allow that here.
She knows he’s watching her though. Because she hardly takes her eyes off him either.
It’s only when the night is finally winding down that she actually acknowledges him though. Or rather, texts him.
wait for me in my room
Followed immediately by:
don’t let anyone see you go up there
He tells his grandfather that he should head out without him, that he’ll be home later, finding Meg and John and wishing them a final congrats, before sneaking around to the side entrance of the house and climbing the stairs as silently as possible.
He closes the door quietly behind him and just like that he’s in Amy March’s childhood bedroom.
It’s weird. He’s not sure he’s ever been in here before, maybe once, over a decade ago now. He had spent more than his fair share of time back in her flat in Paris, he thought he knew all her little quirks, all the things that made her her now. But this was a whole new level.
He takes it all in, the art he knows is her own hanging on the walls, the participation trophies from youth sports, the old pictures of friends and sisters, many of which he’s surprised to see include him as well. There’s so many little knick knacks and scrapbooks and posters on her walls that he could spend hours studying. It feels intimate, that he’s seeing this. All the little details that make up a life.
For so many years there, she was just Amy March, Jo’s little sister. She was just Amy March, the girl who wanted to paint his nails so she could practice and cried at scary movies and always mixed popcorn and M&M’s and gave him her most prized stuffed animal (a frog she had named Froggy – horribly uncreative Jo had teased) when he was feeling down about his parents.
But then he ran into her in Paris, and all of a sudden Amy March, Jo’s little sister became Amy, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She’d always been there but it was like he was seeing her for the very first time.
And now he’s feeling that way all over again. Because Amy March, Jo’s little sister had always been more than that, even when he wasn’t paying attention.
When Amy finally comes into her room, he’s staring at a picture that was probably taken back in 2009 if his hair is anything to go by, him and all the March sisters at the beach. He remembers that day, or bits and pieces of it at least. Everyone crammed into the car together as Meg blasted “You Belong with Me” on repeat, having just discovered Taylor Swift. Marmee slathering sunscreen on their faces despite everyone’s protests that they wanted a tan. Jo tackling him in the water so hard his knees were scraped from the rocky bottom for days.
What he doesn’t remember is the way Amy’s looking at him in this picture, all adoring, a blush still visible.
His mouth twitches as he looks up at her. “You had a crush on me.”
“You’re aware of that, yes.” Which yes, he was. They had a very long intense conversation about it a while back, but he doesn’t want to revisit any of that tonight.
“It’s so cute though. You were smitten,” which is a word he’s not sure he’s ever used in his life, but it certainly feels like the most appropriate way to describe how Amy’s looking at him in this photo in his hand.
“Laurie,” she sighs as she moves toward him, a lovely sound if he dares say so himself. “I didn’t ask you up to my room to reminisce.”
He gulps as she wraps her arms around his neck, suddenly nervous, even though they’ve done this hundreds of times now. But then she surprises him and starts to sway instead.
He attempts to play catch up. “What is happening?”
“I wanted to share a dance with my boyfriend tonight.”
His mouth twitches again. “But there’s no music?”
“I don’t care.”
So, they share a dance to the music beating away in their hearts. And when they’re done, Amy leans up, whispering in his ear.
“You should stay.”
He musters all his strength and willpower. “Amy, I don’t think that’s the best idea. Not here.”
“Please,” she pouts. “For me?”
And god help him, he'd do anything for her.
He stays.