“I don’t know if I will,” I admit. “It’s the summer, and usually I stay at our house in Easthampton. Luke is somewhere in Hoboken.” “Then you should go to Hoboken and shack up.” The breeze snakes under Mateo’s shoulder-length brown hair, rustling the long strands. I snort. “My dad will kill me if I miss the annual Hayworth barbecue.” “Then go after that. You want to see him, don’t you?” “Of course.” So much that my heart hurts. But since I left, Luke hasn’t once mentioned us seeing each other again. “Then go.” Mateo gobbles down another piece of mango. “Make the first move.” I mull over the
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