Someone calls my name, and I jump. I thought I’d be alone in the garden. I turn around, and Oliver steps out of the shadows near the gate. It’s so weird to see him outside a hospital or an airplane. Weird, and amazing. His blue eyes are sparkling, and I remember how they first reminded me of an open window on a spring day. The kind of spring day I’m standing in right now.

He takes a step toward me, and I see that he’s carrying a small bag.

“But how did you”—Oliver waggles his phone at me—“oh, right. I post pictures of this place all the time, don’t I? I never thought anyone was actually paying attention.”

“I’ve been paying attention to a lot, Flora.” Oliver’s voice is gravelly, and I don’t hear the wavering that I did when he talked to Kelsey.

“Someone really smart must have told you to pay attention to the details,” I say.

“Very smart indeed,” he says.

“And that same smart person must have told you how to give good compliments.”

“She did.”

“What a teacher you have.”

“The best.”

I feel a warmth spreading across my cheeks that has nothing to do with mono or a fever.

“So, what’s in the bag?” I finally ask.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

I open the bag. Oliver looks at me, grinning. Inside are packets of vitamin C, zinc lozenges, Airborne, and Emergen-C. But his smile tells me that he isn’t making fun of me—that he doesn’t think I’m gross or diseased or poisonous.

Something tells me he never really did.

I kiss him, and this time he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t look at me like I’m diseased. Because I’m not.