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“I never forgot about it,” I whisper.

He grins, tugging his onto his wrist. “You think I forgot bracelet day?”

“I didn’t think you remembered.”

“Jojo, I remembereverything.” He leans forward, thumb brushing a piece of hair out of my face. “Especially when it comes to you.”

And just like that, I’m goo.

I nod, swallowing hard. “It’s weird. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“You have.”

“Then how come this feels brand new?”

He exhales, eyes locked on mine. “Because we’re finally doing it right.”

The air stretches between us. It’s heavy with things unsaid, with promises neither of us quite knows how to make. But we’re here. And for now, that’s enough.

“Okay,” I whisper.

He smiles. “Okay.”

And just like that, I let myself believe—maybe just a little—that this might actually stick.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, just sipping coffee and letting the sugar from the bear claws sink into our bloodstream like some kind of emotional buffer. He keeps glancing at me over the rim of his cup, and I pretend not to notice, but my cheeks are warm, and I’ve got that fluttery, can’t-sit-still feeling in my stomach.

“So,” I say finally, breaking the quiet. “That whole ‘I love you too, baby’ thing last night. That was…?”

He sets his mug down gently and shifts on the edge of the bed so he’s facing me full-on. No deflection. No jokes.

“That was the truth,” he says simply. “I meant it.”

I blink, hard. “Even after I rambled on about hospital passes and bracelet day like a concussed fifth grader?”

He chuckles, and it’s so damn affectionate that my throat tightens. “Especially after that. I’ve had a lot of girls tell me they love me. You’re the first one who brought up a friendship bracelet to seal the deal.”

“Yeah, well,” I murmur, voice catching. “I’m a real romantic.”

“You are,” he says, voice low. “And I’m an idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “So what changed?”

Brogan runs a hand over the back of his neck, that sheepish thing he does when he’s about to be too honest.

“I think I always knew,” he says, looking right at me. “But I was scared. Scared I’d screw it up. That if I let myself want you…reallywantyou… that I’d lose you. So I convinced myself the friend zone was safe. That it was enough.”

“And now?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He reaches out and laces his fingers through mine. “Now, I want all of it. The bracelet days, the late-night phone calls, the karaoke disasters. I want you in my bed and in my life and at my games and with me when I figure out what the hell I’m doing after hockey. I wantus.”

Something in me cracks open at the way he says it—so direct, so sure. Like he’s been waiting to hand me this piece of himself for years and just didn’t know where to put it. I squeeze his fingers, feeling the weight and wonder of it all. “You’re really not going anywhere, are you?”

He shakes his head, no jokes, just steady. “Not unless you tell me to go. And even then, I’ll probably just camp out in your yard and bribe you with breakfast until you take me back.”

I stare at our hands, at the way they fit like puzzle pieces. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” I admit. “And I didn’t even know if it was real. If you’d ever feel it too.”

His thumb sweeps across my knuckles. “I feel it now.”