Page 119 of Caden & Theo

“Romance in the twenty-first century,” I say.

“Don’t knock it,” he murmurs, tugging me by the belt loop back onto the bed. “It also allows for this—two more minutes of me kissing you before we ruin everything with socks and airports.”

“Socks can be romantic,” I protest weakly, already climbing back over him.

His mouth finds mine, slow at first, then deeper until the decision we’ve just made hums between our teeth. It isn’t last night’s urgency. It’s something steadier, a promise sealed not with grand speeches but with the press of lips and the easy slide of hands over familiar geography. He tastes like mint and the kind of hope that makes my ribs ache in a way that doesn’t hurt.

When we break away, he rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“For choosing this. Choosing me.” A beat. “Again.”

I swallow. “Always.”

His smile is small and devastating. He kisses me once more and then sits up like a man remembering he has a plane to catch and a life to disrupt with joy. “Okay. Logistics. You grab your wallet and ID. I’ll pull up the app and see if there’s a seat next to me. Worst case, we’re a row apart and I annoy you from across the aisle.”

“You mean like you did through all of sophomore English when our classes had to join because of Mrs. Perry’s illness?” I ask, standing to dig in my dresser for a clean tee.

“That was educational enrichment,” he says.

“You put googly eyes on my copy ofGatsby.”

He points at me. “And you never forgot the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg again.”

I can’t help it. I grin. It’s stupid and wide, because somehow we’re talking about googly eyes and also maybe moving our lives around each other again, and the whiplash isn’t as scary when he’s making me laugh.

I grab my wallet and ID from the tray on my dresser and slide them into my pocket. He checks the app while his phone gasps along on its last drips of battery. “Two seats left in economy,” he says. “I can…. Oh. I can upgrade one of us to the bulkhead.” He glances at me, reading my face for a group decision. “Or we stay together and both fold up like paper cranes.”

“Together,” I say instantly. “We can unfold at the other end.”

He makes a pleased sound and taps. “Done.” He looks up. “You bringing the LEGO?”

I pat the duffel, saying, “Obviously,” which earns me a sweet smile.

I pause with my hand still on my bag. “And—I just remembered, I promised Amelia I’d spend more time with Connor this summer. He’s eleven now, and I don’t want him thinking I disappeared on him.”

Caden’s expression softens immediately. “Then we’ll work it out,” he says. “We can even fly him out to San Francisco for a week. Give Amelia a break, give Connor some quality time. Show him the Bay, take him to a Warriors game.”

The thought lands in my chest like a light I didn’t know I’d been holding my breath for. Not just us, but space for the people I love. Space for my family too.

“Thank you,” I say as tuck my phone charger into the bag, zip it shut, and just… stop. The room is still the same. Bed unmade, curtains stirring in the vent’s sigh, my life stacked in neat piles on the bookshelf. And yet the air feels different—charged yet elastic, like it’s stretching to accommodate a new shape.

“Hey,” he says softly, catching my pause. “We don’t have to solve the next ten steps. Just this one. You and me. Airport. Plane. A few days. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” I echo, and the words settle, surprisingly light.

He takes my hand again, our fingers fitting like they’ve regained their muscle memory. He lifts our joined hands and kisses the back of mine, still watching my face like he’s waiting for panic to return. It doesn’t. Or if it does, it politely sits farther away, letting joy take the front seat.

“Do you need to tell anyone you’re leaving?” he asks.

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I’m not expecting my parents for a visit.” I do need to think about what I’m going to about spending time with my nephew, though. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.

He stands and hooks a finger into my waistband to reel me in for one last kiss in this room before everything is about to tilt again. When he lets me go, his smile is pure trouble. “Just one stop at the B&B to pick up my bag. That’ll set the tongues wagging, no doubt.”

“Get your phone,” I tell him, fighting a laugh. “You’re about to lose the last 2 percent of your dignity.”

“Impossible,” he says. “I lost that the second I asked you to be my prom date.”