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ELEVEN

COURTNEY

Disneyland smells like popcorn, sunscreen, and nostalgia.

It hits me the second I step through security. Kids laugh. Music swells from speakers hidden in flowerbeds. The kind of joy that only exists in this kind of place—manufactured but somehow real, too.

I shift my camera bag on my shoulder and glance around for the team.

“Bambiiii!” Jayden’s voice cuts through the crowd like a whip crack. “About time!”

I turn just in time to see him strut toward me in Mickey ears and mirrored sunglasses, grinning like he’s on his own personal runway. He throws an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in like we’re old friends and I don’t fight it.

Jayden Morrow is the nicest guy on the team. He’s always smiley but he’s not as mouthy as Matheo Hillier.

“You here to document our emotional breakdowns or just the part where Matheo eats seven churros in a row?”

“I’m thinking candids,” I say dryly. “Lots of tears. Maybe some slow-mo footage of someone losing a shoe.”

“Perfect. I’ll cry for the camera on It’s a Small World . Eli, you in?”

Eli just sips from a massive iced tea behind him, silent as always, but his brow lifts like he’s mildly amused.

We head toward the front entrance where the rest of the group is gathering. Matheo and Erik are arguing over the fastest route to Thunder Mountain , while Dylan stands calmly to the side with his ten-year-old daughter, Lily, who’s holding a clipboard and pen like she’s running the whole damn park.

She spots me and waves. “Hi, you must be Bambi!”

I smile and crouch a little to her level. “Hey! You must be Lily.”

Dylan offers me a big smile when she beams at me with her startling blue eyes. “I am.”

“Do you know where you’re going to start?”

“My girl has a whole plan.” Dylan tucks a loose strand of her hair back into her French braid before he puts a baseball cap on her.

My eyebrows lift. “I love a good plan?”

Lily holds up her clipboard like it’s a sacred text. “If we start in the baby section, we can ease Uncle Auggie and Eli into the scary stuff. They pretend they’re cool with coasters, but they’re totally not. Last time, Uncle Auggie faked a stomach cramp to get out of Space Mountain .”

I choke on a laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yup.” She nods solemnly. “So we’re hitting Fantasyland first. Get him on Dumbo , then Small World . By the time we make it to Thunder Mountain , he’ll be too deep into the itinerary to argue.”

“Well, that’s a genius plan,” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder at Auguste.

He’s sauntering through the gates, completely unaware he’s being schemed against by a ten-year-old in sparkly sunglasses and pink Minnie ears. And the funny thing is, I think even if he knew, he’d go along with it. It’s one of the things I’ve learnt about Auguste—he’s a family person.

“Uncle Auggie doesn’t stand a chance,” I say.

Lily just smirks. “He never does.”

Auguste walks up to us with this quiet, heavy-lidded intensity, like he’s the only person here not overwhelmed by the spinning colors and sugar-fueled chaos.

I hate how good he looks in this light. Hate how the morning sun hits his jaw just right and how my heart stumbles a little every time our eyes meet.

“You’re staring,” Jayden whispers to the side, not even looking at me.

“I’m literally not.”

“Okay, Bambs.” He grins wider. “Whatever you say.”

Before I can fire back, I feel a warm, familiar arm curl around my shoulders.

“Hey, honey. ”

I tilt my head and smile. “Hey, Dad.”

He tugs me into his side and starts walking, matching the team’s slow pace as we funnel into the park.

“Now, I know you’re working,” he says cautiously, “but I want you to have a good time too. Enjoy yourself, kay?”

Just like that—with his arm squishing me into his side as he presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head—I’m ten years old again.

We fall into step behind Ansel and his son Micah as they walk with Dylan and Lily. The two kids are about the same age and Micah already knows not to argue with Lily when she tells him where to go first.

For just a moment, wrapped in my dad’s arm, with the team ahead and my camera swinging at my hip, I feel like I’m part of something.

Like I belong.

Like I’m home.

The rides are exactly what I remember and nothing like I expected.

I scream my lungs out on Space Mountain while Auguste sits next to me, completely stone-faced, like he’s preparing to face down death with nothing but his jawline and quiet rage.

Jayden and Oliver are behind us, cackling so hard I think one of them is going to choke. I’m half-convinced they’re trying to tip the car with their laughter alone.

By the time we hit Thunder Mountain , Auguste looks like he’s braced for war. Arms locked. Shoulders tight. Jaw clenched.

I lean in. “I thought you played a sport where people throw themselves into you with knives on their feet.”

He doesn’t even glance my way. “This is worse.”

I nudge his arm—accidentally-on-purpose—and our arms press together for one too-long beat before I shift back with a breathy laugh.

“Poor Uncle Auggie,” Lily coos from the row ahead. “Don’t worry. We’ll start in the baby section next time.”

“She planned this,” he mutters, glaring at the back of Lily’s head like she’s his arch-nemesis.

I’m doing my best to hold in my laugh at the green look on his face. “She’s ten. And smarter than all of you.”

He finally turns toward me, slow and suspicious, like I’ve just revealed I’m in on the conspiracy. “Did you help her come up with this plan?”

“I mean… I didn’t not encourage her.”

“Traitor,” that’s all he says.

“Coward.”

Another nudge.

Another press of skin.

His arm’s warm. Hard. The kind of solid that makes me want to lean into him completely as the train lurches forward with a screech, throwing us back against the seats, and my hand flies out to grab something—anything—steady.

I catch his thigh.

His very solid , very warm thigh.

I gasp, pulling away like the contact burned me.

But not before I see his head tip slightly. A muscle jumps in his jaw.

Neither of us says anything. We don’t need to.

Not with the way my pulse won’t settle.

Not with the way his fingers flex on the lap bar, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me right back.

Not with the way the next drop hits, and I scream again—this time for a completely different reason.