Page 152 of Fangirl

Jake shoots me a smug grin that melts me on the spot. “Oh, I know.”

Maya swirls her mimosa like she’s conducting a symphony of chaos. “Exactly. And I am deeply invested in her well-being.”

I groan. “I hate everything that’s happening right now.”

Jake, somehow both terrified and entertained, chuckles. “Honestly? I respect the transparency.”

Maya narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t get too comfortable, Hollander. You might’ve passed the mimosa test, but if you ever hurt her again? Just remember, I know where you live. And I will key something wildly inappropriate into your car.”

Jake blinks. “That feels… oddly specific.”

“I have a stencil,” she says without missing a beat.

He lifts both hands in surrender. “Duly noted.”

But then Maya reaches across the table and places her hand over his, surprising both of us. “In all seriousness, if you’re in this for real, then I’m rooting for you. She deserves someone who sees all of her and doesn’t flinch.”

Jake’s whole expression softens. “I do see her. All of her. And I’m not going anywhere.” He pauses. “I figured out what matters, and it’s her. Always her. I love her wholeheartedly.”

For a long time, I thought no one would fight for me. But here he is. Here she is. And maybe I’m finally letting them.

I smile like a fool as Maya stares him down for another few seconds, then nods once and leans back in her chair. “Alright. You’ve earned half a croissant and a cautiously optimistic thumbs-up.”

Jake snorts. “High praise.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s basically a standing ovation from her.”

Maya grins. “Don’t get cocky, Hollywood. It’s a probationary period.”

He holds up his mimosa. “Understood. Toasting to my probation.”

“Good.” She lifts her glass too. “Now, who wants more croissants and an aggressively feminist playlist that includes three Taylor Swift deep cuts and one angry ballad about setting a cheating man’s house on fire?”

Jake glances at me with an amused raise of his brow. “Isthis the famous Brunch of Reckoning?”

“Shhh,” I whisper, nudging him. “Just eat and pray she doesn’t bring out the color-coded breakup charts.”

“I heard that,” Maya calls from the kitchen, already queuing up the next track.

As we leave an hour later, Jake slides his hand into mine, his smile crooked and warm. “Okay, I take it back. I love her.”

I laugh. “Before or after the threats of car vandalism and unsolicited orgasm commentary?”

“After,” he says, completely sincere. “She’s your sword and shield. I’m just lucky she didn’t run me through with either.”

I squeeze his hand. “She didn’t have to. You passed.”

“I’m glad you’re saying that,” he murmurs.

“Why?”

He shrugs, but I can feel it, the shift… the tension simmering under his skin. It hums between us, quiet but electric, as we ride in silence back to my flat.

I don’t press. Somehow, I think I’m about to find out.

We step inside my flat, and I stop dead in the doorway.

The entire living room is glowing in late-afternoon light, and sitting right in the middle of it, on my coffee table, is the most breathtaking bouquet I’ve ever seen. Blue Himalayan poppies. Dozens of them, luminous and dreamlike.