Page 35

Then one month before graduation, she sat me down with a handwritten note—five pages, front and back—detailing all the ways I’d “failed” her.

My logical approach to problems made me “emotionally unavailable.” My structured routines were “boring.” My hockey schedule meant I was too “absent” from her life to be spontaneous.

She’d found someone else, an art student who “made her feel alive again.” The guy who painted her portrait instead of helping her budget for rent or plan her future.

The worst part? I didn’t see it coming. Mr. Analytical missed every sign.

And when she walked away, she took more than my pride.

She took my certainty that I could trust my own judgment.

That night, I promised myself I’d never let someone get close enough to catalog my flaws again.

Because apparently, loving someone the only way I knew how—steadily, reliably, completely—wasn’t enough.

The song shifts to something slower, and Lauren adjusts her arms around my neck, her fingers playing with the hair at my nape. The touch is so natural—like we’ve been doing this for years instead of days. It’s this easy intimacy that scares me the most, how quickly she’s slipped past my defenses.

As we move together, I notice her gaze drifting toward her father and Patty, who are swaying together near the punch bowl.

“ You know, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel seeing Dad with someone new this week.

Part of me was angry that he could move on when Mom’s only been gone less than a year.

But then I realized everyone deserves someone who makes the hard parts of life easier.

” Her gaze holds mine. Then she stops swaying.

“I’ve always had to be the strong one in the family.

Even after Mom’s death. It’s so nice to have someone I can finally share things with. ”

My stomach twists. I want to share everything with her too, and yet I haven’t even told her I’m working on a book. Or how I feel about her.

That’s when I make a silent promise: If this thing between us is still here when the reunion ends—if what I’m feeling isn’t just the product of sharing a cabin and playing a part—then I’ll tell her. Even if I can't calculate the outcome.

We spend the next hour dancing, and when we’re not on the dance floor, she’s glued to my side, my arm draped protectively around her waist to send a clear signal to Bart.

When the last song of the night plays, I pull her even closer, my hands memorizing the way it feels to hold her this way, to remember this night forever.

She’s quiet on the walk back to the cabin, both of us taking our time. Above the trees, the sky opens up, scattering stars across midnight blue, while a sliver of moon casts just enough light for our path.

“Tonight was the best prom I’ve ever had,” I say.

She looks over at me, a smile playing on her lips. “Really? With the way my aunts couldn’t stop gushing about you in that suit?”

“Really,” I answer, shoving my hands in my pockets. “To be fair, I never actually went to prom.”

“Wait,” she says incredulously. “You”—she grabs the lapels of my suit coat—“ You… Mr. Hockey Stud, never went to prom? ”

I shake my head. “Are you surprised?”

She lets me go. “I’m shocked. How could you not tell me this? I would’ve bought you a boutonniere. Even taken a cheesy picture in front of the Williamson prom sign.”

“Lauren, you know I hate pictures. And I wasn’t the popular guy in high school—I was a nerd and a late bloomer.

I spent my weekends playing hockey or studying.

High school girls were always into the football and basketball players, not guys like me.

Besides, I was too nervous to ask anyone, because if you didn’t notice tonight, I’m a terrible dancer. ”

She scoffs. “You aren’t the worst I’ve ever danced with.”

“Thank…you?” I say with a half laugh.

“Okay, you stepped on my feet a few times, but when we did the chicken dance with the kids, you were all in . It takes a brave man to flap their arms like a bird and not care if people question his masculinity.”

“That’s because everybody looks ridiculous doing the chicken dance,” I say.

“Still, I wish I had known,” she says, like discovering this after the fact violated some unwritten rule between us.

I stop and turn to her, trying to understand what’s bothering her. “Lauren, what difference would it have made? Tonight was perfect. And yes, the look on Bart’s face when you chose me was definitely a bonus.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then why are you upset?”

“I could’ve made it special for you.”

“Lauren, you did make it special. Just by being with me.”

“But you had to be my date,” she says. “If you go to prom once in your life, it should be with someone you love to spend time with.”

I step toward her, closing the space between us until I can see the dark pools in her eyes, catching the moonlight. “Lauren, look at me.”

She meets my gaze, and I let her see everything I’ve been trying to hide all week.

“There’s never been a moment tonight—or any time this week—when I didn’t want to be exactly where I am.

” My fingers find hers in the darkness, intertwining slowly.

“There’s only one girl I ever wanted to take tonight…

” My free hand moves to cup her face, my thumb brushing across the hollow of her cheek, before I gently tip her chin toward me. “And it’s you.”

She blinks, her lips opening slightly. “Me?”

I nod, moving closer until the space between us feels electric. “But the worst part is wondering how the night will end.” My hand finds the curve of her waist. “Every real prom ends the same way—with a goodbye kiss.”

Her eyes drop to my mouth, and that’s when I know she’s thinking of it too. My fingers trail to her neck, threading gently into her hair. “I’ve been wondering all night if we should follow tradition.”

She pauses.

“Sunny,” I whisper, “if you don’t say something soon, I’m going to do the thing I’ve been trying not to do all night.”

“Tate, if you’re asking for permission to kiss me, the answer’s yes.”

I dip my head toward her, my mouth hovering just above hers, close enough to feel her breath against my lips. For a moment, everything narrows to just this—her fingers curling into my hair, the hammering of my heart, her scent lingering on my skin.

A rustling on the path stirs behind us. “Aunt Lauren! Where are you?” Kaylie’s voice rings through the forest.

Lauren jumps back, her hand flying to her mouth. I fight the urge to groan out loud.

“Tate!” Kaylie says, appearing around the bend, followed by Olivia holding Camden, who’s now in his pajamas.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Kaylie says.

“Why didn’t you text?” Lauren says a little breathlessly.

“We did,” Olivia says. “But you didn’t answer. Then Kaylie suggested a walk to come find you.” Her sister frowns. “ What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Lauren takes another step away from me, smoothing down her dress.

“Dad sent us,” Olivia says. “He’s starting a bonfire and wants everyone there for s’mores and family stories.

They moved it from tomorrow night to tonight because it might rain.

” She hoists a sleepy Camden higher on her hip.

“We tried to tell him we could just wait for you to text back, but you know Dad.”

“We’ll be right there,” Lauren says.

“Great!” Olivia says, then pauses, her gaze shifting between us. “Did we…interrupt something?”

“No!” Lauren says quickly, shaking her head. “Not at all.” Something in her tone makes me wonder if she’s relieved her sister found us right before we crossed a line we can’t turn back from.

Maybe I misread the signals. Maybe what almost happened was just her getting caught up in the night and everything we’ve been pretending.

It’s probably for the best we were interrupted, since we’re sharing a cabin.

Lines are getting blurred enough without adding a first kiss complication to the mix.

The walk to the bonfire is awkward, with Lauren keeping a careful distance away from me while chatting with her sister like nothing happened.

On our way, I drop my phone while fumbling for it in my pocket, and Lauren picks it up, her fingers accidentally swiping across the screen. The message notification glows in the darkness.

“Looks like there’s a message from someone named Lydia?” she says, stopping beside me.

I frown. “That’s my ex from college,” I say, taking the phone as Olivia and the kids keep walking. “She hasn’t contacted me since we graduated.”

Lydia

Saw your Instagram picture and wanted to ask if we could talk sometime. Would be great to see you again.

Lauren studies me. “What does she want? ”

“Lydia wants to get together. She saw the picture of me with Annie.”

“Oh,” Lauren says quietly, her expression shifting slightly. “Of course.”

“Of course?” I repeat, confused by her tone.

“Well, yeah. You go viral with an adorable puppy, looking…like that , and suddenly the ex wants back in the picture.” She lets out a dry laugh. “Classic.”

“Lauren, I have no interest in?—”

“It’s fine,” she cuts me off, waving a hand dismissively. “Not my business anyway. Our arrangement is just for the reunion, right?”

Her words hit me so hard I don’t know what to say.

She nods, not quite looking at me. “You know what? I’m not in the mood for a bonfire. I should get some sleep for tomorrow’s events.”

“Lauren—” I start, but she’s already turning away, heading back toward the cabin.

Something has changed between us, and I can’t figure out what. One moment we were about to kiss, and now she’s reminding me that this is all temporary.

“Goodnight, Tate,” she says over her shoulder before disappearing around the bend.

As I stand there, I realize that for all my analytical skills, I have no idea what just happened—only that whatever was happening between us now feels further away than ever.