I grin. “Relax, Grandpa. I’ll only get the ones that sparkle.”
His groan rumbles through the line, and I bite my lip to hide my laugh.
“Alright, I’ve gotta get back and shower before work.”
“Don’t let me keep you, Ms. Parnell.” His voice drops just enough to send heat rushing through me. “But maybe think of me while you do.”
“Logan.”
He chuckles low. “What? Just saying good morning.”
“Your version of good morning needs an HR department.”
He chuckles low, the sound curling warm in my ear. “Bye, baby.”
The line clicks dead, and I lie there in the grass with the phone pressed to my chest, wondering how one stupid word manages to rearrange every bone in my body whenever he says it.
After a moment, I tuck the phone in my pocket and stretch back onto my feet. Dusty trots up to me from where he’s been sniffing a tree trunk, and I clip his leash back on for the jog back down the hill.
“Don’t worry, bud,” I whisper. “We’ll make him love his birthday, even if I have to shove cake in his mouth myself.”
***
By lunchtime, the only thing on my desk that isn’t covered in rehearsal notes is a crushed protein bar wrapper. My kids are playing, the production countdown is ticking, and the PTA email chain still hasn’t stopped. I’m meant to be eating, but instead, I’m sketching out another rehearsal plan before the PTA can accuse me of being unprepared.
My phone buzzes against the pile of papers, and when I look down, I see the girl’s chat lighting up the screen.
That’s Between Us and God
Zoe:Bachelorette night agenda: 1) champagne tower, 2) sequins, 3) Charlie loses her voice screaming ABBA by 11 p.m.
Charlie:Correction: Charlieleadsthe ABBA choir until 2 a.m.
Tamara:Step 4: Zoe gets cut off at the bar.
Claire:And step 5: I film all of it for blackmail.
I grin, thumbs flying.
Me:Don’t worry. I’ll bring sequins big enough to double as disco balls.
Zoe:Luluisthe disco ball.
Tamara:With Lulu, the sparkle quota is already met.
Charlie:100%. Remember her Harry Styles outfit? Head. To. Toe.
Claire:I wanna be blinded the second you walk in.
God, I love them. But when I close the chat, the tabs of dresses on my laptop stare back at me. Sequins, metallics, satin—all things I’d normally jump at. Things that usually feel like me. Today, they just feel like choices I can’t make, one more thing piled on top of the other.
The idea of organizing an “iconic” outfit feels overwhelming. They’re all too much, or not enough. My head’s jammed full of scripts, PTA sabotage, the bachelorette, Logan’s birthday… and the way he makes me want to stop hiding.
The enthusiasm’s still there, it’s just buried under the noise. Buried under the ache of keeping something this big tucked away where no one can see it.
I want to shine. I want to sparkle for them, for me. But right now, I’m just tired.
I hadn’t realized how heavy it would feel, carrying love as a secret. How it presses down until you start craving the air of being seen. Wanting him in secret is one thing—it’s fun, sexy, intimate. But wanting him out loud feels lighter. Truer. More permanent.
