My chest tightens. “I know.”
Her shoulders square, bracing herself. “I want to tell him. Eli. He’ll lose his mind, but… he’ll get over it eventually. And I’msick of pretending I’m not with you when I am. Proudly and completely.”
The words hit me low and sharp and warm all at once. Proudly. Completely. Fuck, I want to haul her in and crush my mouth to hers, just so she knows I feel the same.
She hesitates, then shyly continues. “And… Christmas is coming up.” She toys with the mug handle, eyes darting to mine. “I’d really like you there with me. That is, if you don’t already have plans.”
I huff a laugh, though it feels rough in my throat. “Plans? Not really. My parents never made a big deal of holidays—they mostly told me to train, stay focused on the season. If I did anything, it was maybe an occasional dinner with extended family.”
Her face softens in a way that cracks me wide open. She slides off the stool, coming around the counter until she’s in front of me. Her hands find my hoodie, tugging lightly, and my chest aches when she whispers, “Then this year, be with me.”
I want to say yes. God, I want to say yes so bad it hurts. And I do, in a way. I lean down, press my forehead to hers, and whisper back, “Yeah. Yeah, I want that…”
She exhales, shaky with relief, and my hands settle on her hips, anchoring her there. Then the ache in my chest sharpens, and I force a slow breath, tipping her chin up with my finger so she can’t look away. “You haveno ideahow much I want that, Lu… But we’re not telling him yet.”
Her brows knit. “Logan—”
“Listen to me.” My thumb strokes her jaw, my voice sure even though my pulse is racing. “Your school production is in two weeks. You’re already carrying the weight of that on your back. If we tell him now, it’ll blow up and add pressure you don’t need. I’m not letting that happen. We wait until after. Then we tell him together.”
She hesitates, searching my face like she’s trying to gauge if I mean it. I do. More than anything. Finally, she nods, breath catching.
“Okay. After.”
Relief punches through me. I tilt her chin and kiss her slow, lingering like I can press every promise I can’t say yet straight into her mouth. “I’ll wait as long as you need, Lu. But I’m not letting go.”
Her arms slip around my waist, cheek pressing to my chest. “Good. Because I don’t want you to.”
And standing there with her in my shirt, her matcha still steaming on the counter behind us, it hits me all over again—Christmas, Eli, the whole damn world.
I love her.
And the only thing scarier than knowing it is knowing I’ll never want to stop.
Chapter thirty-one
Call me if you need bail money
Lulu
The multipurpose hall is a beehive, humming and about to swarm. Kids fidget on stage, costumes drooping or pinching in all the wrong places. My clipboard is a mess of crossed-out notes, and the tape dispenser is stuck to my wrist like a shackle.
This was supposed to be a punishment, a poisoned chalice.Let the sparkly young teacher sink or swim.They handed me the production after I dared hand Dylan—and half his friends—detentions for being dicks in class. Pamela had smiled that sharp PTA smile and said,“Maybe this will redirect your… energy.”
And I’d taken it, because I’m stubborn. Because I knew she expected me to crumble, and I refuse to give her the satisfaction.But mostly because the kids’ faces lit up when they heard, and they deserved something special.
“Hold still, Maddie—perfect. We’ll pin that hem later,” I say, crouching low. My knees crack, but I push up with a smile. “Remember, rehearsal is where we make mistakes. You’ll all look incredible by show night.”
From the back wall, the PTA brigade watch like hawks, their arms folded in sync, their smiles just a little too sharp.
“How unfortunate about the costumes,” one coos, voice dripping sympathy that doesn’t touch her eyes. “A shame the order forms seemed to have gotten… switched along the way.”
Another tilts her head, mock-concerned. “It’s such a lot for one young teacher to manage. Maybe too much.”
Snickers sound, soft but pointed.
Pamela kneels beside Dylan, fussing with his perfectly fine sash. “At least yours fits, sweetheart. Lucky you.” She glances at me as though she’s scored a point in a game I didn’t agree to play.
Heat crawls up my neck. “We’ll fix everything that doesn’t fit. No one’s getting left behind.”
