I jerk around, heart in my throat. Principal Delacourt stands just offstage, heels sharp against the floor and her arms folded—not in judgment, as I’ve now learned, but in calculated control.
Her heels click as she steps closer. “Breathe,” she says, reaching past me to catch a slipping snowflake from the backdrop and hold it steady. “You’ve done something remarkable here, don’t let them rattle you.”
I blink. “The PTA—”
“Are terrified of losing control.” Her voice doesn’t rise, but the edge in it is unmistakable. “And you’ve proven they never had it to begin with.”
I blink at her, stunned.
“You think glitter makes a show?” she adds, one brow lifting. “You’ve got an auditorium full of parents here because your students believe in this. Inyou. Well done.”
I stare at her, stunned. Then nod, just once.
She presses the last pin back into place, smooths the snowflake onto the backdrop, and gives me a look that saysyou’ve got thisfar louder than words ever could.
Then, she turns on her heel and disappears back out to the wings and into the audience. The curtain ripples as I duck my head through, peering out into the auditorium after her.
It’s a full house. Parents packed shoulder to shoulder, murmuring and flipping through programs. In the front row, the crew is mostly here, bright-eyed and steady, like they’re here to anchor me. And with them is Eli.
Our gazes collide, and for a heartbeat, the noise fades. His jaw is set, but then his expression shifts into something softer. His hand lifts and he taps his chest twice, the same little gesture he used to throw me across the rink boards when I was a kid. Our shorthand forI love you.
Tears sting, hot and sudden, as I return it. I swallow them down because the kids are tugging at me again. One wants to change their line, another’s crown has snapped clean in half, and then a shriek erupts as a star backdrop tilts dangerously sideways.
I bolt back behind the curtain, catching the edge of the set before it topples. My pulse hammers as I try to pin it back up with shaking hands.
“Oh, fu—fudge! No, no, no!” I scramble onto a chair, stretching on my toes to reach the top edge, fingers scrabbling uselessly atthe pin that’s supposed to hold it in place. My hair falls in my face, my dress catches on the chair leg, and I can hear the PTA already whispering, waiting for the collapse.
“Hold, dammit!” I mutter, tugging and fighting against time. The curtain’s going up in less than five minutes, the kids are squealing, and my heart’s punching through my ribs. My fingers slip, the screw refuses to catch, and panic rises sharp in my throat as the backdrop creaks.
A hand slides up past mine, solid and sure. Bigger than mine, bracing the backdrop like it weighs nothing.
“I got you, Lu.”
I freeze as the familiar voice rasps low behind me, gravely from injury and distance, but I’d know it anywhere.
My breath stumbles as I twist, and there he is—Logan. Standing half in the shadows, bruised temple still faintly swollen, Storm hoodie on his tall frame. His eyes aren’t glassy anymore. They’re locked on me, clear and fierce.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I whisper, even as every part of me aches at the sight of him.
“Yeah, well. I wasn’t supposed to fall for you either.” His mouth crooks, then steadies. “Didn’t stop me.”
The backdrop holds, but he gives it one more nudge with his hand, his other curling gently around my wrist, grounding me as I step down off the chair. “I need to say this before that curtain goes up and before you walk out there thinking I regret a single second of you.”
My throat closes. “Logan—”
“It wasn’t you.” His words come out in a rush, clawing their way out of him. “Last night, I was out of it. ThemistakeI mentioned was not telling Eli sooner, not telling him we were together. Butyou?”
He breaks off, eyes fierce as they pin me in place.
“Tallulah, you changed everything I thought I wanted. It was all black and white before you.”
My lips part, breath snagging, but no sound comes.
“I love you,” he cuts in, before I can speak. His hand tightens around my wrist, gaze burning into me. “I’m so in love with you, it terrifies me. Almost as much as your brother does.” His mouth tips in a fleeting grin, then steadies. “But I’ll never be sorry for it. Not when I made a wish for you on a dandelion.”
The words slam into me and heat bursts behind my eyes as I recall that morning at my lookout spot months ago. I’d dragged him up before dawn, made him hold that wildflower, andtold him he had to make a wish. He’d muttered under his breath like it was ridiculous, and I thought he’d never actually do it. But he did.
He’d made a wish.
