I stand up, needing to move, to process. "I think I need some air."
My parents exchange concerned glances.
"I'm fine," I insist. "I just need to clear my head. Bash, will you join me please?"
He's on his feet immediately. “Right behind you, Shortcake.”
I cross to my parents and wrap them both in a hug. "Thank you. For everything."
"We love you, Charlotte," Mom says, holding me tight.
"So much," Dad adds.
I nod, unable to speak past the sudden lump in my throat. Bash places his hand lightly on my lower back, a steady presence as we head toward the back door.
"Coats," Emily calls, tossing them to us. "Don't need another medical emergency."
We both grab a coat from the rack and slide the door open.
The cold air hits me like a slap when we step outside, but it's clarifying. The sky is darkening already, winter sunset painting the snow in shades of purple and blue.
We walk to the edge of the porch. I brush snow off the railing and then lean on it.
"I can't believe she did that," I finally say. "I mean, I knew she didn't like me, but to deliberately—" I shake my head, unable to complete the thought.
"If I ever see her again—" Bash starts, his voice tight.
"You won't do anything," I cut him off. "Because you're not that person, and she's not worth it."
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "She could have killed you, Charlie."
"I know." The reality of it settles over me, heavy and cold. "But she didn't. I'm still here."
Bash turns to me, his eyes intense in the fading light. "When I got back with your EpiPen and saw that your lips were starting to turn blue—" He breaks off, swallowing hard. "I've never been so scared in my life. Not when I shattered myknee, not when I was caught in that avalanche in France. Nothing compares to watching you—" He squeezes his eyes shut and doesn't finish the sentence.
I take his hand between both of mine. His fingers are cold, and I rub them gently.
"I'm still here," I repeat. "And I'm not going anywhere."
He's quiet for a long moment, just looking at me. Then he says, "I need to tell you something, Charlie."
My heart instantly picks up speed. "Okay."
"This hasn't been fake for me. Not for a single moment since we got here."
"I know," I whisper.
"No, you don't," he says, his voice low and serious. "I need you to understand. When you asked me to do this with you, I thought maybe we could start over. That I could show you I'm not the guy you thought I was. But this—us—it's become so much more than that."
The intensity in his eyes makes it hard to breathe for entirely different reasons than last night. His blue irises darkening to a stormy, electric shade that feels like it’s aimed straight through me.
"Last night, I realized something." He takes a deep breath. "I realized I don't want to pretend anymore," he continues, stepping closer. "I want this—us—to be real. I want to be your actual boyfriend, not just someone playing a part for your family."
"Bash, I—"
"You don't have to say anything," he interrupts, his thumb brushing my cheek. "I know it's fast and complicated with work, and I'm not asking you to make any declarations. I'm just telling you where I stand."
A laugh bubbles up, unexpected and light. "Will you let me finish?"
