I glance across the lawn where Caleb is half-heartedly participating in the bouquet dodgeball challenge, wincing every time he moves. I can't help but think about how I woke up this morning, tangled in sheets that smelled like him.
The memory of falling asleep is hazy, but I remember the solid warmth of him, the way his fingers had traced lazy patterns on my skin. How safe it felt to drift off against his chest. But by sunrise, he was gone—back to that stupid couch, blankets arranged in a careful barrier that screamed "let's pretend this never happened."
Now he's moving stiffly, clearly sore, and a dull ache blooms beneath my sternum. Because apparently, we're both really good at pretending last night was just another almost-moment in our growing collection of them.
"Watch your left, Ivy!" Matt lunges forward, deflecting a bouquet aimed at my head. His dark blond hair's a mess from diving around the field, but his grin is genuine when he helps me up. Before I can thank him, a thorny projectile catches my shoulder and Carter rushes to my side, his hand landing on my waist.
"You okay?" he asks. "Let me help—"
"I'm fine!" I step away, bumping into Preston, who's treating this like a hostile corporate takeover.
"Team Risky Business, huddle up!" Preston calls out. He gathers our team—me, Matt, Carter, and Dottie—into a tight circle. "The other teams are falling apart. The Hot Girl Agenda can barely stay focused, and The In-Laws . . ." He glances across the field with a calculating smile.
I follow his gaze to where Caleb's team is unraveling faster than a bargain-bin sweater.
Virginia's sleek black bob snaps as sheaccidentallypelts Jefferson with roses, even though he's on her team. He fires back, with suspiciously accurate aim for someone claiming to miss. Magnolia's gone full Southern general, honey-blond waves slipping free from her perfect chignon as she barks out orders no one follows. Greg stands off to the side, arms crossed, while Caleb tries to participate despite his father's running commentary.
"This is pointless," Greg mutters. "Standing around throwing flowers . . ."
The rest of his sentence disappears in a face full of roses, as Dottie's throw hits him square in the nose. The lawn goes silent, and my hand flies to my mouth as Dottie's eyes widen in horror.
"Oh my goodness, Greg, I am so sorry!" She rushes forward, overriding team divisions. "I was aiming for Jefferson, but you know how my arthritis acts up!"
Greg blinks, petals falling from his face, looking so bewildered that Caleb bursts out laughing. For a moment, he just stands there, frozen in shock, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"Dorothy Miller," he finally sputters, wiping rose petals from his cheeks, "did you just—"
"It was an accident, dear." Dottie's voice is sweet as pie, but there's a spark in her eyes. She brushes a petal from his shoulder with deliberate care. "Though your face does look lovely with a bit of color."
Something shifts in Greg's expression and he clears his throat, cheeks flushing deeper than the rose petals.
"Well," he mutters, "guess you still have that softball armfrom high school."
"Oh, you remember that?" Dottie's eyebrows lift slightly. "Thought you'd forgotten."
She turns with a little bounce in her step that makes her look twenty years younger, leaving Greg staring after her with his mouth still half-open.
Preston winks at Dottie when she hurries back to our side. "Remind me never to underestimate you, Dorothy."
"Thirty seconds!" Kristal shouts. "Make them count, people!"
Carter edges closer. "Stay behind—"
I retreat toward Dottie, who's somehow turned into our team's secret weapon.
"Ten seconds!"
Across the field, Team Hot Girl Agenda is living up to their name. Mary pretends to stumble, her black hair swinging as she conveniently elbows Sarah. Wyatt launches into a dramatic save that nobody asked for, and Dean and Dixie . . . are they actually making out behind that hedge?
"Time!" Kristal's whistle pierces the air. "Team Risky Business takes round one! Now, prepare yourselves for the Cake Tower Relay! And someone please separate Dean and Dixie before this becomes an issue!"
As everyone shuffles toward the next station, my gaze catches on Caleb. He's stripped off his hoodie in the morning heat, leaving him only in his team's royal blue pinnie and a dark green T-shirt. The fabric clings to his chest, and suddenly I forget we're even supposed to be competing.
"Ivy!" Preston's voice cuts through my not-so-subtle ogling of Caleb's sweat-damp curls. "If you're done admiring the competition, some of us are trying to win."
I yank at my own red pinnie, suddenly too warm despite the morning breeze. Caleb glances over, catching me staring. Something heated flashes across his face before he looks away.
"The rules are simple," Kristal announces, gesturing to three wobbly tables laden with cake tiers. "Each team must carry their cake through the obstacle course. Sabotage is . . ." she pauses dramatically, "encouraged."
