“No. Absolutely not. I would rather eat my own camera.”
Charlie beams. “Good. Terror looks great on you.”
Holly squeezes my elbow. “Deep breath. You're not exposing anything you haven't already lived.”
I don't tell her she's wrong.
I'm not worried about surviving this.
I'm worried about him.
Because Everett Morgan is about to walk in here and see—everything. Every feeling I stitched together out of hope, fear, and darkroom chemicals. Every stupid teenage note. Every picture I took because looking directly at him felt like stepping off a cliff. Every quiet moment I loved him because loving him out loud hurt too damn much.
The doors open behind us.
Guests shuffle in—families, couples, college kids who definitely did not plan to witness a public emotional autopsy today.
Tara's crew enters next, cradling equipment, faces pinched. Tara herself comes last, jaw locked, radiating twelve varieties of “I don't like this.” Her smile has frozen into something brittle. Her fingers twitch toward her phone, then stop.
That's right. You can't spin this.
Then Shelley walks in, followed by Bruce—arms crossed, shoulders squared, wearing the expression of a man who's been told this is a community event but suspects an ambush.
Shelley waves. “He thinks this is a community event.”
Of course he does.
Bruce absolutely saidSure, honey, likewe aren't in a blizzard with a shelter-in-place alert. More likely, he's looking for an excuse to check on Everett without admitting he's worried. Or curious. Or both.
Let's be honest: Shelley made him come. Which is exactly why I like her—big Grammie Bea energy with the calm authority of a woman who solves problems before anyone else even notices them.
Bruce scans the boards, the photos, the crowd.
Then—
He sees Everett.
Everett comes in from the back hallway, flanked by Roman, Nolan, and Caleb like he's being escorted to his own sentencing.
His eyes find mine.
One brow lifts.What are you up to?
I don't answer. Can't. My voice has already evacuated.
He looks steady. A little tired, a little bruised under the eyes, but open. Waiting. Trusting me with something huge.
God help me.
“All right,” I whisper. “Let's ruin my entire life.”
Holly nudges me forward. “Showtime.”
I step into the center of the room. My knees tremble. My voice doesn't get the memo about subtlety.
“Hi! Everyone! Um. Hi.”
Strong start. Real professional.
