He grins, leaning back like he's already won. "Oh, I don't have to wish, sugarplum. You just proved it."
"You're insufferable."
Zach grins, completely unfazed. "How about Thursday night? Just before I leave for the away game Friday morning."
I scrunch my nose. "Can't. I've got dance rehearsal that day..."
He nods, like he already expected that.
I start to think he's about to suggest another day when it hits me—Betsy mentioned earlier that she and Keith were heading out of town Thursday night for a performance in Orlando. Some big fall arts showcase or something.
Which means... no rehearsal.
I perk up. "Actually—Thursday night's perfect!"
Zach chuckles, lowering his head with that quiet, amused laugh of his that always makes my stomach do weird, fluttery things.
When he looks back up, he's smiling so wide it hurts to look at. All white teeth, all warmth.
"So, it's a date then?" I ask, trying (and failing) to hold back a giggle.
He pushes up slightly, closing the space between us, one hand brushing gently against my cheek as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to my lips—sweet, unhurried, the kind that leaves me smiling even after he pulls away.
His face stays close, our breaths mingling.
In a low, velvety voice, he murmurs, "It's a date."
He winks, and my heart does a full somersault.
CHAPTER thirty-eight
CAROLINE
The studio looks like chaos dressed in tulle and velvet.
Costume racks line every wall—row after row of pastel dresses, embroidered jackets, and glittering tutus. Half the room smells like fabric starch and the other half like hairspray. There's a flurry of satin ribbons, tiaras, and capes everywhere you look.
It's exactly the kind of beautiful mess only a theater department could create.
Across the room, Adam is the picture of regal grace... if regal grace involved wearing a Nutcracker head twice the size of his torso.
"Your Majesty, looking sharp!" someone calls out, and Adam responds by spinning dramatically, nearly knocking into a rack of costumes.
The entire room bursts into laughter.
Meanwhile, the Mouse King and his army are having the time of their lives in oversized gray suits and furry rat heads. One of them keeps dramatically fencing with his tail, another's trying to gnaw on a plastic sword.
I'm laughing as I make my way toward my section of the racks—the one markedCLARA / SUGAR PLUM PRINCESSin big block letters. My fingers brush through layers of fabric, soft and shimmering.
There's everything from delicate white nightgowns for Clara to sparkling pink tutus and bodices that look straight out of a fairytale.
Every shade of pink imaginable—rose, blush, bubblegum, even one so pale it's almost silver. The Sugar Plum gowns glimmer under the studio lights, covered in tiny hand-sewn crystals that catch every movement.
I can't help smiling as I lift one off the rack—a breathtaking pastel-pink bodice paired with a cascading tutu. "Okay," I whisper to myself, holding it against my front and turning to the mirror. "Maybe being exhausted every dayisworth it."
Behind me, Adam's muffled voice calls through the Nutcracker head:
"Hey, Care! Think this look is too subtle?"
