His mouth quirks. "We're never too old for prom."
"Pretty sure it's supposed to be homecoming," I shoot back.
"Well, technically, yeah." His mouth tips into a lopsided grin. "But I didn't want homecoming, Caroline. I wantedprom.Theprom. The one we never got three years ago."
He pauses, his voice soft but steady. "I always thought about what that night could've been—what itshould'vebeen. So..." his grin deepens, a spark in his eyes, "I figured it's about time I make it happen."
He tilts his head, that familiar mischief flickering across his face. "And since the next prom isn't until May—which feels like a lifetime away—I thought, why wait?"
His smile widens. "I'd rather bring prom to you."
I roll my eyes, cheeks burning. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously romantic," he corrects, leaning closer. I can't help it. I giggle. The whole thing is absurd and sweet and so veryhim.
He steps closer, the grin turning softer. "Stop making me wait, Sugarplum. Will you be my date or not?"
I arch a brow, playing along. "Do I have a choice?"
"No," he says without missing a beat, smirking.
I sigh dramatically and hold out my wrist. "Then of course, Zachary James Westbrook, I'll be your date."
His smile—the real one, the knee-buckling one—spreads across his face as he slides the corsage onto my wrist. Then, gently, he places my hand back on his arm.
When we step through the archway, the world transforms.
The gymnasium—normally plain and echoey—is unrecognizable. Twinkling chandeliers hang from the rafters, fairy lights drip like stardust, and a soft pink glow casts the whole room in a dream. The floor gleams like glass, reflecting couples twirling under a shower of glitter.
It'senchanted fairytaleperfection.
A red carpet stretches before us, and a photographer snaps a photo as Zach guides me forward. I barely notice; I'm too busy staring, completely dazed.
If Zach weren't beside me, his hand tightening around mine every few steps, I'd swear I'd fallen asleep and dreamed this whole thing up.
Music hums through the air. Students—our classmates, his teammates—fill the room. Lucy, Katie, and Tammie are dancing nearby, all dressed like woodland fairies, their wings catching the light. They spot me and wave, giggling like maniacs.
I narrow my eyes and mouth,Traitors.
They just laugh harder, spinning their partners—who, of course, are Zach's teammates.
We pass the refreshment table, where Sam—dressed like some ethereal elf princess in white satin—is trying to drag Elijah onto the dance floor. He's in a dark, princely outfit that totally matches hers, yet he's stubbornly sipping his drink, pretending not to hear her.
Unbelievable. She was in on this too?
And she actually looked genuinely worried earlier when I told her about Zach.
The nerve.
I shake my head, laughter bubbling in my chest.
Zach squeezes my hand gently, drawing my gaze back to him.
He stops in the middle of the dance floor, lights dimming to a warm, golden glow that glitters over us like a thousand tinystars. Zach looks down at me, his voice dropping low—almost teasing, almost careful.
"Dance with me?"
I don't even think. I just nod. Hard. Probably too fast.
