And then his voice shifts again, all earnest, no jokes, no sarcasm—just Zach, stripped down to the part of him that kills me every time.
"I know prom's tomorrow. Probably too late to be doing this, but... you deserve better than 'probably.' You deserve to be asked.Properly."
My stupid heart basically launches into orbit.
"So," he says, lifting the necklace out of the box, "this is me—officiallyasking you, Caroline Bernadette Pennington, to be my date for prom."
The cool brush of the chain grazes my skin as he fastens it around my neck. His fingers linger for just a second too long at the clasp, and my whole body feels like it's glowing.
I touch the heart pendant gently, stroking it like it's fragile glass. My throat burns. My eyes sting. I'm supposed to say something—anything—but my voice is gone.
I'm too full. Too... everything.
"As soon as you told me about wanting to go as the Sugarplum Princess, I knew I had to find you the necklace to match. Couldn't let you walk in without it. It wouldn't be right." Zach adds quickly, his crooked smile returning just a little.
Then, his brows knit, panic flickering in his eyes. "Wait. You didn't already get one, did you? Crap, I should've asked first—"
That breaks me out of my trance, and I laugh through the tears threatening to spill.
Shaking my head, I manage, "No. I actually forgot. I was bummed about it, but... Zach, this... this is perfect. Thank you."
And he just smiles at me like giving me the world was no big deal.
I don't even think. I just launch at him, arms wrapping so tight around his neck I'm basically trying to fuse us into one human.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I'm babbling into his shoulder, squeezing the hell out of him like maybe if I crush hard enough, he'll feel just how happy he makes me. "You're the best. Best friend ever."
Best boyfriend ever too, if you'd just freaking let yourself be.
He laughs, muffled against my hair, arms banding around me just as tight. "Okay, okay, I get it. You're welcome."
Somehow, in the middle of all the hugging chaos, we lose balance and flop backward. His back hits the mattress with a soft thud, dragging me down with him.
For a second, we're both cracking up, grinning so wide our faces probably look deranged.
And then... the laughter fades. The grins soften.
Silence drops like a stone.
Because suddenly I realize where I'm lying.
On top of him.
And suddenly I realize how close our faces are.
Too close.
My pulse goes ballistic. My lungs forget how to function. His eyes—God, those enchanting silver orbs—lock onto mine, and then I see it. The flicker. The shift. The moment they dip down, lingering on my lips like they're magnetic and he can't help himself.
I swear my brain crashes like a bad Wi-Fi connection.
His throat bobs, swallowing hard.
And I'm internally screaming.
Oh God. Oh God.
Tell me I'm not imagining this. Tell me I'm not being delusional thinking Zach Westbrook actually looks like he wants to kiss me.
