He shrugged, cheeks coloring. “No reason.”
My stomach did a slow, guilty flip. Oh, God. What if he’d noticed something? Kids see everything.
“Is this a general question,” I said carefully, “or do you want to know something in particular about… me?”
Will’s head snapped up. “What? No. I just— There’s this girl at school. Casey.” He groaned, pulling the blanket up to cover most of his face. “Forget it.”
I exhaled, equal parts relieved and mortified. “Okay, okay, let’s not forget it just yet. Tell me about this Casey.”
He couldn’t look at me, “I don’t know if she knows I like her. Or if she likes me. Or if she even knows I exist.”
“That’s an awful lot of not knowing,” I said softly, holding back a smile. To be that young and innocent again. I remembered my first uncertain forays into romance and how good those butterflies always felt.
In fact, nothing much had changed in twenty years of doing the dance.
He cracked a smile, relaxing a little. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want her to think I’m dumb.”
“She won’t,” I told him. “The best thing you can do is just be honest. Tell her how you feel, even if it’s scary. And whatever happens—whether she likes you back or not—you’ve still got people who love you. You’ll be okay.”
Will nodded, looking thoughtful. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
His grin was small but real. “Thanks, Maren.”
“Anytime.” I stood and turned out the light. “Now sleep. Or at least pretend to.”
“Night,” he mumbled.
Back in the hallway, I leaned against the wall for a second, smiling to myself. He’d probably forget the conversation by morning. But I wouldn’t. Not for a very long time.
Because somewhere between giving him advice and hearing it out loud, something had shifted in me.
I’d told him to be honest. To go for what he wanted, even if it meant not getting it.
Maybe it was time I did the same.
I grabbed my purse from the hook by the door and headed out.
*
Neiman Marcus looked different after hours.
The escalators were still, the mannequins locked behind dark glass displays, and the Christmas playlist that had looped all afternoon had finally gone silent. Without the crowds, the whole place felt like it was holding its breath. My boots echoed softly against the tiled floor as I made my way past abandoned counters and a half-finished tree display.
Everywhere I looked, there were traces of the life I thought I wanted. Structured, predictable, safe. The version of me who used to color-code lesson plans and meal prep on Sundays would’ve hated the emptiness here. She would’ve said it felt lonely. But tonight, the quiet felt like permission.
A few weeks ago, I was supposed to be rebuilding. Fixing what fell apart. Getting my life “back on track.” That was the plan.
Except—since then—nothing about me had stayed on track. I wasn’t even sure I wanted that track anymore.
I told myself I was just coming here to check on progress. Make sure Ethan, Miles, and Adrian hadn’t worked themselves into the ground. But the truth buzzed under my skin, restless and hot. I wanted to see them for reasons other than a wellness check.
I followed the faint hum of a drill coming from the shoe department in the back of the store, weaving through racks of velvet ottomans and fake snow-covered garlands. The air smelled like pine and paint and whatever faint cologne had rubbed off on one of the wool coats still hanging nearby.
When I found Adrian, he was half-crouched on a ladder, adjusting a strand of lights above a sprawling winter display. Paper snowflakes were suspended in midair like they were caught between falling and floating.
“Hi,” I said softly.
