A couple walks past, the woman in a white dress that catches the string lights, and the guy's holding her hand like he's afraid she'll disappear. Newlyweds, maybe. Or just in love. And I'm watching them when it hits—Evan never came back. Never showed up demanding I come home or making a scene. Just disappeared, like I always suspected he would when faced with anything real. My parents called for a while after that. Pleading, then angry, then disappointed. The holy trinity ofparental manipulation. I blocked them months ago, and it hurt—still hurts sometimes, that empty space where they should be but aren't.
But then Finn steals the last taco from Holt's plate and Holt just shakes his head, resigned, and Maeve waves from across the square, and Holt's fingers are still splayed on my back.
This is my family. Better. Real.
"You know what's weird?" I say.
"What?" Holt's voice is low, just for me.
"I can't remember the last time I thought about running."
Finn freezes mid-chew, then swallows hard. "That's because you're not a flight risk anymore. You're stuck with us."
"Good." I mean it with everything in me. "I like being stuck."
Holt squeezes my hand where it's resting on my thigh, and I squeeze back, feeling the rough calluses against my palm. His hands. Hands I know as well as my own now. Hands that fix engines and hold me steady and make me come undone.
"Come with me," Holt says, low against my hair.
I tilt my head to look at him. "Where?"
"You'll see."
He stands, pulling me up with him, and his hand finds mine like it always does. Finn raises his eyebrows but doesn't comment, just grins and waves us off with his beer bottle.
"We'll be back," I call over my shoulder.
"Take your time!" Finn hollers. "But not too much time! You're missing the band!"
Holt leads me through the crowd, past the food trucks and the families and the groups of teenagers clustered around the edges. Past the last string of lights and into the quieter space at the edge of town, where the festival sounds fade to something distant and the desert opens up around us. My pulse is pounding and I don't know why. We walk in silence for a minute, his handwarm and steady in mine, until we reach the overlook—the one that looks out over the whole valley, where you can see the lights of Coyote Bend spread out below.
"What are we doing?" I ask, and my voice comes out softer than I meant it to.
"I want to show you something."
But he's not looking at the view. He's looking at me, and his jaw goes tight. Nervous. Holt Ward is nervous.
"It's beautiful," I say, trying to fill the silence because that's what I do, that's who I am. "The moon's so bright—"
"Scout."
I stop talking. Look at him. He's backlit by moonlight and the distant glow of the festival.
"Holt?" My voice is barely a whisper. "You okay?"
"I'm good." He takes a breath. "Just—I need to say something."
Oh god. My heart's trying to punch through my ribs. "Okay."
"I'm not good with words. You know that."
"I know." I squeeze his hand. "You don't have to—"
"But I know what I want." His ocean-blue eyes lock on mine, steady and sure despite the nerves I can see threading through him. "And I want this. Every day. You, me, Finn being an idiot. The shop. This town. All of it."
I can't breathe. I know what's happening. I know, and my eyes are already stinging.
"I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life." His voice drops, goes rough. "I want to fight about where to put tools and eat takeout on the couch and fix engines until we're old and gray. I want you to talk my ear off every morning and fall asleep on me every night. I want—"
