“Disasters with flawless skin,” Jeremy corrects. “And a developing plan for revenge.”
“Oh no,” I groan, flopping back against the pillows.
“Yes,” Jeremy hisses with glee. “We have glitter, crepe paper, a Bluetooth speaker, and access to the playlist I used to seduce my ex-boyfriend. Operation: Emotional Sabotage is a go.”
Nolan blinks. “Should I be concerned?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
Nolan raises a brow. “Please tell me this doesn’t involve glitter again.”
“Oh, sweet Rhodes,” Jeremy says, grinning as he picks up a notebook filled with hand-drawn maps and sticky notes. “It involvesso muchglitter.”
Nolan just leans back, towel turban slipping slightly, and says, “If anyone asks—I was never here.”
Maya lets out a long, slow breath. “Thank you. All of you. This was... what I needed.”
Jeremy raises his can of questionable seltzer. “To healing. And to not punching A-list actors. No matter how punchable their faces are.”
Nolan lifts his, too. “And to future sex tapes with people who deserve us.” He winks at me.
We all laugh, and for a moment, the heaviness lifts.
Later, Maya curls up in my bed, face wiped clean, breathing finallysteady. Jeremy stumbles out the door muttering something about peeing in Asher’s exfoliant.
There’s a calm now, the kind that only comes after a storm of truth, carbs, and group confessionals under face masks that smelled faintly of menthol.
I turn and find Nolan still in my living room, standing barefoot near the window, hands in the pockets of his joggers, a soft navy tee stretched across his chest. The string lights from the patio cast golden specks across his face, and when he looks at me, there’s something in his expression that’s so open—so unguarded—it makes my throat tighten.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Hey,” he murmurs, just as soft.
The silence is no longer thick. It’s not fragile. It’s full of the kind of pull that brings you closer without a word.
I take a step toward him.
He meets me halfway.
Nolan reaches for my hand, threads his fingers through mine, and leads me through the connected door quietly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And it is.
We pause just inside his suite, the soft hush of the ocean still audible beyond the windows. He turns to face me, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand.
“I have something for you,” he says, voice almost shy. “Picked it up at the island market earlier today.”
My head tilts. “You got me a souvenir?”
His lips twitch into a crooked smile as he reaches into the drawer of the nightstand and pulls out a small, soft pouch. He presses it into my hand with no ceremony, only quiet intention.
Inside lies a modest bracelet, made of twine and wooden beads polished smooth by time. At its center, a small anchor charm sways gently when I lift it.
“I saw it and thought… yeah. That’s her.” His eyes meet mine, nervous and searching. “Stubborn. Strong. You make other people feel safe, even when your in the middle of your own storm.”
My throat tightens. “Nolan…”
“It’s nothing fancy,” he says, like he’s more nervous now. “But it reminded me of you.”
