“She told me she loves me,” he said.
Naomi blinked. “She did?”
“She didn’t mean to.” He scratched the back of his neck, voice softer now. “It just…happened at the end of a text. She was tired. Distracted. Didn’t even catch it at first. But when I told her, she didn’t backpedal. She meant it. Sent it in writing, too.”
Naomi’s face shifted, something gentle in her smile. “And how areyoufeeling about it?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze moved to Zoey, still laser-focused on her tablet, and then to the sidewalk outside the big front window—families strolling past boutique shops and a bubble machine sputtering in the town square. Celebration had a way of feeling like a snow globe town, charming and surreal.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said finally. “Not in my whole damn life.”
Rocky let out a quiet breath. “Well, damn.”
Naomi reached across the table and gave Dylan’s hand a light squeeze. “Good. She’s good for you. You’ve been lighter lately. Softer.”
Dylan smirked. “Don’t let the team hear that.”
“They already know,” Rocky muttered. “You’ve been humming in the locker room. I thought you had a head injury.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. I’m happy for you.”
Dylan nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks. I think I’m finally where I’m supposed to be.”
Today Was a Fairytale
Ali
The sky outside had shifted from soft blue to dusky lavender, the last light of day melting behind Ali’s blackout curtains. Inside her bedroom, the glow of the TV cast flickers across the walls, the air thick with the scent of popcorn, lip balm, and the faintest trace of peppermint lotion from earlier.
Ali and Ashley were still piled under the comforter in their pajamas—Ali in one of Dylan’s old shirts and fuzzy socks, Ashleyin her “Get In Loser, We’re Going Snacking” set from Etsy. At some point, the throw blanket from the couch had migrated in, and now it was tangled around both of them like a fleece burrito.
The end credits of theHannah Montanaseason one finale scrolled across the screen.
Ashley exhaled dramatically. “Okay. Miley’s officially lied to too many people, and I need something with singing and high-stakes talent show drama.”
Ali cracked open one eye. “You’re thinkingCamp Rock,aren’t you?”
Ashley looked insulted. “When am InotthinkingCamp Rock?”
Ali grinned. “Sold.”
Ashley backed out of Disney+ with the precision of someone disarming a bomb. “Camp Rockone. We do not acknowledge the sequel.”
Ali reached for her phone and opened the DoorDash app. “We need sugar. And fries. Maybe a quesadilla. Something with a shocking number of carbs.”
“Root beer float,” Ashley said, pointing at nothing in particular. “From that diner place.”
Ali was already typing. “I’m getting the cookie skillet. Don’t fight me.”
“As if I’d ever fight a skillet cookie.”
By the time the trailer montage started to play and Demi Lovato looked dramatically at her reflection in a pond, the order was placed, their stomachs growled in anticipation, and Ashley was full-on harmonizing with the intro music like she was auditioning forThe Voice: Pajama Edition.
Ali laughed and curled deeper into the blanket. The day had been nothing but fleece and feel-good chaos, and honestly? She needed it. She hadn’t touched her email, hadn’t brushed her hairsince 10 a.m., and hadn’t once let herself overthink Dylan’s last message.
Okay, maybe once.
Twice.
