But Dylan didn’t do dates. Everyone knew that. And even if he did, he wouldn’t go for someone like her.
Right?
She sighed and tucked a frizzy strand of hair behind her ear, heart leaping when the bell above the front door jingled.
And then there he was.
Baseball cap. Fitted sweatpants. A heather gray Magnolia Bluff Football tee. Looking like he belonged on a billboard and somehow like he didn’t know it.
Dylan McKenzie had just walked into her favorite quiet place.
And for some reason… he’d walked in for her.
He spotted her in the back room and smiled— wide and easy, like he did this kind of thing all the time. Like he wasn’t the most talked-about guy on campus. Like her heart wasn’t currently attempting a prison break in her ribcage.
Ali swallowed hard and pressed the condensation-slicked cup to her lips, pretending to be mid-sip. Casual. Cool. Normal. She even nodded a little like,Oh hey, you found me,as if she wasn’t watching his every moveout of the corner of her eye.
He stopped at the counter, leaned on it with his forearms like he had all the time in the world. Said something to the barista that made her giggle with a sickly sweet, “Maaccccc! You’re too much!”
Good gawd.
Ali shifted in the deep armchair, crossing her legs and then immediately uncrossing them because she couldn’t get comfortable. Her shorts were riding up again under the skort and she tugged at the hem, heart racing. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the bookshelf and immediately swiped a hand through her hair, trying to flatten the frizz the humidity had claimed.
It’s just Dylan, she told herself.It’sliterallyDylan.
The boy who once punched his best friend in the face during her sophomore year in high school for calling her “pathetic” when she didn’t have a prom date. Who’d been sent to the principal’s office, got suspended for three days, and never even flinched when people asked why he did it.
Because, in his words, “You don’t get to talk about her like that. Not ever.”
He’d said it in the hallway, right in front of the vending machines. Right in front of her.
That was Dylan.
Not the star quarterback. Not Daisy’s older brother. Just… Dylan.
But now he was walking toward her with two iced coffees in hand and a tilt to his mouth that looked suspiciously like he knew she was spiraling. She straightened in her seat, pulled her face into something resembling a smile, and tried— desperately— not to die.
“Hey,” he said, sliding into the chair across from her like it was the easiest thing in the world. He passed her a cup. “I didn’t know if you’d already grabbed one, but figured I’d play it safe.”
“Thanks,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t come out all breathy and weird. “You were right.”
His smile deepened. “I usually am.”
And just like that, she was doomed.
They fell into easy conversation— like they always had. Laughing about how Daisy had spilled sweet tea all over the dinner rolls at Sunday supper, rolling their eyes at the sorority drama heating up on campus, and ranking the best iced coffee spots within a ten-mile radius like it was a scientific study.
It was comforting. Familiar. She could almost pretend her palms weren’t sweating, that her pulse wasn’t hammering behind her ribs every time he looked at her too long.
But somewhere between him making fun of her notebook tabs and her insisting he’d cry if he ever actually readA Walk to Remember, the air shifted.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, coffee cradled in his hands. “I like it here,” he said, glancing around the room with its mismatched chairs and soft music playing overhead. “It feels like a break.”
Ali blinked. “Yeah. That’s why I come. No one really talks in here. It’s like… everyone agrees to just be chill for a second.”
His gaze dropped to his cup, then back up to meet hers. “I think I needed that. A break. From all of it.”
She swallowed. “From football?”
