He shook his head slowly. “From pretending like I don’t know what I want.”
The words hung there— heavy and completely out of place next to their earlier talk about croissant quality and first editions.
Ali froze, her fingers curling around her cup.
He didn’t move. Didn’t look away.
She could feel it. Whatever this was, whatever he was trying to say without saying it— it was real.
“Dylan…” she started, but he cut her off, soft and steady.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just—” He exhaled, watching her. “You’re not like anyone else. And maybe you don’t see it, but I do. I have for a long time.”
She sat there, unsure if her brain had short-circuited or if the world had just tilted a little off-center.
Because Dylan McKenzie was looking at her like she was something he’d been looking for.
And for once, she didn’t want to run.
The weeks that followed settled into a rhythm that felt almost too good to be real.
A couple of evenings a week, just after her last class, Ali would head to The Cup & Chaucer. Dylan would already be there—usually in a tee and ball cap, tucked into the corner of the back room with two iced coffees and that lopsided smile he seemed to reserve just for her.
Their dates weren’t flashy. Sometimes they barely talked— just shared a playlist and read side by side. Other nights, they stayed until the shop closed, deep in conversation about everything from their childhood memories together to their plans for the future. Dylan was prepared to be drafted in the NFL. He was ready, and he knew it. Ali wasn’t as sure but knew she had to follow her passion for writing. She didn’t know if she would be a published author, a content writer, or even a freelance copywriter but was confident the right place would find her when the time was right.
She started to look forward to these evenings with an ache in her chest, one that felt suspiciously like happiness.
By their third week, something had shifted again. It wasn’t just easy anymore. It was charged. Quiet but electric.
That Friday night, as she walked with him to the parking lot behind the coffee shop, her steps were slower than usual. She didn’t want it to end. She lingered at her car, one hand gripping her keys, the other stuffed in her hoodie pocket as she tried to think of something—anything—clever to say.
Instead, Dylan stepped forward.
He didn’t ask. Just cupped her face gently, like she might spook and bolt if he moved too fast.
Then he kissed her.
It was soft and certain, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission but gave her every chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
By the time he pulled back, her whole body felt lit up from the inside, like someone had flipped a switch she didn’t know was there.
He rested his forehead lightly against hers. “Go with me tomorrow,” he said, voice low.
She blinked, still catching her breath. “Where?”
“The party. At TDE. After the game.” His eyes searched hers. “Come with me as my girlfriend.”
Her breath caught. The word girlfriend echoed in her head like it was too big, too impossible.
But then he smiled again— that same quiet, grounded smile that made her feel like maybe she could be brave.
She nodded.
And for the first time, the world didn’t feel scary at all.
It felt like she was going to say“yes”. But then he saw the anxiety in her eyes and gently offered, “I’ll tell Daisy.”
