“Well, break it. You’re one of us now.”
“Since when?”
“Since you gave a four-year-old a stuffed dolphin she didn’t earn.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “That’s basically a binding social contract in Twin Waves.”
Before I can respond, the first firework explodes overhead—a burst of red and gold that makes everyone gasp and crane their necks skyward.
More follow. Blue and white and purple, cascading across the dark sky like someone spilled a jewelry box full of stars. The kids shriek with delight. Couples lean into each other. Even Grayson, usually too cool for sincere emotion, has his arm around Michelle and is watching with naked wonder on his face.
And Jessica, beside me in the dark, is beautiful.
The fireworks paint her face in shifting colors—red, then blue, then gold—and she’s smiling like the whole world is magic and she’s just noticed.
“I love this,” she says softly. “Every year, I forget how much I love it. And then the first one goes off, and I remember.”
“Remember what?”
“That some things are just good. Uncomplicated. You don’t have to analyze them or justify them. You just get to enjoy them.” She glances at me. “When’s the last time you let yourself enjoy something without overthinking it?”
I think about the letter in my pocket. About the reveal event. About all the secrets I’m carrying and all the ways they could destroy everything.
Then I think about this moment. The fireworks. The laughter. The woman beside me who makes me want to be braver than I am.
“Right now,” I say. “This. I’m enjoying this.”
Her smile softens into something that makes my chest ache. “Good. That’s a start.”
The grand finale explodes overhead—a rapid-fire succession of every color imaginable, the sky so bright it almost looks like daylight—and everyone cheers.
When it’s over, when the smoke is drifting and the crowd is starting to disperse, Jessica turns to me.
“Planning meeting. Tomorrow. Ten AM. Don’t be late.”
“I’m never late.”
“Don’t be insufferable either.”
“That’s a higher bar.”
“I believe in you.” She stands, brushing sand off her dress. “See you tomorrow, Scott. Try not to overthink it between now and then.”
She walks off to help Michelle fold blankets, and I’m left sitting on the beach with an empty beer and a heart that feels too big for my chest.
The letter is still in my pocket.
I pull it out, running my thumb over Between the Lines’s familiar handwriting.
Tomorrow, I’ll read it. I’ll face whatever invitation or confession or complication it contains.
Tonight, I let myself have this.
The memory of fireworks. The sound of her laugh. The wild, terrifying hope that maybe—maybe—there’s a version of this story where I don’t lose everything.
I tuck the letter away and head home, walking along the beach with the smell of gunpowder and salt water in the air and something that feels dangerously like happiness in my chest.
The letter is still sealedwhen I get home.
I sit on my couch, in my too-quiet condo, and stare at it for a long time.
