“Stop acting weird,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “It makes this whole situation even more fucked up than it already is.”
“What situation?” I play dumb even though we both know what he’s talking about.
He gives me a look that says he’s not buying it. “Look, we got carried away last night. It happens. It was practice, like you said.”
Practice. Right.
“We’re cool,” he continues. “Let’s just move forward. In fact, I was thinking I could help you get the guest house ready for your big date tomorrow.”
I stare at him, unable to process what I’m hearing. He wants to help me prepare for my date with Serena? After what happened between us? That part stings more than I care to admit.
“You want to help me get ready for my date,” I repeat flatly.
“Yeah, why not? You went all out last night with that dinner setup. Might as well recreate it for Serena, right? But with a fewupgrades.” He grins, oblivious to the turmoil churning inside me. “I was thinking string lights. Flowers. The works.”
“Sure,” I manage. “That would be…helpful.”
“Great!” He claps his hands together. “I snagged some decorations from Michaela—you know, the girl from my art class with the side business planning fancy campus events. She owed me a favor.”
Of course she did. Another in Kade’s long line of admirers, no doubt.
“Let’s get started then,” I say, resigned to the fact that whatever happened between us was one-sided. The heat, the connection I felt—it was just Kade being a good teacher, showing me how to make someone feel wanted. And I, the eager student, fell for the demonstration.
We head to the guest house, Kade chattering about his ideas for the space transformation. I follow in silence, watching the animated way he gestures, the confident set of his shoulders. This is the Kade I know—brash, enthusiastic, untouchable. Last night’s vulnerable version seems like a dream now.
Lulu meets us at the front door, her whole body wiggling with delight. At least someone’s happy to see me.
Inside, Kade dumps his backpack on the floor and starts pulling out supplies—fairy lights, candle holders, even a small vase.
“Where did you get all this?” I ask, surprised by his thoroughness.
“Like I said, Michaela. She does these fancy dinner setups for snooty students who want to impress their dates.” He winks at me. “Sound familiar?”
I ignore the jab. “I’ll bring the ladder.”
For the next few hours, we work in tandem, transforming the guest house into something from a romantic movie. Kade drapes string lights across the ceiling while I chop vegetables for tomorrow’s dinner prep. He arranges roses in crystal vases (where did he even find those?) while I marinate chicken and clean the bathroom until it sparkles.
“Hand me the hammer,” Kade calls from atop the stepladder. He’s securing hooks for the lights, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a strip of skin above his jeans.
I avert my eyes, grabbing the tool and passing it up to him. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and the simple contact sends electricity racing up my arm. Kade doesn’t seem to notice, continuing his work as if nothing happened.
“Hold the ladder steady,” he instructs, reaching farther than is safe.
I grip the sides of the ladder, trying not to stare at the way his muscles flex as he stretches. This close, I can smell him—that unique mix of his woodsy deodorant and something inherently Kade that made me dizzy last night.
“Earth to Emmett.” Kade waves a hand in front of my face. “I need the next strand.”
“Right, sorry.” I fumble with the lights, passing them up, embarrassed at being caught staring.
This continues for hours—me catching glimpses of Kade, him watching me when he thinks I’m not looking, both of us glancing away when caught. We work around each other, close but never touching, speaking but never about anything that matters.
As night falls, the transformed space comes alive. Tiny lights twinkle across the ceiling like stars. Candles wait on every surface, ready to be lit tomorrow. The kitchen is prepped with everything I need.
“One final touch.” Kade disappears into his room, returning with a small speaker. “For mood music. I made you a playlist.”
“You made me a playlist?” Something warm unfurls in my chest.
“Don’t get excited. It’s just songs that aren’t too lame but also won’t scare her off.” He connects his phone and hits play. Soft ambient music fills the room. “See? Not too aggressive, not too sappy. Perfect for a first real date.”
