“You’re stalling.”
“I’m not stalling.” She’s definitely stalling. “I’m helping.”
“You’re fidgeting.”
“I’m excited!” She fixes the collar again even though it’s already perfect. “It’s fun. You’ll love it.”
“What will I love?”
“The thing.” Very helpful, Alex. “The fun thing we’re doing.”
My eye catches the small resin dandelion sitting at her throat. She tightened the chain into a choker. It’s both delicate and perfect—those white seeds suspended forever in that moment before they scatter.
She hasn’t taken it off and swears she won’t.
My chest does something embarrassing. That warm, full feeling when someone forgives you for being terrible and loves you anyway.
She’s wearing my surrender to magic right against her throat. My proof that I finally believe in her way of knowing.
We almost lost this. Almost lost each other over my need to be right instead of her need to be heard.
And she forgave me anyway. Turned my apology into jewelry.
“You’re wearing it,” I say quietly.
“Of course I’m wearing it.” She touches it absently, like she’s forgotten it’s there. Like it’s just part of her now. “It’s my favorite thing anyone’s ever given me.”
“Alex—”
“Don’t get weird.” She grabs my shoulders, straightens my coat one more time. “Now. We’re bringing wine. It’ll be fun.” She adds a little whine to that last part. “For my birthday weekend. You know I celebrate all week before and after like a proper Aquarius-Pisces cusp princess.”
There it is. The trump card. The nuclear option.
And yeah. She gets whatever she wants.
“Fine.” I swat away her hands. Stop the fidgeting. “What are you bringing?”
“Rosé Moscato.” She tugs on her own coat. Grabs the wine carrier.
I hum in the back of my throat because rosé Moscato isn’t just wine we drink often. It’s the wine. The wine we drink when doing fun things together. Birthday dinners. Celebration nights. The good stuff.
Which makes this whole thing even more suspicious.
Very fucking suspicious.
“It’s Sunday, Alex.” I remind her as we walk out the door. Lock it behind us. “We’re skipping family dinner.”
“Yep.” She starts down the stairs. Practically bouncing.
“We never skip family dinner.”
“I already called!” She chirps over her shoulder. “Told them we had birthday plans we couldn’t move. Your mama said to take pictures.”
“Pictures of what?”
“You’ll see.” She grins back at me. “And I promised we’d be there next week with an update on your love life.” She makes air quotes around the last two words.
“My what now?”
