"You okay?" he murmurs.
"Better than okay." I pull out the cookie dough ice cream and turn to face him. "I'm happy. Genuinely, stupidly, can't stop smiling happy. And it's terrifying."
"Good terrifying or bad terrifying?"
"Good." I stretch up and kiss him, quick and sweet. "Definitely good."
From the table, someone wolf whistles. Probably Nacho.
I flip them off without looking, and Carlos laughs against my mouth.
Yeah. This is home.
And I'm never running from it again.
24
JESSICA
The Largo Waters General Store smells like produce and floor wax and the particular staleness of fluorescent lighting.
I grab a cart from the corral near the entrance and wheel it past the automatic doors, which slide open with a pneumatic hiss that always makes me think of airlocks in science fiction movies. Like I'm entering a spaceship instead of a small-town grocery store with linoleum floors from 1987.
The store is quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. A few elderly shoppers drift through the aisles, their carts rattling over the uneven flooring. Muzak plays from speakers mounted in the ceiling tiles, some instrumental version of a song I almost recognize but can't quite place. The produce section stretches to my left, pyramids of apples and oranges stacked under lights designed to make everything look fresher than it is.
I pull out my phone and check the list I made this morning.
Eggs. Butter. Flour. Chocolate chips. Brown sugar.
Cookies. I'm making more cookies for the hockey team. Connor texted me three times yesterday to confirm I'd be at Friday's game, and each text included a cookie emoji. Danny's been practicing his shots for six hours a day, according to hismother, who stopped me outside the post office to thank me for believing in him.
I believed in him. Someone thanked me for believing in their kid.
Two weeks ago, I was a runaway bride with no job, no plan, and no idea who I was without Callum telling me.
Now I'm the unofficial team mom of the Largo Waters Timber Wolves, I'm building a nest out of stolen hoodies, and I told a man I loved him while wearing nothing but my underwear.
Progress. Weird, terrifying, exhilarating progress.
I wheel my cart into the baking aisle and scan the shelves for chocolate chips. The store brand is on sale, two bags for five dollars, but I grab the name brand because Sergio mentioned offhandedly that he prefers them and my brain apparently filed that information away for future reference.
My brain has been filing a lot of things away lately. Sergio's chocolate chip preferences. The way Pedro takes his coffee, black with exactly one sugar cube. How Nacho always checks the locks twice before bed. The sound Carlos makes when he's falling asleep, a soft exhale that turns into something almost like a purr.
I know things about them now. Intimate things. The kind of things you only learn when you're paying attention.
When you're falling in love.
I toss the chocolate chips into my cart and move on to the dairy section.
The refrigerated cases hum steadily, cold air spilling out every time someone opens a door. I grab eggs, checking for cracks the way my grandmother taught me, then butter, then a carton of heavy cream because Nacho mentioned wanting to make pasta this weekend.
My cart is half full when I sense someone watching me.
It's not a specific feeling. Not a sound or a movement. Just a prickling at the back of my neck, a primitive awareness that makes my shoulders tense and my omega go on high alert.
I turn around.
Callum’s at the end of the aisle.
