Then pulls back. Looks at me again. The disbelief still there. Something else underneath it—larger, older, patient, the thing that has been growing in the space between our texts and calls and the silences where we said the most.
He kisses me.
Not gently. Not tentatively. His mouth warm and certain, one handmoving to the back of my neck, and the sound he makes against my lips is low and raw
And I kiss him back with everything I’ve got. The kiss of a woman who has been composing this moment in her head for twenty-one days and the reality is better than every draft.
My hands find the front of his jacket. Grip. Hold.
We break apart. Stare at each other.
He kisses me again.
I pull back. Breathing hard. His forehead against mine.
Above us, the Jumbotron catches it.
I don't see it happen. I hear it—the shift in the crowd's energy. A ripple that starts near us and radiates outward, changing pitch as people look up at the screen and see what the camera found.
The arena—still buzzing from the announcer's speech, still electric with overtime anticipation—erupts for a completely different reason.
The announcer, barely containing a laugh:
"And it looks like Weston Prescott isverymuch at home in Cedar Falls."
Somewhere in the VIP section, the three retired NHL players are upon us. Cam elbows Levi. Levi is already laughing. Ryan has his phone out, filming.
Grace grabs the nearest stranger by both arms. The stranger is fully on board.
I look up at the screen. My face. His face. My hands on his jacket. His hands on my waist.
I look at West.
He looks at the screen. Looks down at me.
"That's going to be everywhere by noon," he says.
"Yep."
His thumb traces my jaw.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The arena still roaring. The Jumbotron still showing us. None of it matters.
And in the noise—just for us—same moment, same breath, completely unplanned:
"I love you."
We say it together.
Not rehearsed. Not calculated. Not one person going first and the other following.
Just two people who ran out of reasons to hold it back and opened their mouths at the same time.
Silencebetween us. Half a second of perfect, trembling silence.
Then the overtime horn sounds.
We watch OT together.
