The words settle warm in my chest.
They leave in a caravan of goodbyes, honking horns, and promises to visit. Then it’s just Kieran and me in the sudden quiet.
“So,” he says. “We have the place until Monday.”
“Yeah.”
“And I was thinking—” He steps closer, hands finding my waist. “Let’s work on our project tomorrow. Tonight, I’d really like to take you on a date.”
His voice brushes my skin—steel blue, darker at the edges, threaded with a little gold heat.
My heart kicks. “A date?”
“Yes.” His eyes search mine. “If you want.”
“I want.”
His smile is devastating. “Good. Can you be readyat five?”
“Okay.”
He kisses me—soft, careful, nothing like the desperate heat on the trail. After he releases me, I climb the stairs to my room. The makeup bag sits on the dresser. The sage-green top is folded beside it.
I take a shower, replaying Sophie’s instructions in my head. Tinted moisturizer. Concealer. Cream blush—just a touch. Mascara, one coat. Tinted lip balm.
When I’m done, the girl in the mirror looks like me. Just...more. Like someone who gets kissed against trees and doesn’t apologize for wanting.
The hair is harder. I work through it, sectioning and wrapping around my fingers the way Jessica showed me. The waves fall soft and loose, then I gather them into the low bun—messy but intentional, with pieces framing my face.
The top slips over my head, the sage-green fabric soft and flattering. It’s not tight, not revealing, just pretty. The kind of pretty that feels like confidence.
I look at myself and see someone who goes on dates. Someone who deserves to be kissed in the dark by boys who look at her like she’s magic.
I take a breath. Another.
Then I go downstairs.
Kieran’s in the living room, dressed in dark jeans and a button down, scribbling on a piece of paper with diagrams and formulas.
“Hey,” I say softly.
He looks up. And stops moving.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.
“Too much?”
“No.” He sets down the pencil, stands up and moves toward me like gravity is pulling him. “Wren. You’re?—”
He doesn’t finish. Just cups my face and kisses me, soft and thorough and reverent.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark pools.
“You’re stunning,” he says. “Absolutely stunning.”
“The girls helped.”
“Remind me to send them flowers.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “But they just enhanced what was already there.”
