“Yeah.”
Mrs. Dottie claps as the song ends. “Perfect!” she declares. “Passionate but tasteful.”
Tasteful.
If she had any idea.
Sadie pulls her hand from mine slowly. The absence feels immediate. Mrs. Dottie bustles off to retrieve lemonade. We stand there alone for a beat.
“Why now?” Sadie asks quietly.
“Why what?”
“Why tell me that?”
“Because you asked.”
“And if I hadn’t?”
“I’d still be standing here wishing I’d gone to see you.”
Her eyes soften.
“You should’ve,” she says.
“I know.”
Silence hums between us.
Then she lifts her chin slightly.
“We still have sixty days,” she reminds me.
“Of pretending.”
“Of surviving charity season.”
I step closer again.
“Sixty days,” I repeat.
“And no real feelings.”
I study her. “Too late.”
Her breath catches. “Levi.”
“You wanted honesty.”
“I did.”
“Then here it is.”
The slow burn between us shifts—deeper now, heavier with truth.
She swallows. “Don’t make promises you won’t keep.”
“I don’t.”
