I lay on my side, phone propped against a pillow, just listening to the reassurance in his breathing.
After a quiet moment, he asked, “So . . . are you still trying out for the Reapers tomorrow?”
A slow, tired smile tugged at my mouth. “Of course, I am.”
He grinned, wide, relieved, proud. “Good. Because I’m making breakfast. We’re going to have brunch before tryouts. Something fun. Something good.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” he said, no wavering. “You deserve a good morning.”
My eyes stung. “Okay,” I murmured. “Brunch sounds . . . really nice.”
He hesitated, then added softly, “And El? I like the blue streaks. A lot.”
Damn him. That made me blush.
We said goodnight. I put the phone down and crawled into bed beside Ava, who had fallen asleep with her blue hair fanned across my pillow like a neon crown.
I was still angry. Still hurting.
But for the first time all day . . . I wasn’t alone.
And that made everything feel just a little more bearable.
35
ALEX
Iwas trying to scramble eggs, toast bagels, and convince Leo to wipe up the galaxy of jam he’d smeared across the table when the knock came.
Three quick raps.
My heart did a full somersault.
“DAD!” Leo yelled from the living room, where he was currently half-dressed and wearing last night’s tutu. “ARE THEY HERE?”
“I—I don’t know,” I said, even though I absolutely knew. My entire nervous system knew. This was different. This wasn’t just a playdate or a pickup or a shared rehearsal hallway.
This was . . . brunch. With both kids. And Eleanor. Together. Like a unit.
And Leo knew we were dating. Ava knew too. Becca and Mel both definitely knew and had not so subtly been giving up time alone.
But inviting Eleanor and Ava over like this felt huge. Terrifying. Good, but terrifying.
The knock came again.
I wiped my hands on a towel, tried to push down the fluttering in my chest, and told Leo, “Wipe the table first, please.”
“But I want to say hi!”
“Table,” I said, pointing. “You can say hi in exactly thirty seconds.”
He groaned theatrically but started wiping, scattering more crumbs in the process. Progress, sort of.
My palms were sweating. Why were my palms sweating? I knew her. I’d kissed her. Done a lot more than kiss her.
Still, the idea of opening the door made my pulse jump like I was seventeen again.
