So here I stood, in my bedroom, in front of the full-length mirror, surrounded by three rejected outfit options and one chosen one, I kept smoothing down nervously.
Simple jeans. A soft, navy top that made my eyes look a little brighter.
And a cardigan I wore like armor.
My stomach fluttered, traitorous and excited and terrified all at once.
The mirror caught the slightest flush on my cheeks, the way my hair curled gently around my shoulders, the shine on my lips. I looked . . .
Hopeful.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that yet.
I exhaled and reached for my earrings, small silver hoops Ethan had bought me years ago, when something caught my eye in the mirror.
The picture.
Tucked into the corner of the frame, just where I’d left it the night after our date.
Me and Ethan at nineteen.
My hair was blue.
He was missing a tooth after a skateboarding accident.
We looked ridiculous and young and in love.
My hand trembled slightly as I touched the edge of the photo.
There was no ache. Not the sharp kind, anyway. Just a soft pull. A gentle remembering.
“Hey,” I whispered to the boy in the photograph. “I’m trying.”
My throat tightened.
“I think . . . I think you’d want this for me,” I murmured. “I think you’d like him.”
I didn’t know if the universe answered back. But something inside me loosened the guilt like a held breath finally let out.
Ding-dong.
I startled, nearly dropping my earring.
He was here.
Of course he was. Alex was always on time.
My pulse kicked up. I gave my reflection one more look. Not perfect. Not polished like my mother’s standards. But me. Soft. Blushing. Nervous. And, for the first time in so long, genuinely excited.
I smiled, a small, uncertain, hopeful thing, and headed downstairs.
With every step, my heart beat louder.
By the time I reached the front door, I had to steady myself with a breath.
Then I opened it.
And there he was.
