I let my head tip the rest of the way, settling against hers. She doesn’t shift or flinch. She simply stays, solid and warm, like she was ready for it.
For the first time since everything happened, I feel… steadied. Like maybe I wasn’t completely in the wrong. Sadie doesn’t push for more. Our question game drifts away, unfinished.
For a moment, I wonder if this is the end of the night. But instead, we sit. Quiet. The way we did the other night.
Sadie shows up. The way she has since the first day I met her.
eighteen
Sadie
Marendoesn’tevenwaitfor me to sit down before she asks, “Tell me you kissed him.”
I blink. “Hello and good morning to you, too.”
She wraps both hands around her coffee, eyes bright with purpose. “Did. You. Kiss. Him?”
“No,” I answer, a little too quickly.
Her smile turns slow and smug. “Interesting.”
“There’s nothing interesting about it.”
“Nowthatis interesting,” she says over the steam of her coffee cup.
I sigh and lean back in my chair, staring up at the exposed brick ceiling like it might rescue me. “We didn’t kiss. We watched the sunset. We talked. It was nice.”
Maren tilts her head. “You’re glowing.”
“Am not.”
“You’re all smiley. And bright. All sunshiny for an early Friday morning.”
I roll my eyes because, no matter what, Maren will not stop until she knows every single detail. It’s one of the reasons I love her so much. I pretend to focus on my latte. The café hums around us, but my mind keeps drifting back to last night.
Our makeshift picnic on the beach. The way the sky went soft around us. Colson opening up about everything that happened the night that changed everything.
“Okay,” Maren says, tapping the table. “Then whatdidhappen?”
I hesitate. That’s mistake number one.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh god. What did you do.”
“We held hands,” I share, wincing.
Maren freezes. “Held hands?”
“It was barely holding,” I rush to clarify. “More like… at the end.”
Her eyes light up. “Explain.”
I sigh. “He walked me to my car. We were talking about nothing, the kind of things you say when you’re not ready to say goodbye yet.”
I pause, remembering. We’d stopped beside my door, the night quiet around us. There were a few people out on the streets but we stayed on the beach for a while. Neither of us reached for the door handle. Neither of us stepped back.
“And then,” I continue slowly, “he reached for my hand. Just… took it. Like it made sense.”
A flashback of last night settles in, gentle and warm.
