“That all sounds organized.”
“It is.” He paused. “Until it’s not. What about you? Got any hidden babies you want to confess to?”
“You think my mother would’ve let me live if I did?”
“Your mom would hate me, wouldn’t she? Working-class guy… and a dad.”
“Don’t forget a surfer and a musician.”
“Right.” Scott grinned. “On a scale of one to ten, with ten being your mother boiling me alive, how much would she despise me?”
“You’d be stew.”
We both laughed, breaking some unspoken tension between us.
Scott sobered first, turning to me. “You didn’t come all this way just to return my vest.”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because… I haven’t smiled this much since Journey showed up to play at my Sweet Sixteen party.”
His brows shot up. “Wait—the real band?”
“Of course. You don’t think my daddy would hire a cover band, do you?”
“I… guess not,” he replied, scratching his temple.
“What I’m trying to say is… I think I kind of like you.”
“Just give me a sec. I’m still processing the whole Journey thing.”
“Stop.” I slapped his leg and tried to steady my nerves. “I said I like you.”
He turned his head, staring. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” A flush climbed my neck. “I’m just… drawn to you.”
Scott leaned back, closed his eyes, and tipped his head toward the sky. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at me. My stomach dropped. Oh, god. I’d misread everything.
“You know what?” I rushed. “Forget I said that.”
He smiled, eyes still closed. “No.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m officially taking it back.”
He shook his head, finally sitting up. “Doesn’t work like that.”
“It absolutely does.”
“Can you just… hang on a second?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his face like he was arguing with himself, then looked at me. “Today sucked. Like, really sucked. And then you showed up with your rich-girl chronicles, and for a minute, I forgot I was having a shitty day. So, yeah…” his grin widened. “I think I might like you too.”
I moved closer until our shoulders touched, my smile impossibly wide. I felt chosen, despite knowing Scott was the kind of mistake my parents had spent years cautioning me against. I could practically hear their voices.Boys like that are trouble. Rough manners. A dead end.The type of boy who’d drag me down just by holding my hand.
And maybe they were right. Maybe he was every terrible thing they’d ever said he would be. But sitting here beside him, hearing him laugh, feeling his shoulder warm against mine, didn’t feel like a mistake. He felt like the first thing in a long time that was right.
“Why are you having a bad day?” I asked. “I’m assuming the funeral.”
