"You look like you're waiting for someone to say 'just kidding' and snatch this away," Maggie says, sliding cake onto plates.
Sloane shifts on her feet. "I—no. I'm just—"
"Scared," Maggie supplies. "You can say it."
Sloane swallows. "I don't… have a great track record with… permanent."
Maggie hums. "You know what my mama said when James asked for my hand?" Sloane shakes her head. "'You could do better,'" Maggie says dryly. "Then she told him the same thing about me when I left the room." She smiles faintly. "We weren't anyone's idea of perfect. We just decided we would out-stubborn whatever tried to break us."
Sloane's mouth curves, slow and hesitant. "You make it sound simple."
"It's hard as hell," Maggie corrects. "Simple and hard. You pick each other. Deal with the ugly. You don't run when it gets scary." Her gaze softens. "I know that boy. He'd burn this town down before he'd hurt you on purpose. He already has, you know. Picked you."
Sloane stares at the cake, then up at Maggie. "What if I'm the one who hurts him?"
"Then you apologize. And you let him forgive you. That's the part people always forget."
Sloane's voice drops to barely a whisper. "What if what I did is… unforgivable?"
Maggie's gaze sharpens, but her voice stays gentle. "Then you let him be the one to decide that. Not you."
I back away before they notice me, heart pounding harder than it should. Unforgivable. The word lodges under my ribs and stays there, sharp-edged, turning with each breath. She didn't say what happened to me. She said what I did. When we finally say goodbye—stuffed, warm, a little looser at the edges than when we walked in—Maggie hugs Sloane again and kisses my cheek.
"Take care of our girl," she says in my ear.
"I'm trying," I whisper back.
"Stop trying," she says. "Do."
James pulls me into a brief, crushing hug on the porch. "You good?"
"Getting there."
He nods, satisfied. "Good. Now go home and be stupid about each other somewhere else."
Sloane holds on tight the whole ride home, arms snug around my waist, cheek pressed to my back. Every time I shift gears, her fingers flex, holding tighter, reminding herself I'm solid. At home, she toes off her shoes by the door and leans against the wall, eyes closed.
"That was…" She searches. "A lot. In a good way."
"Yeah. They are."
We move through the bedtime motions with more ease than last night. She tugs one of my shirts over her head, wearing nothing underneath. The flash of bare thigh, and outline of her nipples pressing against thin cotton make my blood heat instantly.
She catches me staring and rolls her eyes, but there's warmth in it. "You're ridiculous."
"Accurate. Also, you're the one walking around our bedroom in my shirt with no bra. I'm only human."
She pauses by the bed, fingers twisting in the hem.
"I'm… sorry. For the other night. And walking out. For making you feel like you're on the outside when you've done nothing but stand by my side."
I sit on the edge of the mattress, elbows on my knees. "I pushed when you weren't ready. That's on me. I just—"
"Want to keep me covered," she finishes quietly. "I know."
"Yeah. And I'm selfish with it. I don't…" I drag a hand down my face. "I don't know how to not want every piece of you. Even the ones you think will make me run." She stares at me as if she's waiting for the catch.
"James and Maggie…" She swallows. "They make it look… possible."
