That’s all he says, over and over, arms locked around me so tight I can barely breathe, and for once, I don’t want to. I want to stay right here, suspended in it.
When he finally sets me down, Clay barrels in next, stealing my cap and shoving it back on my head backward.
“That’s my fucking girl!” He kisses me hard while still grinning, tasting like eucalyptus and adrenaline and pride.
“So proud,” Joshua says quietly, like the words are just for me. He cups my face the second Clay lets go, thumbs brushing beneath my eyes before he kisses my cheek, grounding me when the noise starts to swell again.
“A master’s degree speech about cheeseburgers?” Howie asks from beside me, lifting an eyebrow.
I shrug, still a little dazed. “I told them they’d regret letting me do it.”
He huffs a laugh, then pulls me into a tight hug, whispering. “Well done, kiddo.”
Sophia is crying openly into Chiara’s shoulder now, mascara probably ruined, while Chiara films everything on her phone, having poor Leo holding the glitter sign.
There are hands on me everywhere. Laughter. Noise. Love, coming at me from all sides.
I don’t shrink from it.
I don’t disappear into it.
I just stand there and let myself be held by all of it.
I’m surrounded by family.
We take what feels like a thousand pictures. Someone’s aunt keeps trying to organize us, and Clay ruins every attempt by popping into frame at the last second. At some point, Joshua’s hand finds mine, Xander’s stays warm and steady at the back of my neck, and I stop paying attention to the camera altogether.
Eventually, we escape to the parking lot and make our way home.
The house is chaos the minute we get there. Sophia and Howie apparently have been planning this for hours—three cakes, two trays of burgers “for tradition,” and enough champagne to drown a horse waiting on the counter.
The living room is strung with fairy lights and purple balloons, and there’s a banner that reads CAROLINA COSTA, BADASS SCIENTIST. Clearly Chiara’s doing, but from the tattoo-script lettering, I’m guessing Xander helped.
People keep arriving. Lab friends. Half of Clay and Joshua’s precinct. Faces I recognize, faces I don’t, all of them smiling at me like I did something miraculous instead of just being stubborn.
Somewhere along the way, there’s karaoke, and after the tenth congratulations, that starts to blur into the next, I slip away toward the kitchen side of the living room for a breather.
The bass from the karaoke machine thumps through the floor, vibrating up my legs as I reach for the chocolate cake—triple layer, glossy with a ridiculous amount of ganache. The smell of sugar and cocoa is grounding in a way that nothing else is.
For a moment, it’s just me, a plate, and the quiet relief of not having to perform.
“This song is for my kitten!” Clay’s voice cuts through the chatter, commandeering the mic again.
The opening piano chords of “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond roll out, and the whole room erupts in drunken cheers, while my cheeks start to warm.
Idiot.
“SweetCarolina…” he sings, dragging my name out. “… bum bum bum…”
I turn toward him with a smile, and he grins back, sleeves shoved up his muscled forearms, dimples absolutely weaponized. I scoop a generous fingerful of frosting from my slice of cake and lift it to my mouth. Then, without breaking eye contact, I lick it off slowly, sugar and chocolate melting on my tongue.
Clay completely loses the lyrics, quickly shoving the mic into the hands of one of the newer lab techs—poor guy sounds like a dying cat trying to finish the song—while Clay is already moving, stalking across the room toward me.
By the time he stops in front of me, the music is still blaring, the room still loud, but all I can see is him.
His eyes are blazing.
“Are you sending me subtle signals, kitten?”
