Page 96 of Romeo

Me: Good. Keep trying.

Ma Belle: You’re not very comforting tonight.

Me: I’m excellent at comforting.

Ma Belle: Evidence says otherwise

Me: Comfort is overrated.

Ma Belle: Convenient answer

Me: Accurate one.

Her response didn’t come right away. When it finally did, I wished I’d handled the whole damn conversation differently.

Ma Belle: Goodnight, Romeo.

Romeo.

Not Jasper.

She almost never called me that.

I’d noticed the difference weeks ago. Jasper was the man she talked to when she let herself relax. Romeo came out whenever she remembered all the reasons she should be careful with me.

Tonight, I’d managed to put the distance back between us without moving an inch.

Me: Goodnight, Cher. Get some sleep.

I set the phone beside me.

Well done, asshole.

She wanted to go. I didn’t need her to spell it out. The question was whether she wanted the dance itself or what it represented.

Probably both.

One ordinary night.

A dress.

Music.

Somebody waiting at the door because they’d chosen her.

How many ordinary teenage experiences had Fiona missed because she’d been too busy surviving things most grown adults couldn’t handle?

I stood and paced toward the window.

Prom was stupid. I hadn’t suddenly developed strong feelings about balloons hanging from gym rafters or teenagers dancing badly under rented lights.

But Fiona cared.

That made it matter.

My phone was back in my hand before I’d fully made the decision. I found Josie’s number and called; she answered on the second ring.

“Romeo? It’s late. What’s wrong?”