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Archer grins. “See you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.”

His eyes linger, then he winks. “Goodnight, Juliet.”

“Night.” I wiggle my fingers in a wave and drive away.

He stays at the stop sign a little longer before his truck moves in the opposite direction. My heart tugs in my chest, yearning to turn around and follow him home, but I fight it off.

Instead, I buy the ice cream I promised Dad—as well as strawberry and Moose Tracks for me—then return home.

Dad doesn’t mention how long I’ve been gone, only invites me to stay out and watch the game with him and Tom. I take my ice cream to my room instead after saying a goodnight to them both.

With my door shut behind me, I stare at the window Archer had climbed out of only an hour before and airily sigh. I set my bowl of ice cream on my bedside table, then close the blinds and curtains, still smiling as I return to the bed to pull back my covers.

I pause when I catch sight of a folded piece of notebook paper propped up on my pillow. Did Dad leave it?

I unfold it, and my heart stutters. It’s not Dad’s handwriting. And there’s only one person I know who’s been in my room tonight.

Hungrily, I read the masculine script.

Juliet,

Hope you don’t mind me ripping a paper from your notebook. I just wanted to become your fantasy one more time by leaving you a note, telling you how badly I wanna go on a date with you. But you already know that. Just like you know I almost kissed you tonight...twice.

I can hear you right now, lying your face off to your dad. I think I’m a bad influence on you, Miss Monroe. But I don’t mind. Not one bit.

Anyway, I hope you have the sweetest dreams tonight. Dreams filled with a certain cowboy riding up to tell you you’re everything he ever hoped for in a woman.

Just do me one favor? Don’t take advantage of me in your dreams by kissing me. I’d like to be there for that myself.

Much obliged.

Can’t wait to see you again, to be with you again, and to try to kiss you again. Fair warning—next time, I’m gonna succeed.

Night,

Cowboy

I fall back onto my bed, clinging the paper to my chest like I’ll die if I let it go.

I have a mind to tell Archer about my other fantasies he can play out for me—riding horses at sunset, kissing at dusk, spending the rest of our lives together.

“Calm down, Teenage Juliet,” I whisper to my empty room.

But she can’t calm down.

She’s a lovesick teenager.

And now, I’m a lovesick adult.

Juliet

The following morning, I keep my eye out for Archer at the parade as I ride with Dad along the route in Mr. Sharrow’s truck bed, but unfortunately, there’s no sign of the cowboy.

“I’m glad you joined me this morning, Jules,” Dad says as he tosses another handful of taffy to the cheering crowds.

“Me, too.”